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"delves" poems
There's a certain condition known as losing connection involving people, places and things of strong affection. The phenomenon is marked by one or two parting to separate ways and a feeling of disconnection is experienced highlighting the days. Where the people concerned, in the past, were once close together, are all now, due to a lack of communication, more apart than ever. Once good friends, close relatives, associates and even lovers have all fallen victim to the malady of estrangement as others. We should never underestimate the effect of the passage of time especially when augmented with distance that determines clime. In this case the distance between the minds and hearts of all those who have so drifted apart from each other no longer holding the same view. It may also be a case where people have outgrown or transcended themselves and do not identify any more with what was once regarded as familiar delves. The vicissitudes of life can also be a major cause and often very decisive factor where on the stage of this world one assumes or takes the role of a different actor. Who knows to what degree a situation can change or influence the course of events and leaves those alienated, that were once close together, now with different intents. Another very obvious aspect is the physical departure because of death of all those who, in this life, virtually shared the same space and breath. It has also been written that, the soul of a person gone, sometimes tries to revive or contact those whom it had most connection with while it was physically alive. The same can be said of some of those who are still in their earthly ****** form and cannot cope without the assurance or connection that before was the norm. __________________________________
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Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 4:33 PM UTC
On Losing Connection
There's a certain condition known as losing connection involving people, places and things of strong affection. The phenomenon is marked by one or two parting to separate ways and a feeling of disconnection is experienced highlighting the days. Where the people concerned, in the past, were once close together, are all now, due to a lack of communication, more apart than ever. Once good friends, close relatives, associates and even lovers have all fallen victim to the malady of estrangement as others. We should never underestimate the effect of the passage of time especially when augmented with distance that determines clime. In this case the distance between the minds and hearts of all those who have so drifted apart from each other no longer holding the same view. It may also be a case where people have outgrown or transcended themselves and do not identify any more with what was once regarded as familiar delves. The vicissitudes of life can also be a major cause and often very decisive factor where on the stage of this world one assumes or takes the role of a different actor. Who knows to what degree a situation can change or influence the course of events and leaves those alienated, that were once close together, now with different intents. Another very obvious aspect is the physical departure because of death of all those who, in this life, virtually shared the same space and breath. It has also been written that, the soul of a person gone, sometimes tries to revive or contact those whom it had most connection with while it was physically alive. The same can be said of some of those who are still in their earthly ****** form and cannot cope without the assurance or connection that before was the norm. __________________________________
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25
They're feverish with desire Eclipsed in love Raging like a black smoke fire ****** scents rising above The pheromones they release Must be smelled miles away They've missed this, the tease And liquid glances, it's been days Since, either have touched the other But they still feel that ****** tension On every inch of their skin When they're finally away from prying eyes Their lips mesh, his hands move to her thighs And hers slide up through his hair Gripping on tight They could be spotted, but neither cares He pushes her hard against the wall Bringing her legs around his hips She thanks heaven she wore a skirt And quiets a moan by devouring his lips He quickly, fervently unzips his jeans Releasing himself and promptly Entering her sweet, wet heat He groans as he swallows her scream Then pounds in hard, fast, ferociously She rocks her hips with a delicious little motion Squeezing her core tight, biting his lips Coming almost instantly when he growls with delight He thrusts harder, incessantly feeling her getting tight Moving her ankles to rest on his shoulders He delves his shaft as deep inside as he can reach She scratches scars along his back And they kiss so deep like it's the final feast She throbs in her core as another wave hits at full force Starts going weak as she comes once more Feeling her liquid pour, brings him to the edge He grips her ankles stretching the limits of her flexibility Then roars into her sweet mouth as he comes, vigorously He lets her legs go, but holds her upright They both sigh knowing it's the beginning of the night, And that was just a quickie
