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"dimension" poems
Clothes have outgrown me many times over, but this sadness never does. One size. fits all. There should have been an obituary for cancer,  not you. Wishing these slits within my skin could have been replaced by a reality check from you, “You chose to exist.” My name causes a sigh to escape from lips, that do not feel like they belong to me, the girl, whose words always had to be special. The schematics of hospitals like a birthmark in my brain, born into sadness, a gut feeling as a child. Never trusting time due to what it delivers. Death, being the only thing I desired. But you,  who I love, endlessly- robbed by it. Whose ebb for life glowed so feverishly. Stopped comparing depression to lace, restricted the belief that suicide is poetic, seeing things as they were. More often than not, applauded for feeling emotions deeply. Every second that dies, the shift of my heart quakes. This world is not tender. II. Sad. I have known the flowers I wanted at my own premature funeral, knowing how many bouquets honored you that day. split open my veins like a dimension reminiscent of days where I anticipated deathbeds. My family wondered, can we make it through another day? Death scares me for what it has taken, yet, I’m not afraid to die- it’s all I deserve. So I await the day pain erupts from my throat, acknowledging the days a soul lived inside of my body- footprints that walked, belonging to me. But I learned so well. How to suffer with a smile, dreading the beating of my heart how unfair— I don’t want to take these deep breaths You deserved,while I masquerade as a member of the undead Never outgrowing the desire to rot with the phantoms residing under my bed. III. Jokes played by the universe. punchlines delivered, how could anyone to stand to be in the same room as myself? How could anyone look over skyscrapers and sunsets, and not be infatuated with concrete consuming them? How I shared a sigh of relief during the thought- of knowing people would thrive without me, or the power of a belly laugh, resembling a laugh track audience drowning out 3 AM suicidal thoughts.
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Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 11:23 PM UTC
Writing Suicide Notes In Gel Pen
Clothes have outgrown me many times over, but this sadness never does. One size. fits all. There should have been an obituary for cancer,  not you. Wishing these slits within my skin could have been replaced by a reality check from you, “You chose to exist.” My name causes a sigh to escape from lips, that do not feel like they belong to me, the girl, whose words always had to be special. The schematics of hospitals like a birthmark in my brain, born into sadness, a gut feeling as a child. Never trusting time due to what it delivers. Death, being the only thing I desired. But you,  who I love, endlessly- robbed by it. Whose ebb for life glowed so feverishly. Stopped comparing depression to lace, restricted the belief that suicide is poetic, seeing things as they were. More often than not, applauded for feeling emotions deeply. Every second that dies, the shift of my heart quakes. This world is not tender. II. Sad. I have known the flowers I wanted at my own premature funeral, knowing how many bouquets honored you that day. split open my veins like a dimension reminiscent of days where I anticipated deathbeds. My family wondered, can we make it through another day? Death scares me for what it has taken, yet, I’m not afraid to die- it’s all I deserve. So I await the day pain erupts from my throat, acknowledging the days a soul lived inside of my body- footprints that walked, belonging to me. But I learned so well. How to suffer with a smile, dreading the beating of my heart how unfair— I don’t want to take these deep breaths You deserved,while I masquerade as a member of the undead Never outgrowing the desire to rot with the phantoms residing under my bed. III. Jokes played by the universe. punchlines delivered, how could anyone to stand to be in the same room as myself? How could anyone look over skyscrapers and sunsets, and not be infatuated with concrete consuming them? How I shared a sigh of relief during the thought- of knowing people would thrive without me, or the power of a belly laugh, resembling a laugh track audience drowning out 3 AM suicidal thoughts.
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60
***** What are those? creation of some great architect. they vary in size, shape and dimension also in weight, width and assimilation... one touch takes you million stars away heavenly bliss, on the earth nevertheless, squeeze them to the delight, hold them to their perfect shapes, Hands in joy and trickling liquid SomePlaceElse.. moaning body, screaming someone's name, dude! you are the luckiest, keep up the fame..
