"elongated" poems
A supine position
upon my bed
and a slow turning
of my head
I look out through my window
and by chance
LISTEN!!
Hearing the howling
and chilling desultory gusts
of wind
Noticing seemingly deceptive
immutable muffled
grey-white
low hanging clouds
enveloping everything
in its heavenly path
with coinciding
feelings
of being enclosed,
a slight hint,
the oncoming winter
A sunless sky also
matches the early November mood
as virtually motionless
elongated pearl-grey-clouds
having distinct
wind-kissed
topsy-turvy-wavy-ruffled bottoms
that travel and permeate
onward
across the heavens
These eerie vapors
s t r e t c h
from north to south
east to west
casting Buddism's
grey colored shadows
upon the earth below
while not permitting
any sky blue
to peek through
A distant howl and barking
of
a dog,
my inner volcano snuffed out,
the tranquilization of Hercules...
Time seemingly
stops altogether
and hangs...
... heated feelings
dissipate
into
cool nothingness...
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 4:27 PM UTC
•
I've known an extraordinary lady,
'Cause I wrote poems in HP,
Well, I thank HP a lot,
That I have the opportunity,
To know a person like her!
And found out we have the same nationality,
Not only that, she write these exceptional and amazing poems!!
I was overwhelmed!
And blithesomely chatted her,
She replied,
We have a good talk,
I was so broken into splinters those times,
I could hardly remember the throe,
But her words glare brightest in my heart,
She inspired me,
With the hurting truth,
Well, I knew truth hurts,
Then we always chat,
We exchange phone numbers,
And texting even not in HP,
'Cause I knew she is so much busy,
But I'm still texting her telling,
"I'M SO GLAD TO BE Your FRIEND."
And that,
"Ohayou Gozaimasu, konnichiwa & konnbanwa"
"Kiotsukete kudasai Roan-chan!"
Oh yeah!
We love Japan, and their language,
That made me love her even more.
(Love as friend okay?!)
We exchange google+ & fb,
And saw her angelic face,
Scattering over her timeline,
I saw a beautiful soul,
Dancing and gleaming inside of her,
She's indeed a very good friend,
When I have heartaches and tribulations,
I share her my pain and sorrows,
She's like the sun in the noon time,
Heating me up with her love and care,
But even though I have not met her personally,
I knew for sure that I'm so much blessed,
To know such a golden spirit,
Such rare being in the amidst,
And I do knew,
That God will lead us together,
To spend time personally as friends,
Together with Ma'am Sally,
As what she told me,
"We should have this ~poetess date~ "
How I long for that day!
I really pray to God,
*That He will give you,
The best of the life,*
*Give you good health,
To continue enjoying life to it's fullest,*
*To have many more birthdays to come,
For you to see more,
Of the beauty of God's creation,*
*And to find,
That very right man,
That your heart longs to find,
For quiet elongated time.*
*I pray also,
That you will remain,
To be light to all people,*
*And be that very good friend,
Everyone longs for,*
In this beautiful day,
I pray you will be the happiest person alive,
And celebrate this marvelous day,
God had given you.
"Maligayang Kaarawan Aking Kaibigan."
© Earl Jane
♥ E.J.C.S.
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 7:44 PM UTC
**** men, guys, dudes, boys... in fact anything that walks on two legs and has a ***** between those two legs, or any other kind of elongated genitalia for that matter.
**** the simple ones who guzzle beer and scream at other men in a small box
**** the sensitive ones who weep at the intensity of their emotions to you
**** that cool ones who speak in a language of esoteric band and brand names
**** the intellectual ones who have their opinions shoved so far up their **** it bleeds out their mouth
**** the business types who's cool indifference is callous
**** the health-conscious gym-working-out ones who's 9pm bed time leaves you star gazing alone
**** the hippy ones who's lofty, hot air talk leaves you with a nasty feeling in your nose like you need to sneeze but it is stuck inside
**** the ones who are "different" but an trip on the bus is more entertaining than their recycled conversation
Last of all **** the decent, hard working, ones who have girlfriends that are non-flaky, pulled-together, skinny-organic-soy-latte-drinkers, only-wear-Karen-Walker, I-have-no-daddy-issues, law-majors
**** it all really
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 5:29 PM UTC
Natural inclinations ,
unrequited vindications,
unadorned specifications.
These all make for reservations
of forced vacations -
like a sad
and elongated
pythagorean theorem
that always equals =
a bad poem.