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Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 3:18 PM UTC
Quickie **** Sunday)
They're feverish with desire Eclipsed in love Raging like a black smoke fire ****** scents rising above The pheromones they release Must be smelled miles away They've missed this, the tease And liquid glances, it's been days Since, either have touched the other But they still feel that ****** tension On every inch of their skin When they're finally away from prying eyes Their lips mesh, his hands move to her thighs And hers slide up through his hair Gripping on tight They could be spotted, but neither cares He pushes her hard against the wall Bringing her legs around his hips She thanks heaven she wore a skirt And quiets a moan by devouring his lips He quickly, fervently unzips his jeans Releasing himself and promptly Entering her sweet, wet heat He groans as he swallows her scream Then pounds in hard, fast, ferociously She rocks her hips with a delicious little motion Squeezing her core tight, biting his lips Coming almost instantly when he growls with delight He thrusts harder, incessantly feeling her getting tight Moving her ankles to rest on his shoulders He delves his shaft as deep inside as he can reach She scratches scars along his back And they kiss so deep like it's the final feast She throbs in her core as another wave hits at full force Starts going weak as she comes once more Feeling her liquid pour, brings him to the edge He grips her ankles stretching the limits of her flexibility Then roars into her sweet mouth as he comes, vigorously He lets her legs go, but holds her upright They both sigh knowing it's the beginning of the night, And that was just a quickie
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41
POETRY PSYCHOLOGY Delves into the deepest realms inside of me It opens my mind Makes me see Life, good and bad All meant to be Write those poems If it eases the pains It will lead onto the next terrain Give Peace to sustain POETRY PSYCHOLOGY
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Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 8:31 AM UTC
POETRY PSYCHOLOGY
If love is pain and pain is pleasure, Then these bruises she shall use as, your affection measure. To visualise love, To feel your feelings, To sense it as her wounds are healing. Seeing, hearing, Following Your scent, To know just what it represents. She’ll take the leap, relinquish control As further she delves down your rabbit hole. Enjoy the journey but were’s the destination? Your marks, your love? The correlation?!! Some want to hurt, some want to bleed. To watch the inner anguish freed. A world, a life, A religious order? His canes the relics to to this mental disorder. See external pain, is internal anaesthetic, His marks she believes to be truly stigmatic.
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Aug 2, 2016
Aug 2, 2016 at 6:56 AM UTC
Stigmatic
Curve soft, silky, chills Swell, taut, protrudes, aches Tunnel, tight, hot, wet Nub, hard, throbbing, spasms Petals, flushed, swollen, moist Well, soft, slick, hugging Tube, hangs, soft, wrinkled Bags, sway, firm, sensitive Rosebud, closed, but opens Pillows, press, linger, invoke Pearls, grip, burn, mark Velvet, glides, trails, excites Swell, is twisted, pulled, pinched Petals part, exposing the nub Nub, rubbed, licked, ****** Tube delves into the tunnel Pistoning as friction builds Stands, hard, smooth Hard smooth enters rosebud Pushes, prods, breaksthrough Screams, pants, moans Velvet enters well, circles, exciting Pressure builds, senses heighten Ice chills turn to fire to volcanic Ohhhs, ahhhs, turns to moans Turns to gasps, and whimpers Cries, screams that cresendo Nectar explodes to honey that drips Lava thick spews deep Mixture like cream paints the walls Tangled, exhausted Sweat, essence Dreams, snores
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Jul 18, 2010
Jul 18, 2010 at 6:14 AM UTC
Cryptic
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end; Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Nativity once in the main of light, Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crowned, Crookèd eclipses ‘gainst his glory fight, And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth, And delves the parallels in beauty’s brow, Feeds on the rarities of nature’s truth, And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow. And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand, Praising thy worth despite his cruel hand.
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2.9k
Sonnet 060: Like As The Waves Make Towards The Pebbled Shore
I want to know you The way a meandering river peruses the Earth As it twists endlessly toward the sea, Touching everything it can, Yet in no hurry to arrive. Whisper to me just how you want to feel, the way The ocean exposes all the secrets Of the universe, one by one, with Each crashing wave onto white sand. Just speak to me how you like to laugh, like The ebullient summer's downpours joke with kids And parents alike as they puddle together with glee, Splashing through eternity. Call out to me how you desire love, just as a Waterfall delves deep down into the pool, creating a rainbow, continuing its unending journey, rushing sometimes, but often, simply enjoying the rhythm of its perpetual renewal, coming again as a comfortable river.
