"contraction" poems
in the somatic nervous system,
acetylcholine (ACh) stimulates skeletal muscle, causing contraction
action potentials
in the 8am physio lecture,
the biggest on campus
crammed with nursing majors,
and health science hankerers,
public health preachers,
OT saints and angels
amino acid NTs: glutamate (+) GABA (-) aspartate (+) glycine (-)
the prof wrote on a distant whiteboard
too many complained about being lost
she made a joke about feeding *******
to mice for her neuroscience research
amines: serotonin (-) dopamine (-/+) norepinephrine (+/-) epinephrine (+)
STEM-dominated
when i'm just looking
to drop my roots
and press that
good earth into
the spaces between
my toes and
under my nails
but the grounds are a garden
of biodiversity from clippings
gathered by migrant habit-clad
founders more than a century ago
the soil is fertile it is temperate
there are water filters in most residences
there is enough here for me
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 3:06 PM UTC
sitting here but not
my insides
in a twist
my organs blooming,
their flower landscapes
rising in my solar plexus
like poetry expanding
its cellular shapes
into
light frequencies
I need way more.
I need the pulling off
and stripping down
of souls
I need to meet in
a depth of falling
I need to be pushed off
the silent gates of madness
into endless sea
no looking back
senses piqued
from slightest brush
of oral butter pouring
on hot cream
my mouth, a searing
crimson wound
oscillates in
contraction radar pulses
ripe for intense
tongue exploration
aching to be filled up with
your distinct flavor
My essence molecular is
overflowing with fluid
giving me life
in throbbing, raw
electric vibes
whipped organic, in
rolling tides
Somewhere, out there
our volcanic impulses
meet in steamy ebbs
and send energyflow
to a new and ancient universe,
magnetic
and I am
a raging heaven's child
wrapped in
a tight little
tourniquet
blood pumping
through these veins
my longing for
dark stretches
of intimate caresses
to soothe
the spikes
of snaking pain
Give me
those airwaves that
let me breathe freedom
into the fields of our skin
Let me run like wild herds
of the animal within
and as I find myself
hanging off
my
own
edges
my many-braided loops
in zigzag split,
a-fray
my skin rips open,
parting fibers
that expose my
very
DNA
helix swivel
undulation
hips grinding into
soul
reaching in to
pull out
fresh rebirth
from between my folds
O help me to allay
this tender affliction
undo me, already
so I lose control
one little shove
and I am over the cliff
deep into ocean
**** over spliff
I am beyond ready
so grind it to the hilt
Give me your
tender-ripped heart,
spill your honeycomb milk
I am here, ravenous
in the pan
uncooked yet ripe
saliva and breath
steaming my own innards
flushing out strife
I am piquant hot pepper
ready to be broiled
my blood is already
boiling
my tender meat oiled
mull me over
in your oral cavity
like sacred wine
until I drip
through your bones
and down your spine
Just meld with me
and flow
into that light tunnel
of dark time and space
so I can stake out
my rhythms
and claim
my
new
sacred
place
Aug 15, 2017
Aug 15, 2017 at 12:20 AM UTC
You asked me my name in your first remark
We sat on opposite ends of a question mark
You were dashing - made me pause,
me, this independent clause
standing alone,
I made sense on my own
But I answered you anyway.
Ellipses.
Now you are the verb in my heart’s contraction
I am the subject and you are the action
An Interrogative with a Declarative reaction
An Exclamatory and then an Imperative attraction
Ellipses.
Your lips ease
Me, the direct object of your affection,
but never sentenced to an apostrophe’s possession
perhaps more true- a plural “s” suggestion
and the excitement behind an exclamation point’s inflection
The semi-colon understands
We can be on our own, but we want to stand
together
where our letters
aren’t fetters,
but the typesetter’s
better measure
of linguistic pleasure.