Oct 25, 2010
Oct 25, 2010 at 9:01 PM UTC
Life energy radiates within--
literally the energy of beings
exist within your veins;
hungry animals thirst within those capillaries.
The lungs that heave
are the muscular tissues of little chickens--
tendons that tore to make you strong,
elongated strands of fat from each bite
made the skin around your lips.
Though the calcium of bones
was not used in this current cuisine--
blood was made into pudding
dessert maybe used to make hemoglobin.
We feast on flesh to create our own
same goes for the creatures that we eat
they mangle the essence of life
to satisfy their own longevity.
All must eat to survive,
remember with each bite
comes the sacrifice from the sky
it begins with the Sun,
and ends with the Earth.
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 1:49 AM UTC
Dreary meadows... empty halls...
I soak myself in candle light...
I wash away my form of wax..
In your tears i find comfort...
Bathing in your mind.. makes me relax...
Ravenously devouring your memories....
I am the creeping dark around the corner...
A future distorted, a past discorded...
your present state in turmoil....
Tumbling further into depravity...
A shadowy fragment of what once was you...
Dripping, gaping maws. Elongated fangs laid bare...
Rend sinew and tissue....
Gnawing violently your rotting tongue....
Venom seeps out of every orifice...
As you transpire myself from you
and dress your misery in flesh and blood...
While your sight evaporates...
I roll my eyes out of sheer boredom
Your frail waxen form.. melting in the heat of my hands...
Dripping in dead puddles of discomfort...
Your sorrow festers like mould on corpses....
And on that faithful day you gave birth to me...
You gave me my name.....
When you look in the mirror you will always see...
You will whisper my name...
Melancholy..
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 8:41 PM UTC
eve's elongated shadows
darkened the atmosphere
for the company of hikers
trekking Milton Ridge
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 6:27 PM UTC
Often times I’m staring
Awing in the curves of full blooming lips
Carved jawbone covered with deepening dark moss
The journey through the damp forest after warm rain
It is all awake alive and breathing clearly
Rising and falling like the rare drops from deciduous leaves
I cannot tell you how inhuman you feel to me
Your skin darkens around your eyes from nights up
Long evenings too many and whiskey that never even made it to a cup
Sometimes I cannot break a gaze from the casement around your pupil
The pools of honey drip further toward me
My feet find it impossible to remove themselves
So much like quicksand but sweet calming and warm
Smooth and simplistic in youth the way skin drapes
Hangs over structured bones in the most phenomenal way
Just as your eyes are lavished in graham brown
You stay glowing even in the cold weather from blessed ancestry
Down to tender arteries and muscle where I’ve placed lips a thousand times
Shoulders swoop outwards like broad boulders
Distinguishable markers play connect the dots toward inked surfaced skin
Permanence of scarred lines forming a hot air balloon and anchor pulling it down
It’s from your favorite band, I’m noticing synapses collide on the concept
Elongated extended vines lead to tools that hold and create masterpieces
Strong slender hands with fingertips that press and pluck strings
Coat themselves with paint on late evening or early mornings
Tread lightly on my skin and illuminate my face with a coaxing touch
You are the rain forest from sunrise
My heart thumps to the sense of danger behind a corner
But I know such things and if they were to **** me,
I would be treasured in becoming a tall Kapok
With roots buried miles deep
Sep 19, 2015
Sep 19, 2015 at 11:33 AM UTC
Collectively dismal
Dreadfully sinful
Covered in tinsel
Was a sunken dimple
A quick nibble
Elongated ******
Playfully twiddle
Covered in spittle
Quick to belittle
Before her acquittal
It seemed so brittle
Quite noncommittal
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 4:01 PM UTC
allocation of supreme alliteration illustrates perpetual contemplation and concentration that dictates a maligned mastication of federal incarceration of elongated complementary probation leaving you cuffed and based on baseless accusations conducted in aboriginal abbreviations masked task force concluding a course of brevity conducted in coordination then coordinating and copulating condemnation for a homeostasis of thought bought scolded eroded and shot inefficacy perpetrating cultural holocaust irrelevance somersaults galactic static of mathematical bombastic smack addict glued shut in a craft attic floral resurrection gartered section of ****** selection she moves fluid through unaltered perfection of cosmic bypass past the point of extemporaneous infinitude reciprocating fortitude of sinews congregating fabricating visuals of vitality soldering axonal membranes on the cerebellum and cortex simulation of sensual vortex demented fusion more blessed I am that which stands to understand the incomprehensible unconsidered options of racial conflicts the screaming round of unaltered copper fiber severing life from the living only now can we debunk the years