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Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 11:31 PM UTC
Untitled
he laid hands and lips upon canvas of aching nakedness igniting... wanton hunger; pressing into my palate; fingers painting tender curlicues with subtle strokes tracing... each line and curve, tongued with passions ink as climactic quivers, pause; nipping as I ebb and flow... he rides in cresting waves, teased, seduction blankets our embrace; firmness delves deep...as breath escapes us scarlet lace lays puddled at our feet
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Jun 29, 2012
Jun 29, 2012 at 1:45 AM UTC
Scarlet Laced Seduction
The vane on Hughley steeple Veers bright, a far-known sign, And there lie Hughley people, And there lie friends of mine. Tall in their midst the tower Divides the shade and sun, And the clock strikes the hour And tells the time to none. To south the headstones cluster, The sunny mounds lie thick; The dead are more in muster At Hughley than the quick. North, for a soon-told number, Chill graves the sexton delves, And steeple-shadowed slumber The slayers of themselves. To north, to south, lie parted, With Hughley tower above, The kind, the single-hearted, The lads I used to love. And, south or north, 'tis only A choice of friends one knows, And I shall ne'er be lonely Asleep with these or those.
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2.7k
Hughley Steeple
It's warm here, not just hot, burning, I think, my stomache feels, turning. How do I get out, where, why, does no one else care? My head is glowing, fingers dripping sweat. My intestines are tripping over all and themselves. Deeper and deeper, as if this fire delves a way inside my body, spreading like disease, like virus, like epidemic forces combining us to fight. These short moments brought back sight to those who lost it, those scared at night. But it will pass soon enough.
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Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 2:38 PM UTC
Ebola
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, follow your dreams or they will<3 fed up on the revolt of the real locked myself behind the dreamy doors to an an evermore of a seal I seek you on the delves of the stormy spaces it's like a universe I called came back with answers to shock faces your name I heart you speak and led lights illuminate it sparked on my heart when duty calls I fade in -------ravenfeels
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Apr 23, 2021
Apr 23, 2021 at 6:14 PM UTC
Awake Awoke Awoken
A tantalized spirit Delves into my spine It dictates my breathing, It quickens my saunter I see filth in my mind, In my decaying lungs, On the palms of my hands Muck where virtue once resided Virtue untainted by original sin “O’ God free me” No reply The spirit seizes each prayer If the spirit within should perish Or plague babes hereafter It is negligible For every breast carries putrid milk Every infant grows And matures into a gruesome sight Every wave peaks And culminates Every day passes Every harmonious sound shall cease
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Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 6:51 PM UTC
Repetition
I'm part of people I have known And they are part of me; The seeds of thought that I have sown In other minds I see. There's something of me in the throne And in the gallows tree. There's something of me in each one With whom I work and play, For islanded there can be none In this dynamic day; And meshed with me perchance may be A ***** in Cathay. There's me in you and you in me, For deeply in us delves Such common thought that never we Can call ourselves ourselves. In coils of universal fate No man is isolate. For you and I are History, The all that ever was; And woven in the tapestry Of everlasting laws, Persist will we in Time to be, Forever you and me.
