"coo" poems
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102.9k
This Advent moon shines cold and clear,
These Advent nights are long;
Our lamps have burned year after year,
And still their flame is strong.
"Watchman, what of the night?" we cry,
Heart-sick with hope deferred:
"No speaking signs are in the sky,"
Is still the watchman's word.
The Porter watches at the gate,
The servants watch within;
The watch is long betimes and late,
The prize is slow to win.
"Watchman, what of the night?" but still
His answer sounds the same:
"No daybreak tops the utmost hill,
Nor pale our lamps of flame."
One to another hear them speak,
The patient virgins wise:
"Surely He is not far to seek,"--
"All night we watch and rise."
"The days are evil looking back,
The coming days are dim;
Yet count we not His promise slack,
But watch and wait for Him."
One with another, soul with soul,
They kindle fire from fire:
"Friends watch us who have touched the goal."
"They urge us, come up higher."
"With them shall rest our waysore feet,
With them is built our home,
With Christ." "They sweet, but He most sweet,
Sweeter than honeycomb."
There no more parting, no more pain,
The distant ones brought near,
The lost so long are found again,
Long lost but longer dear:
Eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard,
Nor heart conceived that rest,
With them our good things long deferred,
With Jesus Christ our Best.
We weep because the night is long,
We laugh, for day shall rise,
We sing a slow contented song
And knock at Paradise.
Weeping we hold Him fast Who wept
For us,--we hold Him fast;
And will not let Him go except
He bless us first or last.
Weeping we hold Him fast to-night;
We will not let Him go
Till daybreak smite our wearied sight,
And summer smite the snow:
Then figs shall bud, and dove with dove
Shall coo the livelong day;
Then He shall say, "Arise, My love,
My fair one, come away."
18k
Tiny hands barely able to hold a bottle,
now drink out of one,containing toxins.
Tiny ears that used to hear bad words and coo,
now spit them like wildfire.
Tiny mouths that would be forced to take icky medicine,
now pop pills and insert drugs into their being.
Tiny eyes looking at life as a breeze,no cares in the world,now turn into
eyes that crave attention but don’t care what we have to do to get it
We are spoiling the pure bodies we once had.
People are sleeping around,
when I remember the worst thing you could do is hand-hold.
We take the things we had as kids,
and ruin them.
We honestly take the cuteness and turn it into ...
well that's for you to decide.
You pick if your morals are guided with a compass,
or thrown away like garbage.
Who am i to judge?
But I've also learned,these days,My darling..
This is adolescence.
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 6:43 AM UTC
OPPOSITE my chamber window,
On the sunny roof, at play,
High above the city's tumult,
Flocks of doves sit day by day.
Shining necks and snowy bosoms,
Little rosy, tripping feet,
Twinkling eyes and fluttering wings,
Cooing voices, low and sweet,-
Graceful games and friendly meetings,
Do I daily watch and see.
For these happy little neighbors
Always seem at peace to be.
On my window-ledge, to lure them,
Crumbs of bread I often strew,
And, behind the curtain hiding,
Watch them flutter to and fro.
Soon they cease to fear the giver,
Quick are they to feel my love,
And my alms are freely taken
By the shyest little dove.
In soft flight, they circle downward,
Peep in through the window-pane;
Stretch their gleaming necks to greet me,
Peck and coo, and come again.
Faithful little friends and neighbors,
For no wintry wind or rain,
Household cares or airy pastimes,
Can my loving birds restrain.
Other friends forget, or linger,
But each day I surely know
That my doves will come and leave here
Little footprints in the snow.
So, they teach me the sweet lesson,
That the humblest may give
Help and hope, and in so doing,
Learn the truth by which we live;
For the heart that freely scatters
Simple charities and loves,
Lures home content, and joy, and peace,
Like a soft-winged flock of doves.
11.1k
Any insult you could throw my way
Is true.
I'm worthless in every single day
Who knew?
When I'm near children I shy away
Not coo.
And when I'm angry, terrible things I say
You'll rue.
I **** sunshine's shining rays
With blue.
About people, every waking moment pray
They'll shoo.
And every sin which others lay
I do.