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May 15, 2012
May 15, 2012 at 6:42 PM UTC
*****
Holes in a wall give you a glance into a skeptical dimension You see through, but have to ponder on what it is that you're seeing The dimensions of life are an infinite amount It just depends on how many eyes you have And how your line of vision is aligned with the world
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Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 10:20 AM UTC
Eyes
They are always with us, the thin people Meager of dimension as the gray people On a movie-screen. They Are unreal, we say: It was only in a movie, it was only In a war making evil headlines when we Were small that they famished and Grew so lean and would not round Out their stalky limbs again though peace Plumped the bellies of the mice Under the meanest table. It was during the long hunger-battle They found their talent to persevere In thinness, to come, later, Into our bad dreams, their menace Not guns, not abuses, But a thin silence. Wrapped in flea-ridded donkey skins, Empty of complaint, forever Drinking vinegar from tin cups: they wore The insufferable nimbus of the lot-drawn Scapegoat. But so thin, So weedy a race could not remain in dreams, Could not remain outlandish victims In the contracted country of the head Any more than the old woman in her mud hut could Keep from cutting fat meat Out of the side of the generous moon when it Set foot nightly in her yard Until her knife had pared The moon to a rind of little light. Now the thin people do not obliterate Themselves as the dawn Grayness blues, reddens, and the outline Of the world comes clear and fills with color. They persist in the sunlit room: the wallpaper Frieze of cabbage-roses and cornflowers pales Under their thin-lipped smiles, Their withering kingship. How they prop each other up! We own no wilderness rich and deep enough For stronghold against their stiff Battalions. See, how the tree boles flatten And lose their good browns If the thin people simply stand in the forest, Making the world go thin as a wasp's nest And grayer; not even moving their bones.
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The Thin People
They are always with us, the thin people Meager of dimension as the gray people On a movie-screen. They Are unreal, we say: It was only in a movie, it was only In a war making evil headlines when we Were small that they famished and Grew so lean and would not round Out their stalky limbs again though peace Plumped the bellies of the mice Under the meanest table. It was during the long hunger-battle They found their talent to persevere In thinness, to come, later, Into our bad dreams, their menace Not guns, not abuses, But a thin silence. Wrapped in flea-ridded donkey skins, Empty of complaint, forever Drinking vinegar from tin cups: they wore The insufferable nimbus of the lot-drawn Scapegoat. But so thin, So weedy a race could not remain in dreams, Could not remain outlandish victims In the contracted country of the head Any more than the old woman in her mud hut could Keep from cutting fat meat Out of the side of the generous moon when it Set foot nightly in her yard Until her knife had pared The moon to a rind of little light. Now the thin people do not obliterate Themselves as the dawn Grayness blues, reddens, and the outline Of the world comes clear and fills with color. They persist in the sunlit room: the wallpaper Frieze of cabbage-roses and cornflowers pales Under their thin-lipped smiles, Their withering kingship. How they prop each other up! We own no wilderness rich and deep enough For stronghold against their stiff Battalions. See, how the tree boles flatten And lose their good browns If the thin people simply stand in the forest, Making the world go thin as a wasp's nest And grayer; not even moving their bones.
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47
Am I going crazy? Or am I just trying to escape to another dimension? Another dimension with no you Reality keeps giving you lives, And I really hate it. All I find is myself playing video games. Each time I select a target, feels like I’m selecting your head. Video games has nothing to do with you or maybe each time I win I feel like destroying you. Am I a hater now? After all this love I felt. War is my head And it's all because of you.
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Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 5:09 PM UTC
video games
I never felt like I belong here. No matter how hard I tried, I never belonged. Could it be I'm destined for something greater than life on this planet Or am I doomed to spend eternity with the latter? I wander across this land in search of who I am but it seems there is no answer no where in sight. Am I suppose to quit this journey or continue to walk in denial? How long must I endure this nightmare til I finally wake up and face "reality"? At the night's commencement, memory of this life drifts away into the forgotten stream. I can taste the answers but the moment I begin to relish in its delicacy, it fades from my grasp. What is left for a king whose kingdom has fallen?