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1.9k
You And Me
From my new book, Poems of Ancient Rome and Greece, available in paperback on Amazon and Barnes & Noble, as well as eBook on Kindle, Nook, and Apple Books:  https://www.amazon.com/Poems-Ancient-Greece-Christopher-Saitta/dp/B0DS6933HB?ref_=ast_author_dp   My mother the sea, She woke my sandy eyes, Just to tell me she had to leave, Draw past the markets where the fish are sun-dried, Snarled by the coral-rough hands of divers deep. My mother the sea, She left her running tab Of the grocer’s choicest greens, Thumbed the velamentous rinds and spiny scarola, Her xylem and phloem are the slow moving cruciferousness of a breeze. My mother the sea, Charwoman of tides, Who dips and delves upon her knees, Who scrubs her brothel-coves with chamber lye, Cyprian mistress of the salt-stained sheets. I have looked for you, mother, A scugnizzo amid the striped awnings of the marketplace ~ like sails to the sky ~ Where the fishmongers hawk their pride Of conch, cavallo, and black sea bream. I have looked for you, mother, Walked sun-forged along the boardwalk, Amid the neon-mascara of signs, Hand-in-hand with only the ladyfingers of salt and vinegar fries, Toward the crisp syllabub of pebbles and sand. A beach is window-warmth spread free, cosmopolitan, The longeur of eyes crushed in the glass-dust of cities. And in the sputtering of the frosted spume of tides, Held broken seashells in my hands like broken needles, Heard the pump-click of the ventilator through your mask of sand. My mother the sea, A naked convalescent, Whose ever-turnings have taken A turn for the worse. Who will know her by her death, who but me?
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Jan 21, 2025
Jan 21, 2025 at 8:29 AM UTC
My Mother, the Sea
From my new book, Poems of Ancient Rome and Greece, available in paperback on Amazon and Barnes & Noble, as well as eBook on Kindle, Nook, and Apple Books:  https://www.amazon.com/Poems-Ancient-Greece-Christopher-Saitta/dp/B0DS6933HB?ref_=ast_author_dp   My mother the sea, She woke my sandy eyes, Just to tell me she had to leave, Draw past the markets where the fish are sun-dried, Snarled by the coral-rough hands of divers deep. My mother the sea, She left her running tab Of the grocer’s choicest greens, Thumbed the velamentous rinds and spiny scarola, Her xylem and phloem are the slow moving cruciferousness of a breeze. My mother the sea, Charwoman of tides, Who dips and delves upon her knees, Who scrubs her brothel-coves with chamber lye, Cyprian mistress of the salt-stained sheets. I have looked for you, mother, A scugnizzo amid the striped awnings of the marketplace ~ like sails to the sky ~ Where the fishmongers hawk their pride Of conch, cavallo, and black sea bream. I have looked for you, mother, Walked sun-forged along the boardwalk, Amid the neon-mascara of signs, Hand-in-hand with only the ladyfingers of salt and vinegar fries, Toward the crisp syllabub of pebbles and sand. A beach is window-warmth spread free, cosmopolitan, The longeur of eyes crushed in the glass-dust of cities. And in the sputtering of the frosted spume of tides, Held broken seashells in my hands like broken needles, Heard the pump-click of the ventilator through your mask of sand. My mother the sea, A naked convalescent, Whose ever-turnings have taken A turn for the worse. Who will know her by her death, who but me?
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36
You dreamed it once The slow bend in the road Past which the world delves Into the realm of the unreal Unrealised futures selves That are as material as Anything will ever be In this stretch of land Between here and infinity Where a million bonded yous Could be living in flawed Synchrony, a dissonance of Possible lives you will never see Even now at the precipice Of all that waits to come The time it takes for a hum To bloom into the vibration Of a body growing wings Is that step that lays down The brick for the next Two feet never together On the same square inch of ground There lies the sound of cracking shells A chrysalis to which you are bound By birth, where inside you lay the Stones of the inverted pyramid With each clean bone leading Cleanly to the edge, the rising temple Held up by the apex of the roof Long before belief has penetrated The invisible heart of the root
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May 9, 2021
May 9, 2021 at 5:54 AM UTC
Latency
**At first light I made a gift of coffee it’s aroma stirred just one long leg I lifted her naked into the wet warmth to bathe awake and wash long hair carrying her towelled wrapped form bowed lips now sip then fight me as I dress her in jeans, socks and top beauty made calm and simple Drunk sad at her leaving party keeping her warm I had let Lust sleep now still lolling in grief for dark peace my selfish need drags her ****** up into light trapped by the green valley walking on along its grass path the canoed river spits past a-whirl rediscovering the torn through pocket her hand delves questioning to withdraw unhurried, stroked by a flicking fishing rod Recovered now leading me over the bridge above the Boat then on up the steep valley side we arrive at the Ostrich for beer then to dine on fish in the open feeding and sharing her lips we consider audaciously the little garden’s potential she hums prayer murmurings pleased by the moment On into the nearby woods high above the Kings trail to slowly descend hedged paths we return to the river valley slipping between shop doors lifting a book we idle along a new couple enjoying life taking tea under waterfalls back  besides the Boat where her beauty is now Queen She leads me smiling by the hand along both banks in the setting sun till we near the Abbey's stone ribs skipping around it's green shadows a bank helps us to vault within Fenced alone ignoring distant figures jeans and top colour the darkening lawns beckoning me closer Lust now sits astride   the grass and stone an open ****** grin A week only, no more I am left alone in her bed on this smaller island she ashore in another busy - separated by a day we talk lovers spells and write away our hopes Three months and two days a call **** you we were.... pregnant” her sacrifice ours on a stainless alter of that new god Career** .