So every insult thrown my way
Is undeniably true.
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 2:14 PM UTC
A - the atrocity that my life has become
D - the damage, and still, im not done
D - the denial, the doom in the vile, dangerous, daunting; forever defile
I - the image I fake of myself, I- my constant &chronic; bad health.
C- the cost of a chemical wealth.
T for the tension, paranoia and fear. Yet it’s the letter that symbols it’s here.
I - irrational, insensible, intense. I - irresistible iridescence .
O- for the option that I didn’t take, O for the others that still I forsake.
And N for nervous. Nauseous. Night. N, the neophyte, turned narcissist knight.
Transparent to everyone, how its hold is too true
So clear its invisible, Addiction did coo:
“when you wake and feel my crave,
and all my charms different behave;
resistance, strength, pain & choice,
may mute my spell, quiet my voice.”
“embrace what little light is shed” suggested addiction, faintly he said:
“For I can **** the best man dead,
with only shadows in their head.”
Apr 9, 2017
Apr 9, 2017 at 1:01 AM UTC
Standing in the sand, smelling salty waters,
Of the Caribbean seas, through the cold vibrant breeze.
Watching all the tall, happy, swaying coco nut trees,
And when you sniffle a little of the bake and shark it makes you want to sneeze.
Then take a walk in our rivers and cook up a curry *** or stew,
With fish coo coo and a little calla-loo.
and you take a bite and you taste buds and glands spring water of the delicious flavors that makes you say mhmmm.
Afterwards you can visit the reefs and see the dancing colors of the under water reefs,
Of the Caribbean seas, where I'm from and would always love to be.
But tho forget, it's Carnival time so come in your costumes and with your coolers because you're coming out to fete,
And tho forget, when you step out on "D" road of jouvert morning until night listen to the Soca music,
And let it rap you up and run through your ears with melodies that will make you want to bep.
Oh yes the Caribbean dream, where every man's a king and every woman's a queen.
Feb 14, 2018
Feb 14, 2018 at 3:21 PM UTC
Daddy takes me to the greenhouse,
behind our rotted trailer, deep in sovereign backwoods.
Marsh voices, thick like tupelo honey.
The coo of a loon, hiss of a cottonmouth, shiver of a snapping turtle.
The silver of swamp lilies lip the land in wild haze,
a veil of ochre moss tickles my nose like gauzey ginger ale
and soil clings to my ankles like a lonesome hound.
Daddy’s greenhouse is a shed, a haven.
A milieu of magic and fleur-de-cannabis
where pixies pull my curls and gnomes dance
under mushroom parasols.
My hands dip into a hollow of muddy earthworms.
I feel akin to the yellow blood of a butterfly
or pale jade of perplexing geckos.
Daddy is a shaman.
He trims holy blooms that come from spirits
who sing in the wind like the whippoorwill at dusk.
Snipping sticky bushels, he pads tufts into his pipe,
carved in the shape of a sullen armadillo.
I watch him inhale.
His breath
stiff
as a braid of mangroves.
He exhales a ligneous cough.
I don’t mind,
much.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 3:18 PM UTC
kisses on your warm sweet mouth
tender lips caressed
exploring your ******* and raised ******* ..
belly and thighs enveloped
those eager dark delicious places that i covet so
your musk erogenous
the path to your hungry soul
eater of the poison apple
your eyes widen bright with delight
a strange synesthesia you say
your smile a hypnotic alter
you prone
back arched
belly willing
as i drag a curved blade slowly across your winsome flesh
worshiping you
breathing your warm breath into my mouth and nostrils
come now
you coo
i am sheildless
then little strangles that excite
to see how you do
will you love it
adorations twisted mind
she demon
a wizened dizzy Venus
please yes
her **** drenches the bed
a warm viscosity
legs widen
feet piqued
*****
exotic delicatessen
Heralded
i enter with long sweet butter strokes
the sabbath of desire
I swear
i wont let you suffer...
never !
why you say?
because i love you
lovely scythe you call
as if lulled to sleep
whispering dreadful incantations .