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Jul 12, 2012
Jul 12, 2012 at 2:21 AM UTC
Lost in this Sad Dimension
making love suspends gravity    and time seconds expand    into eternity we are    on top of the universe floating    in the fourth dimension feeling      the birth of a new solar system       amidst convulsive explosions    whose brilliance       light years into the future    may be observed    by keen astronomers we do not mind our system radiates and shines in its time nothing else matters
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Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 3:24 PM UTC
new solar system
My essay, Changency, is a meme This meme has been growing inside of me I've been a carrier Many of us have been I'm not a benevolent character though I've been purposely placing the memetic material on blankets And leaving the blankets in local trading posts I call these 'trading posts' bookstores, universities, colleges, schools...coffee shops, pubs, restaurants, etcetera The beautiful thing is that these memes aren't really on blankets The memes are encoded on the backs of knowledge, truth, and authenticity They come from a place of pain Evolution can be painful (but does it have to be?) Three dimensions are easy to comprehend Four, sure just add time What about spacetime? And a fifth dimension...I don't really know what that means...but some do and they're watching, listening, waiting, and loving us
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Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 9:52 PM UTC
Changency is a meme
Within my soul I’ve found yours Are they different? They are one, they are one with the cosmos, But our sub souls have a strong gravity acting on them, A gravity unexplained by science, A gravity we’ve chosen to name love, Scientifically oxytocin creates this feeling, but oxytocin is a by product of this very gravity, What we choose to believe is up to us The sky is blue Love is the fifth dimension A day will come, far far away, A collective surge of this gravity, Will pull all creatures together, There will be no anti love - no hunger no wars, This dimension we only experienced in parts, Will save us from our own destruction
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Jan 10, 2018
Jan 10, 2018 at 1:08 PM UTC
A Prophecy of Love
I love you because the Earth turns round the sun because the North wind blows north sometimes because the Pope is Catholic and most Rabbis Jewish because winters flow into spring and the air clears after a storm because only my love for you despite the charms of gravity keeps me from falling off the Earth into another dimension I love you because it is the natural order of things I love you like the habit I picked up in college of sleeping through lectures or saying I’m sorry when I get stopped for speeding because I drink a glass of water in the morning and chain-smoke cigarettes all through the day because I take my coffee Black and my milk with chocolate because you keep my feet warm through my life a mess I love you because I don’t want it any other way I am helpless in m love for you It makes me so happy to hear you call my name I am amazed you can resist locking me in an echo chamber where your voice reverberates through the four walls sending me into spasmatic ecstasy I love you because it’s been so good for so long that if I didn’t love you I’d have to be born again and that is not a theological statement I am pitiful in my love for you The Dells tell me Love is so simple the thought though of you sends indescribably delicious multitudinous thrills throughout and through-in my body I love you because no two snowflakes are alike and it is possible if you stand tippy-toe to walk between the raindrops I love you because I am afraid of the dark and can’t sleep in the light because I rub my eyes when I wake up in the morning and find you there because you with all your magic powers were determined that I should love you because there was nothing for you but that I would love you I love you because you made me want to love you more than I love my privacy my freedom my commitments and responsibilities I love you 'cause I changed my life to love you because you saw me one friday afternoon and decided that I would love you I love you I love you I love you
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May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 10:21 AM UTC
RESIGNATION