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 9:01 AM UTC
I want you to
Touch my body
Grab my thighs
With enough force
To take my breath away
Just barely feel
The leather paddle
On my skin
Before you bruise my body
Sending me into submission
Whisper ***** words
Across my chest
Each time you go
From ****** to ******
Shock me with electric stimulation
Feel the sparks fly
Between us
Between my legs
Vibrate my ****
While you find the good spot
The great spot
The most glorious spot there is
And watch me writhe and moan
While you do it
Bite my neck
My *******
My waist
Letting me know that I'm yours
When you leave a mark
Take over my body
And tie me up
Cover my eyes
Lick my body
Until you feel
A river release from me
Until you hear
An elongated opera from me
Until you see
A woman whipped for you
Sep 8, 2019
Sep 8, 2019 at 8:28 AM UTC
death bursted into my room tonight
awakening a deep slumber
outstretching a cold boney hand
as if offering for me to go with him
I felt no fear or sadness
I have been waiting for death to greet me
I have admired him from afar
a lover who took no chance in courting me
Until he was ready to give me an embrace
That could be defined as loving and warm
but it was sinful and alluring
flickers of sparks in his eyes
ignited a fire in my soul
a passion that I had longed for
as my hand grabbed onto his
he pulled me close in the middle of the room
he began to dance to the tune
of our heartbeats synchronizing
a beautiful symphony rang love in our ears
craning his neck
he leaned in close
inhaling the shakiness of my breath
moonlight illuminated the poison dripping
from his puckering lips
as an offering to taste
what afterlife was
it held soft undertones of an earthy aftertaste
but an overpowering intoxicating sweetness left me hungry
for just one more dip
in his suicidal serenity
moving in one fluid motion
sweeping behind me
a boney hand placed on an unclothed forearm
slowly slid up my shoulder
as another arm was placed around both hips
he pressed himself tightly against me
icy breath grazed across my neck
making hairs stand up on my arms
as a moan escaped between closed lips
he whispered a seductive I love you
as he tucked hair behind my ear
the words I longed to hear
were met with a sharp knife
placed in open hands
and a crooked smile
spread across his face
it was at that moment
I came to the realization
to become his fully
my beautiful souls light
must burn out
to match his souls decayed state
no persuasion was needed
I longed for this moment
now the time was finally right
steady right hand raised
the elongated blade
"together forever..."
death breathlessly whispered
as a swift motion
punctured my abdomen
breath was taken out of my lungs
knees buckled
as death dropped me to the floor
tears of bliss flowed from my eyes
staining mascara streaks on flushed cheeks
I peer around the room to greet my lover
in another embrace with my final breaths
but im alone
left with a bloodied knife in hand
but this forbidden passion of a deaths dance
was only used to take ones soul
not give it the life it craved
laughing through the flood of tears
not even in death was I loved
Apr 12, 2019
Apr 12, 2019 at 8:21 PM UTC
Mama
Surrounded by water, I hold my breath.
Purposefully I sink to the bottom of this place.
My body is still, and my arms crossed like an X over my chest.
I open my eyes and see the blurry light hitting the surface.
Still, I hold my breath.
Every brush of water feels like ribbons against my skin.
But I need to come up.
I gasp for air as I breach the surface.
I walk out of the water as if I were alike royalty, coming up to my throne.
Every speck of air feels like a calming winter mist against my skin.
I stare ahead to the trees.
As I walk through the tall trees,
Barefoot to feel the earth in between my toes,
I feel a sense of welcome and acceptance.
Though they tower over me, you’ve taught them tolerance for my kind.
The dirt I walk upon embraces my feet’s rough exterior.
I stand tall and elongated, rooting myself into the forest ground.
I am rooted, and grow to love you.
Amongst your other children of beauty, you have received me.
And, I need you. Everyday.
Mama
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 10:00 PM UTC
Fat women with
Fur coats
To warm their overfed
Heaps of mass
Holding overpriced
Elongated, mechanical strings
Attached to their
Mouse-like dogs
That wear clothes
That cost more
Than my entire outfit
Shirt, jeans, boots, jacket
Combined
They yap to small devices
Glued to their ears
Like instruments
Of envy and jealousy
Yelling at their husbands
Or boyfriends
Or pool boys
Who haven't done their job
Either paying for whatever they want
Or neglecting to net out
That last nat
From their jacuzzis
Where they sip white wine
And sizzle in soapy water
Before getting out
And slipping on shoes
Made by kids
In Cambodia
Who have never held
A hundred dollar bill
What is wrong
Who is right
What is it
That's been done
Here
None of it makes sense
To me
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 12:53 PM UTC
I live in the land
Of the inbetweeners.