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May 12, 2010
May 12, 2010 at 2:45 AM UTC
One long day in a Welsh Valley - a lustful romance
**At first light I made a gift of coffee it’s aroma stirred just one long leg I lifted her naked into the wet warmth to bathe awake and wash long hair carrying her towelled wrapped form bowed lips now sip then fight me as I dress her in jeans, socks and top beauty made calm and simple Drunk sad at her leaving party keeping her warm I had let Lust sleep now still lolling in grief for dark peace my selfish need drags her ****** up into light trapped by the green valley walking on along its grass path the canoed river spits past a-whirl rediscovering the torn through pocket her hand delves questioning to withdraw unhurried, stroked by a flicking fishing rod Recovered now leading me over the bridge above the Boat then on up the steep valley side we arrive at the Ostrich for beer then to dine on fish in the open feeding and sharing her lips we consider audaciously the little garden’s potential she hums prayer murmurings pleased by the moment On into the nearby woods high above the Kings trail to slowly descend hedged paths we return to the river valley slipping between shop doors lifting a book we idle along a new couple enjoying life taking tea under waterfalls back  besides the Boat where her beauty is now Queen She leads me smiling by the hand along both banks in the setting sun till we near the Abbey's stone ribs skipping around it's green shadows a bank helps us to vault within Fenced alone ignoring distant figures jeans and top colour the darkening lawns beckoning me closer Lust now sits astride   the grass and stone an open ****** grin A week only, no more I am left alone in her bed on this smaller island she ashore in another busy - separated by a day we talk lovers spells and write away our hopes Three months and two days a call **** you we were.... pregnant” her sacrifice ours on a stainless alter of that new god Career** .
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65
The further she strides from me, the stronger my desire to die becomes. The further she cares for me, the stronger my regret becomes. The further she leaves me, the stronger I welcome my knife into my lungs. *The more I want to die, The more I consider her, The more I think of her, The more I want to live.* The further she is from me, the stronger my feelings of harm becomes. The further she distances from me, the stronger my loneliness becomes, The further she thinks of my, the stronger my guilt becomes. *For if I die, How long will she cry? Will she believe it a lie? She will want to die, I pray this falsify.* The further she strides from me, the stronger my desire to die becomes. The further she cares for me, the stronger my regret becomes. The further she leaves me, the stronger I welcome my knife into my lungs. *The more I want to die, The closer she draws to me, The closer she is to me, The less I want to die.* The further she is from me, the stronger my crave for she becomes. The further she delves into me, the stronger my desire to breath becomes. The further she surrounds me, the stronger my will becomes. Because, *I wake for her, I dress for her, I run for her, I eat for her, I breath for her, I sing for her, I live for her.* But the further she walks away from me...
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Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 4:58 PM UTC
...The Harder It Becomes.