I love you because the Earth turns round the sun because the North wind blows north sometimes because the Pope is Catholic and most Rabbis Jewish because winters flow into spring and the air clears after a storm because only my love for you despite the charms of gravity keeps me from falling off the Earth into another dimension I love you because it is the natural order of things I love you like the habit I picked up in college of sleeping through lectures or saying I’m sorry when I get stopped for speeding because I drink a glass of water in the morning and chain-smoke cigarettes all through the day because I take my coffee Black and my milk with chocolate because you keep my feet warm through my life a mess I love you because I don’t want it any other way I am helpless in m love for you It makes me so happy to hear you call my name I am amazed you can resist locking me in an echo chamber where your voice reverberates through the four walls sending me into spasmatic ecstasy I love you because it’s been so good for so long that if I didn’t love you I’d have to be born again and that is not a theological statement I am pitiful in my love for you The Dells tell me Love is so simple the thought though of you sends indescribably delicious multitudinous thrills throughout and through-in my body I love you because no two snowflakes are alike and it is possible if you stand tippy-toe to walk between the raindrops I love you because I am afraid of the dark and can’t sleep in the light because I rub my eyes when I wake up in the morning and find you there because you with all your magic powers were determined that I should love you because there was nothing for you but that I would love you I love you because you made me want to love you more than I love my privacy my freedom my commitments and responsibilities I love you 'cause I changed my life to love you because you saw me one friday afternoon and decided that I would love you I love you I love you I love you
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78
say goodbye to the bucolic summer the rafts of winter are upon the banks of your desire please placate the wild streets of abandonment let the edges of your neediness take you into independence i am less dense than a fly and more round than the sky i am a shade too dry for some people's liking are you wanting a more permanent vacation the icing on the cake is the real equation immediate desires all forsaken our love is worth practicing non-anticipation for if you kiss me now i’ll be forever liberated if you show me how i’ll take you to the 9th dimension seventeen floors above the world and we are standing on an indefinite embankment i am intimidated by your perspicacity as the persimmon sun sets upon the horizon
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Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 3:01 PM UTC
the rafts of winter
writhe and gape of tortured perspective rasp and graze of splintered normality crackle and sag of planes clamors of collision collapse As peacefully, lifted into the awful beauty of sunset the young city putting off dimension with a blush enters the becoming garden of her agony
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10.9k
Writhe And
What a city I murmur to myself looking at its map. We approached the city known as Dis, with its vast army and its burdened citizens. At last we reached the moats dug deep around the dismal city. What destroys the poetry of a city? Automobiles destroy it, and they destroy more than the poetry. Dante and Virgil chased by 7 or 8 dangerous devils Grumpy, Happy, Sneezy, Sleepy, ***** . . . Our heroes reduced from metaphysical philosophers interested in god and what man has done to man to improvising primitive tools for survival. Hope abandoned, we rate our chances of expiring in the nuclear fire – excellent – during the decline of western civilization. On the other hand, I hope our current problems are only temporary and it’s just a matter of time before the public ignores the 24-hour news cycle. Bad news sells but the good life’s all around us. One feels love and devotion even for the 60 million who voted for our opponent. Vaclav Havel said with a wisdom well beyond brilliance: “Either we have hope within us or we don’t. It is a dimension of the soul, and it’s not dependent on some particular observation of the world or estimate of the situation. It is an orientation of the spirit, an orientation of the heart that transcends the world as it’s immediately experienced. It is not the conviction that something will turn out well, but the certainty that something makes sense no matter how it turns out.” It resembles grief. But it's not quite grief. I'll give you grief. Certain days planned to be eventful I look forward to for weeks. Let the peaceful transfer of power proceed. The sorrow and the pity. Never may the anarchic man find rest at my hearth. When the laws are kept, how proudly the city stands! When the laws are broken, what of the city then? We are moving through some allegory between a City of Hope, where history has been abolished, and a City of History, where hope can be slipped in only as contraband. Failing to achieve understanding, we're searching outer space for an entity to unite us as humanity. That person, or city, is consciousness. Two ancient female poets are a revelation, the clarity of their complaints: lost lover, lost city. Our enemy eventually becomes our brother, his misery lifted by coming to her city.
