"elongation" poems
Please forgive my hesitation
at instigation of flirtation.
Did I ensure my elimination?
My romantic assassination?
I'll gladly partake in any placation,
for any chance of indoctrination
to the centralization of your concentration.
An operation of admiration.
A correlation of inflammation.
Your gravitation brings animation,
exclamation and elongation.
My specialization is duration.
Not to hint at a connotation,
but I feel a certain **********
by an obligation to a certain destination
where your presentation gives me restoration.
Petrification?
Total mind evacuation?
Would clarification bring fascination?
Stimulation!
Salivation!
Gratification!
Insinuation of fornication?
A simple salutation to syncopation.
Would a single bright carnation
be enough of a motivation,
for a two way relocation?
Would poetic recitation
be sufficient lubrication
for collaboration?
A consolidation?
Or an exacerbation of isolation?
Please hold no reservation,
I've only got one aspiration.
To achieve a higher elevation;
by means of inhalation,
or a certain recreation
involving a bit of perspiration
along with physical communication.
Does this seem such a bad situation?
Or are you ready for pure elation?
Feb 18, 2010
Feb 18, 2010 at 12:56 PM UTC
You frown, I frown.
What obligates you?
And to I-why?
Do not we dote;
the elongation
of our tumultuous spirit?
Like a waterfall in pursuit of a sea,
Like weary eyes in need of lubrication,
Like a meowing kitten craving for milk.
Suffice is not.
Ere we beseech serenity
-an equilibrium.
O speak,
From your deepest well
-gay or remorse.
For a mirror, I am not.
Feb 3, 2012
Feb 3, 2012 at 10:08 AM UTC
that plant in the window
may well resent those roots
firmly potted and positioned
on that westerly sill
held in place as it is
by those wispy tendrils
straining outwards
desperate for growth
ever-reaching for
the drifting light
of that introverted Sun
evasive though it may be
its potential remains
dirt encrusted and anaemic
as the hidden branching is
neither its stem nor leaf
nor its bud or flower
could realise the heights
that it hopes to achieve
without these buried parts
for though this tangle
is filth-covered and
far from what any wish
to be faced with
when in admiration
of such flora
without this
the evolving maturation
from ceaseless elongation
and meristematic activity
the terracotta on display
could not be filled with
this greenery so vibrant
Dec 9, 2023
Dec 9, 2023 at 9:04 AM UTC
I want to see lady to ladette
set in Baltimore
with Omar teaching drug theft
with the finer points of gun cleaning
calibre selection and event planning
as his curricula.
I want Jimmy and Bunk
teaching the dos and don’ts
of alcohol intoxication
the art of shot and stubbie mix
the singing and drinking anthems
to stir the blood
and the strategic gutter chuck
before the final whisky chaser.
I want those girls out on the corners
playing police bingo
speaking drug lingo
and developing their drug-fuelled irony
of WMB, the Icicle and Pandemic.
I want Clay to teach them elocution
and elongation in the word “Shiiiiiiit”
I want Avon Barnsdale to teach them gangster codes
of respect on Sundays for stoop people
and Sunday crowns
on everybody’s grandmother.
I want Kima to discuss sexuality
and the Other
I want them to talk change and reform
with Cutty, Colvin and Prez.
Daniels will show how love and loyalty
can be made to work in reality.
And I just want
I only want
Stringer
for myself.
© M.L.Emmett
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 9:34 AM UTC
I look up to the sky to seek comfort from the star’s
There light glistening in my cold dead eyes
My body used, but unloved
My Vows abused, and the temple tainted.
I am forever alone, until my undoing.
Those who seek from me what was cursed upon me,
so painfully, wrongfully and unjust.
First was the sharp pain of the cracking of my face,
And the bloating of my tongue.
Next came the brutal hardening of my eyes,
and the elongation of my teeth.
It felt like eternity,
the never-ending screams that would bellow out of me.
And when I thought it was over,
the agonizing snakes pierced from my skull in a ****** mess of flesh and teeth.
The serpents upon my head grant me no company,
for they hiss and they shake and they fight.
When I lay my head at night it’s as if I have a front row seat to an unending feud.
My tears are lost dreams for no man to drink
My lady has forsaken me, ****** me, Exiled me with an ungodly face.
Many have come to gaze upon me, to laugh, to point, to be cruel.
My only defense is a gaze so cold it turns any onlooker to stone
My garden grows, of stone figures
The unwise, and the foolish.
Monster they call me.
They have no idea of the cruelty I have endured.
The loneliness, the pain, the suffering.
I sit alone and scream, I sit alone a snake.
I sit alone in this unforgiving place.
I see a place of Beauty where children’s laughter fills the air.
I see poppies and streams and pink skies.
But when I awake I realize it was all but a dream
And I sink back into my hole of misery and despair.
Snowflakes glisten as I hold them in my hands
but shortly fade away as like my hopes and dreams.
I am forever tormented by the things I can never have.
Locked away was my virtue, now locked away is my joy.