We communicate through metaphors and similes
Like the birds and the bees
We speak across homophone lines
to keep a census of our senses at all times
Because words said aloud have allowed
us to find meaning behind the utterance of sound-
mere words and phrases
jumping off of pages
into brain and heart and soul
when the parts become a whole
And with the syntax, punctuation, grammar, and usage
I’m a hopeless semantic always trying to ****** it
Language- yours I understand through the myriad.
Words can’t capture you. Period.
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 10:50 PM UTC
As a child the frustration and aggravation we caused our parents counting down the days until Christmas or our Birthday.
And those afternoons in elementary school trying not to doze off while counting the minutes until the dismissal bell would ring.
The older I got the more I've counted my life away.
Count the years until 16 to be able to drive and be free.
Count the years until 21 to be able to drink and feel like a grownup.
Counting the months then years of the length of each relationship
Waiting to be wed.
Then counting the negative pregnancy tests over and over becoming hopeless that I would ever be able to count little toes and fingers.
Counting the tears that I shed for my husband, as the fairy tale family I dreamed of turned into a nightmare.
Counting the nights left alone, scared and waiting for him to return home.
Counting the minutes between each contraction.
Counting the moments before my miracle would arrive.
Then counting the staples in my belly where she had to be taken from my body so that we would survive.
Finally counting ten piggies and ten little fingers
Counting the hours and days daddy left us alone and scared in the hospital for him to party and drink.
Counting the paragraphs on the separation papers
Counting the steps to the court house
Counting the people watching as my romance and love was flushed away
Counting the almost endless nights praying for me and my baby
Counting her smiles, counting her wishes
Counting her Birthday's
Counting the moments I am blessed to be her mom
Counting the hours of work to be able to return home to her.
I will spend my lifetime counting.
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 2:40 PM UTC
I. The event wall:
The quarters going coloured:
Red, yellow, limpid azure,
white unalloyed;
at the center, a dark void
lightening, radiating outward -
never breaking the event-horizon.
Reverent circumambulation
by tradition, is done clockwise.
II. Reading the tiles
Is peace in expansion
or contraction?
Incarceration. Staring at the tiles.
Acceptance or rebellion?
Time doesn't tell.
III. Prospect
You are free now:
making a mascot of you,
we have set you free.
While singing paeans
to your greatness yet,
we bemoan how
coolies and ******* are
be-spoiling our home.
Rest in peace!
We'll wait for Christ.
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 7:04 PM UTC
You, you only, exist.
We pass away, till at last,
our passing is so immense
that you arise: beautiful moment,
in all your suddenness,
arising in love, or enchanted
in the contraction of work.
To you I belong, however time may
wear me away. From you to you
I go commanded. In between
the garland is hanging in chance; but if you
take it up and up and up: look:
all becomes festival!
______
Translated by Stephen Mitchell
4.2k
My face tells me nothing. Not nothing but nothing useful,
the complications of ageing humorously but not how to avoid
injury.
Permanent injury is a now popular cliché. At this age any injury
could result in pneumonia, pain in bitterness for your peers,
your jury.
What a headache I have! And never forget injury provokes
at best only pity. Friends are merely friendly, they belong to the
majority.
They forget your name and so should you, who are you? Even you
don't know for sure. In relation to community, no change was noted in
the
registry.
Still, man's mercy, economy's ecology, there's some joy in being small,
some joy in staying strong, and keeping death before you without
perjury.
Unsafe to run the wind. A big stick might hit your head. Then
the hip and heart and head will hurt, all three. Un-
fortunately.
I like a strong wind. Dangerous to go out in. As a fire or flood.
I like the way we are at risk, not a risk-averse weasel. A carnivore,
very hungry.
Pay money, take chances. Yo's an elegant contraction of you.
Cool. Message from street to board: mongrels rule. Democracy or
tyranny.
Scared to die? Why? Take appropriate measures, descend through
meditation. Be empty, rest. And to your friends and sons be as
gravity.