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Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 9:23 AM UTC
City of Hope
What a city I murmur to myself looking at its map. We approached the city known as Dis, with its vast army and its burdened citizens. At last we reached the moats dug deep around the dismal city. What destroys the poetry of a city? Automobiles destroy it, and they destroy more than the poetry. Dante and Virgil chased by 7 or 8 dangerous devils Grumpy, Happy, Sneezy, Sleepy, ***** . . . Our heroes reduced from metaphysical philosophers interested in god and what man has done to man to improvising primitive tools for survival. Hope abandoned, we rate our chances of expiring in the nuclear fire – excellent – during the decline of western civilization. On the other hand, I hope our current problems are only temporary and it’s just a matter of time before the public ignores the 24-hour news cycle. Bad news sells but the good life’s all around us. One feels love and devotion even for the 60 million who voted for our opponent. Vaclav Havel said with a wisdom well beyond brilliance: “Either we have hope within us or we don’t. It is a dimension of the soul, and it’s not dependent on some particular observation of the world or estimate of the situation. It is an orientation of the spirit, an orientation of the heart that transcends the world as it’s immediately experienced. It is not the conviction that something will turn out well, but the certainty that something makes sense no matter how it turns out.” It resembles grief. But it's not quite grief. I'll give you grief. Certain days planned to be eventful I look forward to for weeks. Let the peaceful transfer of power proceed. The sorrow and the pity. Never may the anarchic man find rest at my hearth. When the laws are kept, how proudly the city stands! When the laws are broken, what of the city then? We are moving through some allegory between a City of Hope, where history has been abolished, and a City of History, where hope can be slipped in only as contraband. Failing to achieve understanding, we're searching outer space for an entity to unite us as humanity. That person, or city, is consciousness. Two ancient female poets are a revelation, the clarity of their complaints: lost lover, lost city. Our enemy eventually becomes our brother, his misery lifted by coming to her city.
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48
if learned darkness from our searched world should wrest the rare unwisdom of thy eyes, and if thy hands flowers of silence curled upon a wish,to rapture should surprise my soul slowly which on thy beauty dreams (proud through the cold perfect night whisperless to mark,how that asleep whitely she seems whose lips the whole of life almost do guess) if god should send the morning;and before my doubting window leaves softly to stir, of thoughtful trees whom night hath pondered o’er —and frailties of dimension to occur about us and birds known, scarcely to sing (heart,could we bear the marvel of this thing?)
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If Learned Darkness From Our Searched World
The quieter he became ... the more he could feel only a single lit candle moved the stillness , gripping the void between lucency and obscure darkness longing eyes slipped slowly closed as the flicker faded , inner quietude dimming all light the darker it got ... the more vividly he could see a nearly silent exhaled sigh let the memories flood ; leaning into the bereft where there once was light , he became a timeless silence                               without form                      *only shaped by retracing                         re-remembered words* yearning to understand some of the greater things life unfolds experiencing the unknown                              without fear ,                       for to clinch and feel that which seems indefinable      for here , in this formless manifest dimension , all layers of essence are peeled back to the bared aurora of a soul's spirit light ; *at the core of inner stillness       nothing is impossible* ... © H A Rivers all rights reserved
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Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 12:15 PM UTC
becoming silence
Dimension beginning of vile ****** exposed, And the Emperor has no clothes, While helplessly strut a mighty walk without a shame. Course of history repeating itself, Like the flow of water meeting in the river of streams, But recycle through the clouds and back to the ground it flows. Are we so blinded by the glimmer of the mirage of oasis in the desert, We toast with sands of dune to quench our thirst of our plight, And all is but a fickling light ducktaped by words of unintelligible muddled murmur? This is truly the flawed design of our time, When we no longer promote arts and crafts of philosophies, And religious cults of zealots condemned the science and Academia by berating it's achievement. Likes of ancient times of Agora and the height of it's human enlightenment, There are forces of deconstruction of society of choas ensued by hateful fear mongers, And systematic inward of national fevor of berserkers leveling progress. Maybe another dark age is inevitable, But little seed of hope I feel tangible, And sometimes event maybe a phoenix.