i ache to close the curtain
to lifes scalding chatter
wrap me
in a raggy shawl
impale the throat
like ive alway dreamed
a last exhalation
flood gates pour forth
as deaths dark fold
dissolves all
i rock you drugged
absinthe and wormwood
a last ***** of candles flame
white gauze cinched
lips on a lost mouth
eyes a static pyre
i linger
wishing you still plush
an animated glow
so that i could feel your arms,
now milky white relics
only to take you all over again and again and again
dreamer of the abyss
yet you stand
aberrations, smoke ghost
sacrificially swaying your hips
calling from Hades
dancer of ritual copulation
i melt like wax in the sun
wither
and die myself
marriage Italian style
dead bells in love
blotted out by the Sirens of Mara
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 4:45 PM UTC
My eyes bleed with exhaustion.
My thoughts are fuzzy like my brain is stuffed with styrofoam.
My body sinks into the ugly carpet floor of my basement.
My mouth tastes sour with the flavor of an unslept soul.
I lie here writing instead of sleeping because it feels like the only thing I can do well, consciously.
My back aches with an elders pain at late seventeen.
I crave the warm embrace of my bed but am too stuck like sap to move.
I'm rambling here in my brain instead of resting my frigid existence.
My thoughts are slow and choppy now with the hesitation of drifty words.
My rusted, chipping ears hear nothing but silence and a distant coo-coo clock.
The chirps of a bird only found in my dark, dusty insanity.
The world weighs upon children such as these in a universe such as this.
I'm just, tired. Tired...
~S.C. Kelley
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 2:01 AM UTC
Laced with ribbons of moonlight
Bangladesh a touched dream at first light.
Land of my father, my mother
sweeter than nectar.
Purer than the driven snow
brighter than raw gold.
Gazing stars’ bumped up bottom
down the untouched moon.
Men and the six seasons
living in one loving fold
our one fertile sweet home!
O Allah rank our martyrs our heroes
up high in paradise in bloom
brought Bangladesh freedom abloom!
Punters cumulus clouds fly
eyes on the sky blue
on a spur hanging low tune into wild coo.
Picture independent Bangladesh
step in on the morning rug
rolls out outside the sun
walk through, the moon is inside!
Bask in, take your time
when the twilight adds a shadow
the beauty spot on your broad daylight
escape to more serendipitous discovery.
Eye on the stars or tuberoses on the ground
our free land is inspiring, beautiful even in the dark.
Laughs free from a tulip glass
across the land, air and the water
upon the reed flute stirred river
flowing downstream to the hilt
from a deep-delved foundation out of reach
her raised high flag flies
over the pivotal banyan trees.
Every flap of our ‘the sun in the green’ shaped flag,
the light of heaven on the evergreen earth!
Ah, sways in the chalice of every flower
on the land cheers beyond the warm South
whispers to our hearts and makes us feel proud.
Mar 1, 2022
Mar 1, 2022 at 10:14 PM UTC
The skin of your shoulders,
the skin of my teeth,
tripping tips of fingers,
eyes retreat and re-meet.
We made a mess
of your hair, sweet Lioness,
you grappled and tore,
bit, I kept it to a dull roar.
You, you did coo,
as I saw nothing through,
coos for crooning,
surreal, surreal, surreal.
Excite the hunter,
excite the huntress,
as we take turns playing the prey.
Levitate the weight,
paw at my soul,
I lick your sores,
and beautify the remains.
We made a mess
of your hair, sweet Lioness,
returned and renewed
a sense of pulse, a sense of the thrill.
You claim me again and again,
claw into me, spilling my demons,
whispers smoke, chaotic melody.
An overgrown field of sheets
laid flat,
no question, no success or distraction,
panting, panting, panting.
Sep 6, 2010
Sep 6, 2010 at 9:06 PM UTC
****** me. Yes you, You
reading this poem, this plea.
Come take me, fill my senses with
sights and sounds and smells
Come hear me moan
hear me coo
See my blood quickened pulse
throb as you stand close
****** the whole of me
nibble at me, caress me, taste me
honey sweet I lie at your feet
I no longer want to be an ingénue
I want to be reborn, seduced by you
Crush your lips to mine
Crash into me
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 2:27 PM UTC
You’re frightened but, there is no need for fear.