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, what is worse than shame? HUMILIATION:\ rumors fly up in the high in the above in my ears in my skies get my squirms of death into the rays of the red dies and the humiliate in the tides shed the tears in silence I fear they collide with looks of disgust and shame they rise upon my eyes just like an equivalence of the delves of the deep from them of a cut to dig drips and swallow grief arise arose arosen awake awoke awoken trap me unnoticed and leave me broken in the heart swollen fed on lies unspoken surrounding in the field am I a prisoner in hell or even better in Tolkien??? I craved and carved the woods into a shade of a pink that I need till you put the greed and stole in brief with no feels want me dead then demand I alive to up come burning and whipping regrets of the twos with the fives if I not to remember wrong counting stars and fleeing out just all in an empty round about ------ravenfeels
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Apr 13, 2021
Apr 13, 2021 at 4:00 PM UTC
Put To The Squirm Of Death
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, funny how a book can be translated by everyone's Mercury differently--edited;} on a beauty so mystical on a plastered smile an essence so beam yet not everlasting not in a bare nor a second tormenting blurt such stars she begged them Gods for she tormented in a skeptic hurt she trails her menaces to **** in a drip of a bordeaux in a wine in a mindless sip yearning erased letters from people from faces a charm of a devil monster selfished her feels down her laces a bound to the intimate flushed upon the ultimate of the hate of the ends an evermore of upcoming pained centuries moments the gods abide to hide to conceal from human memory to blank and come across a past life to steal then to the unconscious to plant on dreams and make souls heal speechless left one on the fictional two on the cure in the weeks my delusional believed seven constellated freckles pure by the character been held mooned self-expressionism in sick mind delves I label mine forever fallen saint on the line --------ravenfeels
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Apr 19, 2021
Apr 19, 2021 at 3:49 PM UTC
Invisible Life In A Miserable Age
,,A trance ,probing   " "a dictum //   intricate,ruby mayb quite& itt comes A-diction "  down the rAbbit hole" in time, a-room built off crystALs&&the orbs again again again again as thiss keps coming in  in-blocks/compeletly-A-solatire- /pristine in,here , itt-wass ,  inn rapture.as it ,is, now,was liked pretty muchh the behemouth  my mann ,  done  /repeatdly,   all-corenrs forr everr it isbent everytime,everytthing tht i cann remember a lott off withering / whineingg, lott off talks just   mi-alone and this i remmember "she" is the sheep  she said , drifting /at angles/only lonely   all the bigg/pretty pearls forr manny many more pages to come she says it polietly that it  delves deep some place ,here
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Jun 27, 2018
Jun 27, 2018 at 11:04 AM UTC
neptune
The poet looks and delves. She wonders if he ever stops, him, this rushing-forward-breathlessly train, if he did park himself in fantastical paragraphs; the poet is dumbfounded at him ceasing. In construction sites of grammar, where free ideas float in ruins, poet wonders how, how, how he came to plan to live up to an exclamation mark. And condensed so many dribbles and strikes of strange and fruitful, even withered paragraphs into one line and pointer - a smile and a lope-stagger dance of a walk - an exclamation mark. The poet stares, once again astounded by the little streaks of the universe and longs to hold on to something. Disarmed, she can't quite put a finger on it, his gaping honesty and his quiet one, that contradiction shouting in her face while whispering in her eyes. The poet laughs - laughs of, in, out of sleep. Summer is here. And she chooses to notice. He laughs too, but he's always been noticing and the poet writes down how she learnt to bite and chew into the fruit of the world and taste it sour runny sweet cold explosive lingering just as him. The poet saw all colours rolling in one strange song of limbs. She did not like the music but she made herself a blank white canvas and listened and laughed clean, silly laughs fluting out of the incongruity of simple, simple moments. Fun life, easy stretch of the mouth - it is possible to smile down at what a clown pain is. He declares this boldly without saying a word or two. The poet is dumbfounded at him being. She did not see and had not seen and now only began to picture but she was blind. He said he was blinder and that was true. The poet did not smirk but giggle at the irony - he lived in pop-bold spectacles, she slept in black and white films. But both were blind. We cannot see and we are blurs. The poet likes that life scrapes away at her because she can see chinks of white sunshine through all the sheared-off layers. Clean, clean, bright, bright - he teaches her in a beam without a hello. The poet writes poetry on breathing action prose. And she laughs - You are everything I don't want but I'm curious.