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Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 1:11 AM UTC
Flight of the Phoenix
split the atom an we get fission mass becomes energy but can we split a second enter the essence of the present what would it mean to us to be that mindful ask your self doesn't your mind only occupy past future abjectly incapable of living in the present in the true present there could not be even a ghost of a thought theres no time to think can we enter an incalculable split second and totally take in that instant with a forgotten organic technology is it the big bang in perpetuity yet quiet as a mute a raging ever expanding sea in a connected but distinct dimension if you entered it would it not utterly erases all of history the thinkers and doers along with it the step beyond the alpha and omega the great underlining reality imagine the penetrated moment an all consuming unimaginable trans-mutational merge omnipotent yet forever imperceptible to those among us time locked an irreducible limitation like an ant in a closed paper bag a fixated reflexive machine wandering aimlessly with an unknowable mission and a relentless survival mechanism with no chance of survival time as a cosmic metabolism its medium space a vast cauldron an infinite vessel containing endless points of light everywhere myriad phenomena its terrain and the temporal creatures that inhabit it both exquisite and hideous an incalculable zoo histories victors and victims one and all vanquished by the curse consciousness of dis-juncture a merciless countenance of limitation yet could time be an illusion rooted in a narrow awareness bereft of an eternal inexhaustible self effulgent now the rapture an eternal ****** if we could only penetrate into it would it swallow us and blot out the drama of creations theater is the now conscious illimitable ecstatic a perfect meta moment ? we hear from sacred texts like the Vedas... Bhagavad Gita.... and Kabbalah that we may enter beyond the veil passed time and its ravages passed mind and its distortions not to the heaven of religion in its endless closed system precepts anthropomorphic metaphors theistic gobbledygook and sophomoric social engineering a kind of cliffs notes god for dummies we can enter the eternal abode of the divine a point between the splitting of seconds revealed through the simple act of mindful breathing pierced by the effort of a focused mind
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Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 8:09 AM UTC
Splitting the Second
split the atom an we get fission mass becomes energy but can we split a second enter the essence of the present what would it mean to us to be that mindful ask your self doesn't your mind only occupy past future abjectly incapable of living in the present in the true present there could not be even a ghost of a thought theres no time to think can we enter an incalculable split second and totally take in that instant with a forgotten organic technology is it the big bang in perpetuity yet quiet as a mute a raging ever expanding sea in a connected but distinct dimension if you entered it would it not utterly erases all of history the thinkers and doers along with it the step beyond the alpha and omega the great underlining reality imagine the penetrated moment an all consuming unimaginable trans-mutational merge omnipotent yet forever imperceptible to those among us time locked an irreducible limitation like an ant in a closed paper bag a fixated reflexive machine wandering aimlessly with an unknowable mission and a relentless survival mechanism with no chance of survival time as a cosmic metabolism its medium space a vast cauldron an infinite vessel containing endless points of light everywhere myriad phenomena its terrain and the temporal creatures that inhabit it both exquisite and hideous an incalculable zoo histories victors and victims one and all vanquished by the curse consciousness of dis-juncture a merciless countenance of limitation yet could time be an illusion rooted in a narrow awareness bereft of an eternal inexhaustible self effulgent now the rapture an eternal ****** if we could only penetrate into it would it swallow us and blot out the drama of creations theater is the now conscious illimitable ecstatic a perfect meta moment ? we hear from sacred texts like the Vedas... Bhagavad Gita.... and Kabbalah that we may enter beyond the veil passed time and its ravages passed mind and its distortions not to the heaven of religion in its endless closed system precepts anthropomorphic metaphors theistic gobbledygook and sophomoric social engineering a kind of cliffs notes god for dummies we can enter the eternal abode of the divine a point between the splitting of seconds revealed through the simple act of mindful breathing pierced by the effort of a focused mind