Your eyes are barely open.
Your vision is blurred beneath your thickened lashes.
Blinded, you are.
Hazed, you are.
Sick, you are.
Lying on the minted tile floor,
back arched and your cheek pressed to a faded rug,
you roll on your side.
Tilting your head up, you moan.
The vicious pulse begins pounding your wounded head.
You roll again on your shrunken stomach,
bubbling over with an ocean of alcohol.
You drag your eyes up to the piercing light above you.
Adjusting yourself slowly,
your hands fumble for the floor beneath you.
The muscles in your arm strain as you push yourself to sit.
No strength.
The stained bathtub provides something stable to grasp.
Smeared makeup.
Hair stuck to your hollow face.
Memories scattering in the wind outside.
More pounding, but this time it isn’t in your head.
It’s booming outside the door.
Screaming and movement is caving in on you,
suffocating you.
Who’s outside?
What’s outside?
"It's okay”, he says “You’re fine now.”
You turn and stare.
How long has he been here?
He’s been watching you the entire time.
He knows something.
He’s done something to you.
That’s why your in this frightening room below the ground.
He stands and walks towards you.
You must stay strong.
Don’t flinch.
No weakness.
A gentle arm glides just under your leg
and the other behind your waist.
He lifts you up and a small whimper escapes your lips.
There’s pain.
He carries you into a familiar room through another door.
The pounding from outside grows softer.
Shoulders relax.
Forehead cools.
Sleepiness comes.
He sits on the bed with you in his lap.
Suddenly your alertness fades and you feel comforted.
“How much did you drink?” He asks timidly.
You lean your head back.
Funny.
“Just a little”,
your words slur from your swollen tongue.
You start to giggle.
Arms begin to sweat.
Stomach tightens.
Puke.
Tears.
Hushed.
“Shh now. You’re fine. It’s alright. Breathe. Breathe.”, He coo's
and slowly strokes your spine.
Tensions released.
He stands and walks to the door.
“No! Come back!”, You cry.
He’s leaving.
Why?
You reach your hand out,
like a child,
but draw it back quickly.
“Haven’t I always come back? This time is no different.”
Only a second passes and you’re out.
Not all the way.
Eyes closed.
A window opens.
The fan goes on.
A blanket covers you.
He’s there.
Jun 4, 2012
Jun 4, 2012 at 9:15 PM UTC
There is a place in Colombia
where kids have proven
they can educate themselves better than you can.
In the midst of a world we have labelled
"developing"
children of farmers who don't know English
(but are better citizens anyway)
are kicking our superior *****
There's talk of bringing the method here
where, no doubt, it will be standardized
(all the better to fit into a single test)
and forced down our children's throats
while we coo
God Bless America!
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 5:01 PM UTC
Come and hide from them tonight
They come for your blood, keep out of sight
They coming looking for victims, seeking a neck
They will find you and feed when they peck
The vampire pigeons are going coo coo coo
The vampire pigeons are coming after you
Oh no, be so quiet, because they are here
I can see them bobbing and I feel fear
Blood red feathers and they show their crest
They are here to feed then escape to the nest
The vampire pigeons are going coo coo coo
The vampire pigeons are coming after you
What can we do? there is no where to go
Can anything ever stop this evil foe
But at last we are safe, I never thought of that
They are fleeing, they are running from the cat
The vampire pigeons are going coo coo coo
The vampire pigeons are coming after you
Feb 14, 2010
Feb 14, 2010 at 4:15 AM UTC
Little ****** blighter unsightful
Strut on the pavement cement
Droppings like rain
Feathers rough and unclean
Yuck they coo
They never seem new
Yet we know that they
Die too.