We are what
The French would call,
Bourgeoisie.
What the ghetto calls,
Bougie.
What the successful calls,
Day dreamers,
And what we call,
The future leaders.
I live in
The land of rebels.
The people who fought against their oppressors
Because they know the truth behind
Social Darwinism;
And the fact of the matter is
That no race
Is a superior race
Because "race"
Is a manmade idea
To justify the injust
Ideas of slavery.
The rebels who ran out of chains
Because they weren't
Supposed to be chained down.
The rebels who walked midnight railroads
To escape the clutches
Of the white man's burden.
The rebels who refused to stand
In one spot
When there were plenty of seats available.
The rebels who refused
to bite their tongues and
The rebels who refused to be spoken over
Because they had
A lot of important stuff to say.
The rebels who dreamt outrageous dreams,
So that the complexion
Of your pigment
Was never a deciding factor
In your life.
The rebels who refused
to follow unlawful laws
Because they were
Law abiding citizens
Only when laws were just.
The rebels who challenged what was superiority,
The rebels who changed the course of history forever.
I live in
The land of the outsiders
Who conform the
Preconceived ideas
To fit them
We roll small blunts
of white paper
Filled with the words
of novels and poetry
And blow through those books
Inhaling every letter
And letting it cling to our lungs
Flowing the grammar
Throughout our bodies.
We stand spittin
Absolute value bars
Rapping elongated equations
Of X equals
Y +/- root Z
Divided by root A
Times the quantity of
B - C.
We stick up
Banks filled with
Material and instruction.
Stealing all the information we can take
And try peicing it together
So that more than words
We have knowledge.
We **********
Our brains,
Pleasing its sapiosexual
******* with
Grammar and arithmetic.
I live in the land
Of the inbetweeners.
The people making history
In their everyday lives.
The revolutionaries
Who fight for even
The smallest of issues.
The individuals who stand out
Amongst a crowd of people
That look just like them.
The inbetweeners,
They who refuse
To subjugate themselves
To society,
But will subjugate society
To themselves.
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 4:08 PM UTC
Shall I get drunk or cut myself a piece of cake,
a pasty Syrian with a few words of English
or the Turk who says she is a princess--she dances
apparently by levitation? Or Marcelle, Parisienne
always preoccupied with her dull dead lover:
she has all the photographs and his letters
tied in a bundle and stamped Decede in mauve ink.
All this takes place in a stink of jasmin.
But there are the streets dedicated to sleep
stenches and the sour smells, the sour cries
do not disturb their application to slumber
all day, scattered on the pavement like rags
afflicted with fatalism and hashish. The women
offering their children brown-paper *******
dry and twisted, elongated like the skull,
Holbein's signature. But his stained white town
is something in accordance with mundane conventions-
Marcelle drops her Gallic airs and tragedy
suddenly shrieks in Arabic about the fare
with the cabman, links herself so
with the somnambulists and legless beggars:
it is all one, all as you have heard.
But by a day's travelling you reach a new world
the vegetation is of iron
dead tanks, gun barrels split like celery
the metal brambles have no flowers or berries
and there are all sorts of manure, you can imagine
the dead themselves, their boots, clothes and possessions
clinging to the ground, a man with no head
has a packet of chocolate and a souvenir of Tripoli.
2.9k
O Bani Thani
I grow thin, wanting you;
O you of the drooping eyes and long neck
O Bani Thani, O sublime poetess and singer
who walks gracefully through the halls of Kishangarh
I hear
you are in my stepmother’s service;
and the songs you sing
though they are most sublime
they lure me into unholy thoughts, O Bani Thani
as do your drooping eyes, your lips curved into a smile
You walk head high always, they say
and you look directly ahead even when I am nigh
and yet that too invites me to wander over the landscape of your face
your drooping eyes, your drooping eyes
the eyebrow like a bow, the bow of Rajput warriors
whose arrows pierce with vigour
the elongated face, O Bani Thani
your elongated face and nose and curls of hair
that flow to your waist
and that visage and seduction all graced in muslin odhni
O Bani Thani
I hear your voice, I hear your songs
and your poems are recited here by the men even in the streets –
O but do you hear mine, do you hear my poems of
love, lust and thoughts unholy?