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Don't ever ask me what am I, an ancient story of a battle lost to remain in the realm of the sublime, unmitigated grief that visits, again and again, reminding the journey of pain though galaxies, far of yore to the days of present. In a moments of desperation I discover  the bard,it could be rather told thus, he meets me at last, as was his wont Bard, celestial lover, before my eyes you appear thus: I see you holding in your hands a magic lyre, so rare. that goes on strumming non- stop, to bring birds, the tunes, that lives in far parts of the universe,even unknown  to most, they do vary,have colored feathers;memories living in different layers of my consciousness,always buzzing like a beehive. I am the single, magic , potent, word, a mantra that in it's kernel carries the , seeds of eternal, "I am that" I hear the speakings of the words,that brings to life experiences of different kinds,on their beaks some one carries ripe fruits, the result of long days of sweat and tears. Each fruit has a flavor distinct,each word carries a seed that will grow to be a mighty tree,many birds would roost. Bard you are a wonder,tying past and future with one string of a lyre converging in the heart beat of the ebullient present, you easily transcend the three, and every other dimension of time that mingles in your heady brew,unrivaled it stands.
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Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 11:00 AM UTC
Only the songs of a solitary bard
Todd Totally Toad Finger Smell McGee E-I-E-I **** You Captain Sally Potato Blackhole Sound ***** The Glass Candy Imagination Man Dew Snot One-Eyed Duce Leg of the Cement Dimension The Guy Who Makes Sailors, Pirates and Fisherprice men shake their Buoy. The Saccharine Snake of Compatibility Yeti Jenny ****** Johnny Loch Ness **** Deck. Chicken ***** McGillicutty Blanket Face Rev. 3D Trigonometry The Little Pistachio **** The Killer Doll That Only Exists in My Alternate Universe's Self's Imagination.
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Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 7:00 PM UTC
Nicknames Nobody Has Ever Called Me
By walking between certain trees, Sometimes, one has an odd feeling, An unusual tingling sensation, Not scary, but mostly appealing. Katalyn passed between two elms, And entered into ancient realms. Excitement prickled Katalyn’s skin, Trees here were wide and tall, Then from a sun-splashed clearing, There came a strange animal call. Creeping closely; peering round a tree, Katalyn saw unicorns, roaming free. Approaching slowly, heart beating fast, Katalyn could not help but smile, As the unicorns gathered round, What grace, such poise, cool style. Not thinking, Katalyn touched a wing, There came a whoosh . . . so dizzying. Without knowing, how or why, Katalyn soared above the trees, Holding a slender unicorn neck, Laughter escaping on the breeze. They dropped into a sudden glide, With a thrilling rush: what a ride! They winged across grassy plains, Between mountains capped with snow, Katalyn neither knew nor recognised, The wild land, passing by, below. Another world; another dimension, Kept secret by; magical intention. Then Katalyn was suddenly walking, Back where the adventure began, Passing between two old elms, Returned to the world of man. Now feeling as happy, as you please, Knowing unicorns lived, beyond the trees. © Paul M Chafer 2014
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Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 9:01 AM UTC
Unicorn Paradise
Spacing out, allowing my mind to wander far, far off, Into the distance, into a dream out of reach, my personal heaven, A distorted world where meaning has no meaning and time stands still, space is instable and the melancholy of lonesomeness prevails, Clouds, everlasting, ever orbiting floating islands and upside down waterfalls, yet I cannot share this pleasure with anyone, I'm alone, If I were to believe I could fly, I would be free. Not bound by physics dragging me down, not bound by gravity, I keep this place dear to me, for it is a world made for escape, Only if I could lose myself in the fragnance of this dimension, My poor body calls my soul back to where it thinks it belongs, The dream of pleasure, with a carefree attitude is burning away, Reality is cruel and dark, with no comfort a place with no heart, But certainly I can hope with all my might even though weak, That this place I am carried to when my mind is giving away my soul, Will take me in forever one day, so I won't have to wake up. After all, I don't have to die in a dream.. ~ Umi