Tired of death. It's what it is. Let's play sports, have *** kayak
to the huckleberries, fish for marvelous fish, live a wonderful life, give
generously.
Done blowing, O wild wind? Not yet? So be it. I lay my head
in your felt hands. The motion of the branches, evolutionary branches,
are my
guarantee.
That's all folks, 7:30. The sky is clear, the crows are out. The clouds
are with my mood commensurate. I should shout, having lived
prodigiously.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 10:38 AM UTC
My mother enters the kitchen, says that her hands
are dripping, begs my father to finish his work
at the sink. I observe, for a moment, the expression
upon her face which seems conflicted between
a desire to laugh and a need
to feel clean.
I interject that clearly her fate is to have
dog placenta on her hands for all eternity.
Her disgust and amusement seem equally to rise.
After she has washed herself, she speaks of
Ponyo's last intermission between long
intervals of birthing to nap three fleeting minutes;
another contraction gave way to a wriggling
new mole who squeaked and groaned with
bizarre endearment, seizing my heart and causing
its mother's head, after jolting awake,
to go limp.
Mom says it's sad-but-sweet. Dear dog
has spent herself six times already in increments
which, as they increase, draw her spirit still closer
to a totally inevitable chasm of fled energy;
as soon as she falls asleep, yet a new indignant mass
of living parts swaddled in loose skin and wet fur
shoves its way outward, forward, world-ward.
Ponyo is not selfish. Immediately after birth seven,
she begins to lick her offspring clean and nudge it
towards her belly, where it may feed itself.
"Only just got a break, and already she's
back to work."
I'm one of five children my mother has carried
and raised--and for a human, five are many!
I'm afraid to give birth even once, despite
that a greater want of mine is to hold
my own child someday. I wonder if that
is motherhood: discomfort and indecision
concerning the worth of the effort in labor,
in birth, in the weak moments thereafter--
stroking one's child's downy, collapsible head
and feeling a need to protect her, to nurture her,
that is more pressing even than the so-
alluring whispers which Sleep may breathe--
and even beyond these moments, when I have said
to my mother that I hate her (because
to me, it was obvious that I did not,
and was too callous, obtuse, and insensitive
to think that she might just believe it)
and then missed church the next day to stay
with her when she felt ill and tired--if this
is motherhood, I wonder. It must be more even
than I could ever have thought like wanting
to laugh and to wring one's hands
(and even just to go to sleep)
all at once.
Apr 14, 2012
Apr 14, 2012 at 11:05 PM UTC
A Hug,
How underrated
Available in the avail of a kiss,
Or the escape of one.
At birth
My mother showed me loves worth
Calmed the loudest cries
Hushing me
Just by holding me
Keeping me warm
Through the coldest times
As I grew older
This demonstration became more familiar
With family
So many I managed to manifest
My mannerisms allowed
Long embraces
That mattered so much!
All from a simple touch
The first time…
The first time,
With the one I loved
*********** lacked satisfaction
If after the contraction
We weren’t in each others arms…
Relaxin…
Chest to chest
You hold her
Can two hearts get any closer?
If my only love
Was to take her love away
In the most selfish absurd way
Spurned my love
She still wouldn’t be too stubborn to hug
Once the years have spun away
The best reconciliation
A Hug,
A gesture so benign
Even if I were to express
With my best friend, a canine
Or my only companion, a feline
People still wouldn’t see I
As constructed of **********
Alerting not a soul
Hearts become sole
Even when shared with animals.
Making Love,
Is not limited to ***
Or a kiss,
Instead,
The same bliss
Can be met
With a Hug.
What’s Love, But a Hug?
Oct 1, 2010
Oct 1, 2010 at 12:27 AM UTC
A brother with a cute little lisp,
Or a place for like minded folks,
Relishing the beauty in place,
Tending to needs in time's cusp,
Allowing the easy flow of juices.
On the brink of civility & love,
Fading the differences between.