My womb tainted by momentary pleasures
A disease growing inside of me planted there without consent.
Hello, again star’s, my only friends.
Your silver shine is the only glow that warms my heart.
I lay beneath your dazzling gaze,
I am yours and I pray we never part.
Jan 29, 2017
Jan 29, 2017 at 4:44 AM UTC
i only think of a japanese robot thinning air in marathons:
editing in secret, while i speel the acronym a.i.
into aerodynamic informatics
for a breeze and wavy hunches true:
i wondered - would this much assure
me to buy a mandolin?
i bought a mandolin once,
but instead of gobi dried up ****** - instead
i was lodged into essays
and existential qualms relieved:
entering a 1960s l.s.d. disco
to suit a broken heart for a tongue flip of disco into ****
i thought of a flirt though,
played the mandolin in scotland,
beneath a window for a vine,
jagged & jarred the bricks with nails to climb & clutter,
and wished for serpentine thorns to clothe
excess sight with light through
spider's diadem kept, webbed;
landed a longshanks' bonus with excess strides
to counter the "debility"
of elongation instead; took two windmills with me
into don quixote, and out popped
the pepper queen of diamonds sneezing,
aged cougar.
so? my one grand delusion is a robot
precisely spelling me wok twang wrong;
i know i'm drunk, but that's hardly an excuse
to equate soberness with sanity
and stupidity clothed in spelling relieved, so simply undone
above the rubric of welcome detention in lines of surd names after mother smith.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 9:28 PM UTC
I float on by
I float on by
up up away in spaces
beyond the planes
of existence
& when I cry
I wish this time
would speed up
we just
don’t know
where I’ve been
or how far I’ll go
because
I float on by
I float on by
Confined by my thoughts
as I want to stop
this elongation
patiently racing
forcing destinations
into place when
people’s faces
are shadowed
shallow traces
of waters carving
the canyons within myself
drowning
I float on by
I float on by
Dec 24, 2011
Dec 24, 2011 at 6:20 PM UTC
Kicking with the same sentence
The reek but not the contents
Each kick of the hour with
The note that holds
But does not hold with truth
I am stuck on every part of you
Sticking like paper would to glue
If skies were to part with rain n' snow
I would shiver n' whine with every blow
But a whisper in the night tells myself
To keep on fighting
To get to know
Just as the clause is to us
And the wheels are to the bus
Lost in the sane relentless
Of men with sense and tents
Money hoarding fire rockets
Shouting for peace like cares
With out sprockets
A miss lined beehive
Where the women dance with their
Incredible behinds
To see such mayhem where others only see
A cause of peace
Makes me believe that my sneeze
Is coming from someone else's
Knees
Not here for where we are born
We are sworn
Labeled like the cattle
Like the product
Like the fish destine
For our dish
Meant for continuation
Meant for elongation
And I tell myself HOPE
Is a four letter word
A strong word
A HOPEFUL WORD
I tell myself many things
And I swear to believe them
But I lie to myself as often
Watch my fingers bleed
As I pick up
The chipped pieces
Nov 29, 2011
Nov 29, 2011 at 6:58 PM UTC
The viens in your hands,
artistically inching towards the pattern inside your human body,
the elongation of each tip,
adjoining the vast bed of perfectly shaped standing rectangles.
Your fingers speak of you,
the art that you create,
the story that you sketch.
Each vein walks in five different directions,
all beginning from the start,
where they collide,
irrespective of their aim.
The sculpted valleys in between each length,
portraying just how much life your hands hold.
Aesthetically beautiful hands you have,
don't let just anybody hold them,
for they hold the emotions that you hide,
each vein striding towards humans,
ready to connect,
explore,
discover.
~kc
23.12.16
6:15 PM.
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 10:57 AM UTC
Ashes of life permeate
through shallow tides,
weakening as shores of
white undercurrents
collect stagnantly on white shingles.
Corroded within each grain
that swallows all hope of
elongation.
Life is a moment crumbling to an
inevitable ending, buried beneath times silt.
Mar 10, 2018
Mar 10, 2018 at 1:17 PM UTC
√1 x √ 1 = 1
Root one, never felt like a full piece, never one,
Root one, met another number so alike in style,
Their common interest multiplied and became one,
And that was when they both let out their first smile.
When other numbers counted the bees and the birds,
Root one and root one counted fractions and surds,
In hopes that no one ever knew or ever heard,
They spoke of words like how absurd was the word surd.
Root one who never felt more whole than anyone,
Finally found another soul to make him a whole one.
No need for imaginary numbers of root negative ones,
Because Root One found a positive match, Root One.
So as night approaches,
Root one and Root one now a real number
Surrounded by the petal of roses,
Fell into one another arms to slumber.
Night and day comes to an inevitable close,
Root one and Root one became a complete whole,
This simply goes to shows,
That you don't have to be without flaws to find another soul.
--------
√1 = 1
In another universe, root one was happy being root one,
Because root one found the one within himself, root one.