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Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 5:48 PM UTC
Wide-Eyed
The poet looks and delves. She wonders if he ever stops, him, this rushing-forward-breathlessly train, if he did park himself in fantastical paragraphs; the poet is dumbfounded at him ceasing. In construction sites of grammar, where free ideas float in ruins, poet wonders how, how, how he came to plan to live up to an exclamation mark. And condensed so many dribbles and strikes of strange and fruitful, even withered paragraphs into one line and pointer - a smile and a lope-stagger dance of a walk - an exclamation mark. The poet stares, once again astounded by the little streaks of the universe and longs to hold on to something. Disarmed, she can't quite put a finger on it, his gaping honesty and his quiet one, that contradiction shouting in her face while whispering in her eyes. The poet laughs - laughs of, in, out of sleep. Summer is here. And she chooses to notice. He laughs too, but he's always been noticing and the poet writes down how she learnt to bite and chew into the fruit of the world and taste it sour runny sweet cold explosive lingering just as him. The poet saw all colours rolling in one strange song of limbs. She did not like the music but she made herself a blank white canvas and listened and laughed clean, silly laughs fluting out of the incongruity of simple, simple moments. Fun life, easy stretch of the mouth - it is possible to smile down at what a clown pain is. He declares this boldly without saying a word or two. The poet is dumbfounded at him being. She did not see and had not seen and now only began to picture but she was blind. He said he was blinder and that was true. The poet did not smirk but giggle at the irony - he lived in pop-bold spectacles, she slept in black and white films. But both were blind. We cannot see and we are blurs. The poet likes that life scrapes away at her because she can see chinks of white sunshine through all the sheared-off layers. Clean, clean, bright, bright - he teaches her in a beam without a hello. The poet writes poetry on breathing action prose. And she laughs - You are everything I don't want but I'm curious.
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83
Needless, pose a question: Miracles save themselves... Long in the tooth, looking for a blessing Worlds to weigh, with the voice of what delves? Minus the stone The rue of visits and cares... To awaken in the arms of harmony History to a dare, to lend the kindness of what fares? Special... And doted upon, like a dream can feed...? The spareness of speed in the eye, of what will To sakes aled, and meant, to be the end of all in heed... The pout of summation, to which we will know intimation? Praises be, cares see, the coming order to a least... At worthy faces, in a common hope, to live the life of sin? Like a weary lover was, the only force of decency to cease... Of a silent offer, of season and risk... To these calls of opportunity, the mated chance Of cause curious, and questioning the weight of a reason's wish Paced with the passion of deliberateness, is a wish a saving, romance?
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Feb 3, 2023
Feb 3, 2023 at 4:00 PM UTC
Pure Ol' Vanilla, Set To Rhymes And Nary Done...
Little winged one of murky wings do flutter in origami folds. To glide in endless times engulf that needing of seeing where in twilight all is a shadow and all is seen within the night. Quiver unseen but felt unto the breeze, a shudder unfolds on their shadow in ease, you taste upon droplets of fear. Little origami wings do grace into the flightless moments their but unseen. Your shadow convulses in its presence, Knowing subconsciously what it needs. But you are but connected separates that Could not be further apart. Like a puddle swimming, nearly drowning in your depth. It unfolds into form, for unseen like an extension not noticed by self, a shadow not as should seen. tiredness as into shadows Of lost moments its delves ever deep. unravelling it seeds into the darkness a continuation breaths It departs for a shadow replenishes and its parts Now origami folds in need of shadow will dance upon every motion to unfold and feed, the cycle is ever in motion, for twilight is its birth and life its nourished in obscurity forever to feed.
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May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 5:16 PM UTC
In Twilight It Unfolds