Fulfilling the ****** needs,
Loaning the best moments,
Easier is *** contraction,
Self-awareness needed,
Help yourself with the hand.
To the trickier ways of a district,
Redlight district is meant to be strict,
Aloof from normal, painful city,
Desired by many but visited by few,
Envious red shades flowing in & out.
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 2:25 AM UTC
If you had five seconds to spare, I’d tell you how heaven’s feel like
I’d kiss you your lips so softly you wouldn’t noticed time passing
You’ll poison me,and I’ll lose myself
Into you
Music will be our drug.
I’ll play the weeknd on the stereo, and spell you poetry of how glorious you are, because I’m sure that scene would make permanent one.
I’ll lie against your chest and hear your heart beats and sing on their melody
you are that thin line between the contraction of light and dark
A paradox of sins and pureness
A cracked diamond, a perfect flaw.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 2:53 AM UTC
I wanted to feel his hands
massaging me once more,
rubbing out the pain & stress of my day(s).
I wanted to look into his beautiful eyes
that always said
"I Love You My Queen"
I wanted to once again
entwine our fingers
as we held close
our bodies while we laid & talked.
I want to kiss his lips,
feel
our
tongues dance again.
I wanted to run my fingers
once more thew his curly hair....
I want to hear him whisper once more
Good morning my love,
as he came home
from a night of work....
I wanted to feel him
kiss my forehead
and
say baby
I'll fight for you,
for Us!
Like he once was willing to do...
I wanted him to
be there when
His 1st born!
HIS SON
came outta me,
I wanted him to watch as
my opening stretched wide
for the life we conceived
started to break free,
wanted to look at him watching
me struggle
( for my & our sons life)
Wanted him to watch me
cry out with each contraction,
as my body sweating
and
shook from hot to cold
with hot flashes & chills,
I wanted him to see
my legs spread far apart,
my bottom hanging it seems~
slightly off the bed
my feet wrecked up on stirrups
as my ***** minora** opens wider ,
stretching it's self as well as my labia majora....
As our sons head slowly emerges out of me,
I wanted him to watch me
as I watched him
"catch His 1stborn....
His only SON!
I wanted us to cry laugh & hug each other
as our child is placed in my arms....
Him kissing me on my forehead
once more teary eyed with
that proud new daddy
look men tend to get.........
I wanted this and so much more.....
I no longer want it thou!
Realities hit
&
I'm better off
doing this on my own!
**Always Me Ayeshah **
Dec 4, 2010
Dec 4, 2010 at 12:31 AM UTC
Rationalization
Participation
Concentration
Manipulation
Devastation
Frustration
Delegation
Completion
Direction
Addiction
Motovation
Contraction
Perfection
Election
Connection
Commotion
Lotion
Jubilation
Revaluation
Fibulation
Continuation
Population
Sensation
Complication
Allegation
Temptation
************
Proustitution
Execution
Desertion
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 12:40 PM UTC
Some of the first mecha featured in manga
& anime were super robots [スーパーロボット _sūpā robotto_],
ultimate, sometimes transforming into weapons
w/ superpowers. They are often one of a kind
products of an ancient civilization, aliens or
mad genius, are usually piloted by Japanese teenagers
& often powered by mystical or exotic energy sources;
Getter Rays, Photonic Energy, Ide, Spiral Power &c.