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 10:04 AM UTC
i live in a ******** so boring tractors roam the streets in the usual
traffic,
but i found that you can wizen up to a title of wizard
by finding inanimate things entertaining and thought provoking,
because the internet will not become
the next scapegoat of goldfish memory - not the next
box of entertainment - it will be what god’s green earth indented.
out here, where you’re far from trafalgar sq. you
get crows circling back to the origin of the woods with odin on the lyre
venting out against too much pigeon **** coo coo of the attired men and women marking karma with the no. 13 and being ******* on from on high,
you get seagulls, even, seagulls so far into dry land... imagine!
and you get the autistic zoning in of the cat’s eye,
those cats are very autistic, their eyes tell the sad sad story
of encapsulated solipsism - snap your fingers or meow
and they look at you passing you looking at some randomised
point of entering their sleeping pattern - very autistic those cats,
they look at you almost cross-eyed when you try to snap them out of it -
out of it being: ****** off at being awake.
very autistic those cats, those cats are very autistic, they look
at you looking past you, looking almost cross-eyed -
don’t blame me for the zigzag or the w!
so as i said, it’s so boring where i live you see tractors and crows,
and the only solidification of your presence is either provided for
by an addiction to television eager for the flicker -
or drinking... watching bricks, thinking bits and bobs out
for the torrent of slavic plumbers building the great ****** of london.
lo... upon the yonder... there it blooms *******
i like places where trees tower over man's handing man brick on brick -
makes the sky a bit bigger and less asthmatic.
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 10:29 AM UTC
I want to possess you.
I want the quivering of your throne,
The trembling of your bones underneath me.
I want beautiful blood to bleed for me.
Reach for me from your place _beneath_ me.
Between my fingers
I want to feel the struggling breaths of your heart,
Pinched veins in your throat,
And your whimper like a sweet ****
In the dark...the dark.
The dark in my selfish eyes match the night.
The coo in my voice tells you it's fine...
Bruises ruin ruined skin,
I make you mine.
Thin nails along your jaw,
Devil's claw.
Say it now, say it raw:
You are mine.
Never let another come near,
Nor touch you, taste you.
Raging jealousy, I fear.
You are my pet who speaks when I say, my dear.
On the scent of musk, a predator's lust;
I must admit unsettling crime:
I'm tired of watching...
I'll make you mine.
Now beg for me.
Rope 'round your wrists,
Under my control.
You are darling like this.
Teeth leave starved greedy marks,
Labored torn lips and fingertips
Where the sweat pools in the dark...
The dark.
Apr 20, 2018
Apr 20, 2018 at 8:15 PM UTC
I’m in love with a ghost,
a suitor of my shadow.
I ache in search of him,
yet the floorboard creaks
In the dark of night
are merely my soul
wandering down my a mum hallway
My sorrows coo my exhausted mind,
casting a spell of sleep
upon my glistening eyes.
My shadow creeps out from under
the crack of my door-
the door that keeps my demons
within four walls.
My shadow, the phantom of my desires
chases them into eternity.
Even when these old bones break,
this skin turns blue,
these eyes roll back into
the depths of my mind…
My shadow will roam
until The End
Oct 24, 2017
Oct 24, 2017 at 6:24 PM UTC
The Riot Began on a Sunday Evening
My dearest kin, how deceiving
shout, scream, taunt
Shout. Scream. Taunt.
SHOUT! SCREAM! TAUNT!
Ablaze with yells
Bank money, In-laws from hell
Little draw-backs, taxes of life
It kills them, it murders every night.
It grew and grew
Drizzle to Hurricane
Dazed, bruised embrace
I, myself, a teenage girl of sixteen,
I remained curled in the comforter, cotton was my security.
Laying down by the side of shadow
I whimper and wonder
My tiny boy, my tiny love,
He remains as lonely as I
The bedroom is far from escape
I may be used to walking the desert alone
But my little love, he remains unknown.
And for that first night, millionth life,
I rise.
My movement ripples nothing
But my conscience gaping
Death mission death mission death mission
I refuse to sink.
Pitter patter against the stony floor
My footsteps whisper, but they do not stir.
My dearest kin, how deceiving...
I slip into his life, desiring to sooth his mind
"My love, my love," I coo.
He responds without further ado.
"Geetika?"
I desire a cry when I hear this soft, soft, kitten-like
My boy, my boy, my boy.
I prepare to face PTSD
But all I face is a dream within a nightmare.