O do you hear my poems of pain and longing? –
all arising, all arising, O Bani Thani
everything in my manhood aroused
as I see you walk by, as I hear you sing
as I hear you play on your instruments
O Bani Thani, Bani Thani –
sing to me, sing to me:
*What is my end, what is my fate
in this my love and longing for you?*
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 5:59 AM UTC
the marriage between two hotdogs and two buns
some say it is a bliss - the union of two hotdogs:
two pieces of elongated meat lying side by side
bound by grease, tenderized by heat.
some say they're sumptuous,twice as filling, twice as fun;
though you can only consume them one by one.
two hotdogs can quite be a scene,
may it be dinner or an afternoon delight.
some may like it, some may not.
but who can deny them, that for them is delight.
the same goes for the bonds of two buns.
two hearts twained, bound by filling.
twice as refreshing, doubly fulfilling.
food for the gods, truly life-giving.
for the marriage of two buns can be mouth watering.
the matrimony of two hotdogs and that of two buns,
may be fun for anybody, but not for everyone.
as most could still be sated by a sandwich; grilled meat and toast.
as the marriage between a hotdog and a bun is still preferred by most.
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 3:16 PM UTC
,,,"---"",,"",,---,,,"""
palpable piquant
pastel scream
surrounded by
portentous
dream
seafoam and symmetry
loquacious land
shuddering snow
and
sibilant sand
caustic, cocaphonous
calypso clouds
awed by the
eloquent
elongated
shrouds
burnt to mere
nothingness
negated, naught
turbulent
truculent
trickling
thought
dense and dowdy
docile and dubious
rousing and rowdy
quiet and studious
grating, gallumphing
gruesome
ground
supine and succulent
*asymmetrical
sound*
soulsurvivor
(C) 6/22/2015
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 5:54 AM UTC
Time flies at the
event horizon.
Started small
when I arrived
barely
baby fish size
grew
and
knew
everything
I did
not
know
tho
I now
stand
elongated in the event horizon
the black hole has me in its
grasp
half-awake
half-asleep
my eyes are open
but in a trance
as images pour into
the darkness below
as pieces and particles
of the galaxy we know
and do not know
fly by.
I recall your whisper
in my ear
mother dear
the night before you died
telling me of the art to
be created in the summer
sky
I am in surrender to these
forces
as every moment of my
self flies bye.
Some nightmares
some daymares
some hearts on fire
salted tears of desire
the black hole shines
in darkness,
nothing can escape
no amount of money
will buy your way out
everything you owe will
be left behind
we can only sail
through that black hole
alone
birth or death
no one knows
some peace is made
and then
we go.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 8:56 AM UTC
A subtle carol echoes of the evening
Upon bended knee I am arrested
Betwixt strange refrains
Shaking the floorboards of Teicu
The evocative moans amplify
The foolish peacemaker of astrologists
The English dream of poetry
Those I coaxed by death
Were the witnesses of the tragedy
And were familiar with its ballad
Crafted the design ‘tis conceptual ***********
Eradicated their honor for vanilla threads
As they shimmy and shimmy
They defile elongated hankering
And retreated in the greenhouse of Woodstock
Its language made iconic by efficacious character
Having often been labeled an experiment
Broadening its brilliance along death’s boulevard
‘tis she who was the stunning one
Her language made sacred by her iconic fame
A long time controversial reference
An automaton, an origin of extraterrestrial etiology
The evocative moans ensnares the tourist
Sep 7, 2012
Sep 7, 2012 at 10:48 PM UTC
Tonight, in the darkness of this dimly lit earth,
The infinite stars burn with a translucent color of yellow
resembling the
bulbous moon
shifting, watching.
The trees stretch their willowy spines
over sprouting flowers
against a backdrop of watercolored silhouettes.
A cold rush of air trickles through
leaving behind drops of dew;
lilies, laburnum, larkspur.
Dawn, with her elongated fingers and wispy breath,
steals away into the night.
Patterned and fixated on the early hours of
rose colored reveries when all the earth
bows to the morning star.
And here we lie.
Broken people eclipsed
with secrets, wishes, dreams.
Waiting for our chance
to mask, to revel in the beauty
of a single muse.
Kara Troglin
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 12:35 AM UTC