Sometimes they are formed from
a combination of a few weaker robots;
their abilities described as "quasi-magical";
w/ Miss America becoming less & less
a beauty pageant, it's only a matter of time
before Medusa inherits the mantle;
the revived gods of the ancient world
crossing the rainbow bridge to do battle w/
high-tech monster robots; AI meaning nothing to a flying fist;
Apotheosis, from Greek ἀποθέωσις from ἀποθεοῦν,
apotheoun "to deify"; in Latin deificatio "make divine";
also called divinization & deification;
is the glorification of a subject to divine level;
The term has meanings in theology, where it refers to a belief in art where it refers to a genre;
Defecation is the final act of digestion,
by which organisms eliminate solid, semisolid,
or liquid waste material from the digestive tract via the ****
Humans expel feces w/ a frequency varying
from a few times daily to a few times weekly;
Waves of muscular contraction known as peristalsis
in the walls of the colon move ***** matter
through the digestive tract towards the ******
Undigested food may also be expelled this way,
in a process called _egestion_
Open defecation, the practice of defecating outside
w/out using a toilet of any kind,
is still widespread in some countries,
for example in India, home of the
heroic deities of Hinduism that evolved
from the Vedic era 2nd millennium BCE
through the medieval era, 1st millennium CE
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 10:09 PM UTC
You are not original
You are not unique
There is nothing special about you
You are every step taken
By every sole
Of every shoe
In the history of shoes
You are every vein
On every maple leaf
That has ever fallen
And every one that has
Grown as replacement
Everything
Everything
You are every joke
You are every stroke
Of every painbrush
Every pencil
Every pen
Every primitive crayon
Against a cave wall
You are every sightless
Creature in every cave
You are every speck of dust
Stuck to every speck of dust
In the cosmos
You are every diaphragm
Contraction
Of every laugh ever laughed
You are every
Perverted thought
In every brain,
You are every measurement
Of time
Of weight
Of temperature
Of character
You are every pressure wave
From every pair
Of clapped hands
You are every pigment
In every premature obituary
You are every hair follicle
On every bison
You are every decision
God or bad
Or wise or naive
You are every influence
Every force
Every imagined deity
Every word ever spoken
Every word you are reading
You are every sunset
On every satellite
Of every star
You are every villain
Every success story
Every tragedy
Every spark that has
Birthed a flame
You are every set
Of rolled eyes
Every kernel
On every ear of corn
Every oxidation
Every drop of alcohol
Ever consumed
You are heaven
You are every molecule of water
In every hot spring
Every strum
Of every guitar
Ever played
You are condensation
You are every witch trial
You are every frown
Every school of skipjacks
Every byte of data
On every hard drive
You are every meadowlark
You are every broken arm
From every fall
Off a bicycle
You are the way Autumn smells
The way he looks at you
The way she makes you smile
The way earthworms
Escape the mud
when it rains
You are every passing car
Every glimmer of hope
Every plane crash
Every time math fails
Every swift defeat
You are everything ugly
And everything beautiful
You are nothing
You are everything
Everything you've done
Has been done before you
You are every paradox
You are beautiful when you sleep
You are me
We are nothing.
Everything,
Everything.
We are everything
We're not.
We are nothing we are.
The snow has fallen,
Terrible is the sound.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 10:53 PM UTC
Rush around in circles like a headless chicken running
Diminishing to spirals in a blue encircled churn
Giddying to balance in unsteady equilibrium,
Whilst canting to the left on a gyroscopic turn.
Vaulting to the heavens in gymnastical maneuvering,
Launching into ether in fanatical escape,
****** features grimacing through muscular contortion
With abdominal contractions in a pantomime of ****
Yowling to the darkness in a feline form of vocalness
Hissing through the teeth in a serpentine display,
Bellowing the bellicose of bovine innuendo
And bleeding feet in gumboots on a ****** raining day.
Rush around in circles like a headless chicken running
With ****** features grimaced on a ****** raining day,
Yowling to the darkness with abdominal contraction
In a bovine innuendo of a serpentine display.
Bellowing the bellicose of bleeding feet in gumboots,
Vaulting to the heavens in fanatical escape,
Giddying to spirals in contracting equilibrium
Just a ****** innuendo of a gyroscopic shake.
Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
On a ****** raining day.
7 August 2010
Aug 6, 2010
Aug 6, 2010 at 6:17 PM UTC
Obstacles/Problems/Pain
Contraction or Expansion
Exhaustion or Inspiration
86400 seconds a day
Hmmm, how's it going to be spent?