"Did you know I got thousand points on fruit ninja this evening?"
I blink.
And blink.
He hasn't noticed a single thing!
They say his specialty is his curse
But I am thanful,
Because he has not heard!
My boy, my boy!
He remains oblivious
My dreamer, my dreamer!
Out of touch of reality,
My little baby.
Numbers and points and games engulf his mind
So consumed
So unaware
But I AM SO THANKFUL!
He hadn't noticed a single thing, my boy my boy, my dreamer...
Jul 5, 2012
Jul 5, 2012 at 4:35 AM UTC
We're mostly gregarious and polite,
Like most of you.
We too have our diplomatic trips 'n bumps;
We never cozied to Dicky;
But welcomed ex-pat refugees
For safe and sound reasons.
After the jimmy-rigging, how many re-pated?
And we gagged on the impeachables, all fuzzy and bitter.
He called the father *that ******* in Ottawa;*
And Pierre wore that moniker like The Order of Canada.
When you're not liked by one, you're a dove.
You should visit CANDU.wow
It has it all.
How is Supreme Leader managing?
Are his...
Are my people... sitting at attention.
We could real news a bomb a la Kim Jong,
Or flip a stone down at Port Huron.
We won't.
But we could if we weren't
The Great White North, so accommodating, so polite,
So Coo loo coo coo coo coo coo cooo! nice...
(for now)
Jun 18, 2018
Jun 18, 2018 at 11:27 AM UTC
Sleepy daze
Lilac light
Bright
In Deaths Valley where purple petals and purple lips
Part at the touch of His skeleton key finger
That turn chests wide open
To release souls from their broken captors
Dissipate
Not even a firework show for good effort
Eyes wide open and I see everything you can’t seem to say with purple lips so cold and frightened
There’s a thousand white dots and a thousand sound layers beneath the color
Endless
The red veins floating amidst your token bad eye staring straight into the ceiling fan
As if it’s going to lift you up, spin your brain
And attempt to unjumble the jigsaw puzzle of different words and phrases and opinions
That pollute you
Uproot what you’ve known to be true
Since your slate was paved
Since your fingers touched the invisible air
Of unwritten possibility
The wall is grey
The lilac sits on your chest
Its purple and I’m as blue as the deepest corner of the skies rocket ship neck
That crevice fingers pet to coo goosebumps out from their nervous cells
Where I’m hidden
And quiet quiet quiet
Don’t part your purple lips
I’m hidden
Your fingers graze the bed
Like it’s planning on plotting seeds
That will hopefully grow
And I’m alive I’m a life I’m enlightened
I’m not growing you said
I’m crooked you said
I’m not well rested you said
And the lilac sits alone in your bedside garden
Where no other plants dare to sprout
And your hands turn into stray roots
That weigh heavy like limp corn stalks
Frayed at the edges as they approach your ghastly cemetery
And all I can say is I’m sorry
Futile words from purple lips that Death doesn’t silence but caresses
With his skeleton key finger
Pursing them into a tight grip
That lets you know but doesn’t let you go
I’m sorry
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 8:40 PM UTC
We're out at a bar splitting a good night of cheers
Drinks and laughter flowing among peers
Double shots dance around the table
Tonight's the moment, tomorrow's a fable
We garnish the laughter with Halloween
What's your costume, how do you swing
A chorus of "I'll dress up as a cowboy"
Is met by a few rolling eyes, "I'll address their convoy"
Not to be excluded is the gay guy in back that chimes in
And competes with the rolling eyes, cowboys are mine
Laughter of reveries spills faster than the drinks
A 80's song, When Doves Cry, continues to play over the links
A women crashes the party and exhorts the group
Come on guys put your wings on, fly the coup
Halloween's around the corner, make a splash, make waves
Find your muse with a costume that stands up, and raves
Look out to the horizon, the rarefied air, and trick for treats
Find my tunnel of love with a costume that beats
After a pause, a coy smile surface on rolling eye's lip
Oh Melville come with me, come with me, and take a dip
Double shots dance around the table
Logan Robertson
10/19/17
Oct 19, 2017
Oct 19, 2017 at 3:26 PM UTC