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Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 5:29 PM UTC
Spacing out
Mysterious, mist-kissed hills dismiss my dismal disdain For Life’s strivings in the ivy wired mire. Budding blossoms embrace my burgeoning bliss-filled ***** As my soul soars into the seething skies. My wings are beating with breathless wonder, My imagination sends me to a destination Beyond discrimination, defying appellation, But not exclamation, at this elevation. Smooth pools of cool blue hue contrast with cliffs That overhang the huddled houses Of the hillside village On the way to who knows where. The mists are shifting, ever drifting Hiding everything Except the mountain tops. A new dimension might await us Always moving as Our journey never stops. Paul Butters
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Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 5:16 PM UTC
Mist
There's this special seed inside of us That glitters, shines, and grows Planted by an equally special person One that everybody knows. The one that woke up early this morning And downed their coffee for the day While you dig out your favorite shirt And they keep their nerves at bay. The person that decorates for new children Hangs up posters and note cards Tacks up the yearly alphabet trim And clears the weeds from the school yard. Stands and greets equally nervous kids Hands them name tags and a book And hopes that their anxiety melts away To be excited like they should. The history and math books open Pages are assigned They're there to help you through it To make problems easier to find. To journey across another dimension Of equations and butterflies alike That prepares you for ACTs ahead And tests that you'll probably dislike. Well, that's all fine and dandy All these books and passing grades But what's more important is the seed inside That's planted in your brain. The seed that fuels your drive to learn Creates a light to help you grow Makes you crave another book Acquire everything there is to know. And I know a certain farmer That specializes in these seeds Who wants to make you reach the top So you'll realize everything you can be. These farmers go by 'teachers' The most amazing you can find Because of them, I try to be my best So I thank my teachers for their time.
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Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 7:24 PM UTC
Farmers
Antimatter mirroring our existance on the pathway of a reverse world Imagine it, time stands still, halts without a will to  continue its flow if it were to possess one to begin with, and everything is but fragile, Illusionary moon, shine on in this distorted realm in which not even gravity is reliable or even trustworthy at this point, up is down here, An imperishable night caught under a spell of eternity, uninterrupted Everlasting, permanently shining, the fake moons appearance is clear, Unremitting, sweetly told as a if it was a lie, the rumours of this world spread more likely like a disease through the ancient, young earth, A line parallel drawn to ours, a dimension coexisting without sense, It appears to be fragile, like a newborn child, the smallest disturbance would mostlikely ruin it's balance, bring tremor upon it wretchedly, But where that life sparkles as then fades, two dimensions surely would overlap, of course, maybe it will be the world you inhabit, no? In the realm of the dead, a loitering, lingering darkness thins the borders of reality and illusion, causing them to exist as one, now with the same heart and soul, a fantasy heaven which became reality, After all, that place is only temporary,one surely could even call it a; Short living eternity, ~ Umi
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Mar 26, 2018
Mar 26, 2018 at 7:57 PM UTC
Short living Eternity
Spectrous aberrations of youth Surround him, embrace him Leaving him disoriented, dismayed Amidst sultry belongings He’s tethered to that pole of vicissitude Draped by disfavor Postmarked Valhalla Addressed to Folkvangr Teased by irreverent lovers In pursuit of contentment His chronicles restart In an unpublished testament Bound by leather, cows unfettered One lifeless body stationary Crimson streams part chalk-dry lips As love’s guillotined victim drips His future’s fortune forsaken Willingness to triumph in battle Leaks from this dimension With each fluxing discharge Of her stream’s outgoing apathy And his fluid permeates alluvium In streambeds near life’s summit
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Mar 26, 2010
Mar 26, 2010 at 11:12 PM UTC
Confinement