Difficulties are about what we care about
Our thoughts are a tool
Mind hates to be present
Evolved to keep us safe
My thoughts, my fears, my past experience
pasted to my face
Covering my eyes so they are all I can see,
While my dogs and cats
The fish the birds
they are all laughing at me.
Self is contact
Self is content
Swimming in a sea of thoughts
Emotional weather always changing
Tug of war, to and fro, trying to make the anxiety go
If I spend my 86400 seconds a day
trying to make the pain go away
No time
to live my life
"Pain is inevitable
Suffering is optional "
Showing up for my awareness
If I'm not living my life
I'm living my fear
Old life
Old values
Living the life I care about now
Compassion for others
Self compassion
Feelings and thoughts are like the weather and
The wind it just blows everywhere.
Jun 1, 2018
Jun 1, 2018 at 4:38 PM UTC
You can't see it
You can't taste it
You can't feel it
Or smell it
But it doesn't mean you
Can't sense it
Or
Know it.
A breeze of moments
A one way street
A steady river
Always the same
Always in a state of change
Only moves in one direction.
Youth and its expansion
Age and its contraction
Time swirls around us
Through us
Dragging us along
One moment taking forever
The next moment
A fading light in the distant past
No wonder of endings I think a lot.
Yesterday 10
Tomorrow 80
Seems like forever
But never really is
In stacatto bits
Of memory
Flashes
Lies
Some true
Some false
Some recovered
Some not at all.
Continuity of self and I
Until
We are
Eventually
Slipping
Into
That black hole
Of
Time
Like a galaxy
Spiraling
Down the drain...
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 12:37 PM UTC
I have the shape of the institution.
Each email address is a human.
They are known by their words and actions.
The whole wide world is just a fraction
of all I do not know. Expansion
and contraction, breathe in, out, meditation
on existence, non-existence, creation
and duration. I have no explanation
for fusion, fission, taxonomic relations
or artificial classification.
More I do not know: locomotion
by combustion, electron separation
and transportation via superconduction
which supports the idea of the unified nation.
What girls are like behind their eyes. ************
a useful restraint on overpopulation.
The story of a life, my life, any life, cohesion
must be rationed, conjured, a fiction
about a vexed, tenacious town, its rail station
truck stop, high school, night spots, recreations
the temporary citizens enact visions
dream-like orations, ballets, conflagrations
to in the end receive in annals honorable mention
from family, friends, neighbors, colleagues, institutions.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 12:11 PM UTC
Mediocre Flow (Spoken Word- Freestyle-Dramatics)
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
==Mediocre Flow ==
by
SassyJ
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
(Copy the link below to your browser)
https://soundcloud.com/user-367453778/mediocreflow
In the woods I get lost, arrays of green specked by the rays of the sun. The wind blows but its swift in measure. I get lost my body in the breeze, as the time runs faster I breath slower. Lost in the wonder of the nature. I lay it all down, the worldly desires, disused contributions… all in the mediocre flow.
The grounds feels so alive, alone but never lonely. The trees talk to me, they journey my vulnerabilities. A hug of the branches goes far beyond. The only lean over that drives me to ecstasy of …….my mediocre flow.
All done with expectations and chasing the unending mazes. We become the mistresses of the earth, arching and protracting with emotions, lotions ……looming greyed blues. Hold this packet of stars, I pass it to you to touch, to overflow in it’s magic and fantastic voyages of the. …..mediocre flow
Feel the greenness patched on the muddy grounds. Have the enliven nature of the flying bubble. See the flow of the waters, the contraction of the streams to the lakes. Touch the drops….the raindrops, nurture them as they sink below your feet. Feel the life, feel alive….. the mediocre flow
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 7:42 AM UTC
pain loves the present tense
it loves gravity so that the clouds
are turned into geological strata
sometimes I use my hands like an anaesthetic
between right and wrong the pain dillema:
to feel or not to feel (the unknown)
we discover clever remedies or illusions
quiet cannery in the storehouse of flesh
it comes in circles mixtures all kind of names
it has rythm texture electric blackness
each unshed tear an orb of contraction
compulsive excavation of the void inside
sometimes I feel I have canyons of salt in my heart
on the edges of safety so much to learn about terror
this pain is a blind Robinson on Hope island
(with his bare hands he sets pyres in his heart)
was it pain that invented this language, these holy wars?
love you, hate you, nonsense, can't stand it anymore
I know my father lied to me that he doesn't feel pain
bodies in pain can't dream the water slide of life
that might take us further away into the night of day
time to say thank you, say farewell,
love everything that simply is
it is time to
Mar 21, 2023
Mar 21, 2023 at 3:23 PM UTC
Skin
Still sensing
Still sore
From scratches
Still sensitive
To sound
Like shockwaves E D N
S N I G
Repeated
Repeated
******** ******** ******** ********
Sensations of
V I B R A T I O N
H Y D R A T I O N
Tongue torn
Sore
From tickling licking
Skin with sharp
E
D
G
E
D stubbles
Sore *******
Nipples sore from
Hardening
From bites
And from
Fingertips fondling
And sore muscles
Aching from f
l
e
x
i
n
g
Arching
Repeated contraction contraction
X
CONTROL A
M
I
L
of C
Fire
Sore sensitive
Succulents
Sore from oscillation
Provocation
Still soaked
In saps
D R
I
P
P
I
N
G
Devilish desire
The mind's eye
Sore
From mimicking
Mo ve ments
Imprinted
In memory
Driving me
MAD
I want more...
Mar 3, 2013
Mar 3, 2013 at 5:44 AM UTC
1
O' sprite full Maia, come attire our lands with your boundless prize-
Of joyful swelling by the nature's pleasing bloom,and green surprise,
To sprout a floral bedding,round the yards and shades for worthy dales;
And birds will spin their adorned bowers over the dewy boughs and vales.
2
Hail! to you goddess, deck the forest’s lingering beauty, thus come:
Let streams to flow across the thick and- bushy meadows over your prime,
For hawthorn white and lilies to bud, and converse fragrance in air,
To wind down our minds with breezes- blow,groovy lifts cool us lighter.
3
Mid mate of months, come and show your
primeval splendor and glee,
While south is praising vintager’s autumn,
North's propitious spring does fly,
And make the country lush with garden- fruits,the sweetest scents they spray,
To fill each rose with flavors long,
for all the ardent grooms they pray!
Come Glitter, glitter ***** rays-,
and sun is warm in moderate mood;
Behold! the coming of her-,
bees gathered among the newly buds
Nithin Purple from 'Halcyon Wings.'
REFERENCE:
*Maia— Greek goddess of May month
*Hawthorn—A spring-flowering shrub or small tree of the genus Crataegus.
*Vintager—A person who harvests grapes for making wine.
***** rays—Attraction of sunlight towards flowers, showing a dependency.
*Sprite—Middle English: alteration of sprit, a contraction of spirit.
Feb 8, 2017
Feb 8, 2017 at 10:13 AM UTC
The Scales are out of balance
Thanks to the alias: ******
He just couldn't face the challenge
So he went out splurgin'
That B flies Flower to Flower
Forgetting the Honey at home
She prayed for the hour
That his sins he would hold
up to, and never again roam
She, disappointed in his inaction
He, saved by her contraction
... Knives would've been flown
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 11:46 PM UTC
He gives me a premature ventricular contraction –
Simply referring to inefficient blood circulation –
Causing my heart to skip a beat on every occasion.
Ever so often thereafter, he performs a cardiectomy –
In other words, a surgical removal of the heart – on me
Through which my precious heart is stolen by my Timmy.
I still experience dyspnea – difficulty in breathing –
And my breath is taken away by he who is my Spring,
My one and only significant other and my everything.
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 7:58 AM UTC