They say one is a lonely number, so a root one,
Must be the loneliest number with no need for anyone else to be one,
Living a sordid life of loneliness, no other numbers left to join,
And at the flip or toss of a coin,
He will remain a never used piece of conversation,
But this poem must come to a close, no point in elongation,
Root one is a lonely number with no one to root,
But his own self, what a lonely shoot....
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 1:17 AM UTC
I understand elongation is not equal to eternity.
I know that everything is temporary.
I just can’t help but recognize you as my evermore.
© 2014 Rhea Nadia
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 4:24 PM UTC
In its immensurate clarity, In its elongation of whatever time is left to my uprightness; that thrice divided second before you make the first incision Balloons and collapses upon my space, in my air.
Concussed, winded: I should dig in to counter the character dissection,
to appeal with all ire against this clinical dismissal and if necessary I will make myself aged and rage grey, a ghost of one last furious effort.
Two weakening supply lines open up from my heart and twist like lovers
throttling one another for the right to carry the thickest blood and tonic
to my left-right-left brain. I see both outcomes as unreal orbs in each palm:
Fought, but foundered, I could go in lunar were-peace towards the rough hewn exit I saw you cut through the nearest physical plane for me.
It has splintered, like young wood does, in a bunch of feather and spike.
But if I just sit down here instead, let you flay me from a distance
and have trial and have done? Then pack my deserved wounds with dirt and paint me justly black. My reeking cowardice, to match your triumph.
It is an unnatural horror to fight you, to choose between prompt defeats or the slow-burn aggregate loss of small and token victories. With less life to live and more to chip away at, I begin to just eke.
There is no shortcut, no revelation in user experience that floors the bad design leaving me wanting. There is no way to win at you.
You are Dependable terror. I just eke.
Aug 31, 2016
Aug 31, 2016 at 4:22 PM UTC
*kån skal syngje meg
i daudsvevna slynge... meg;
nor eg på Helvegen gor
og dei spøra eg trår er kalda, så kaldara -
and with approximate accenting
on vowels or stressed elongation,
angstrom - or o or u or neither with ø.*
O but the fickle mind!
Gemini readied for both
body and soul?
i hardly think so...
and each animal his own
character, each his own
albeit well encompassed
in fascist automaton replica
undecipherable for us
to practice, or if to wield
to yield all but failure in the finite
as then too almost cat replica cat
cloned... but then
such character assassinations to
tell them apart, not even invoking eugenics
is dismissive altogether to begin with.
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 5:46 PM UTC
Let my death not be brought about by the pain,
of elongation, of sickness and disease,
nor the bitterness and cruelty of Nature.
Let my death come of time,
when all else seems of no effect,
in the midst of yells and screams,
Fire and Smoke,
crack and Shot,
in the hot temperament of Sacrifice and Glory,
Let my death unfold like a letter being read,
and my death will be watched,
by people who will stand in awe.
Let My death be not of no use,
Let it serve a true purpose,
let it be with intent,
Let it be of a lesser good,
rather than a greater evil.
I will not die in the solemnity of a hospital room,
Nor in the silence of a cold household room,
I will not die in bitter cold,
For deep down inside,
I know I will die with the warmth of my love for,
my family, my home,
my people, my nation,
My Faith, My Freedom,
My Brothers, My Sisters,
My God, My God.
Jan 27, 2012
Jan 27, 2012 at 12:55 AM UTC
french garçon - son - ç / s / ς.
and i let the wind turn the page, while
i held onto the last word, i let the wind
turn the page had it not have been held like
a woman in a marriage, and indeed the
wind flipped the page - yes, the perfumery of
books, old or new, stale or freshly baked -
i wanted the wind to turn the pages
of this remnant upheaval of readied reading -
as scenic as i could have wanted -
i let loose the page from under
my fingers, and the wind turned the page...
how i became entombed in
the company of the god Éolides
(εωλιδης) -
and what a happy repose it came to be -
yes, the greeks proved to be the
true aesthetic masters -
dependence on pronuciation's elongation
and curbing - a macron on the omicron
is an omega - etc. - and the epsilon (ε)
should be coupled with eta (η)
in terms of style, as sigma (σ / ς), already is -
but it will be hard, having to digitalise
handwriting, and how easily we can
impose words on the page, without
the smooth rekindling of the waves of
an incoming tide of inspired thinking
known as the birch forerunner, scout.
hence the new testament fitted with the old:
y omega w omicron / y epsilon w eta /
y theta w phi - i.e. yωwo / yεwη / yθwφ;
but of course i'm implying the same treatment
for o and ω like i'm implying for the above
mentioned ε and η akin to handwritten
ease of the two sigmas (σ / ς) - the latter written
at the end of words, the former in between.
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 12:52 PM UTC
to get my hands ***** with miracle,
to be fed with unknown, quietness, outburst of laughter
to carry me like a bridge into nonexistence
to make me a violin amidst misunderstanding
an imperfect piano in Chopin’s musings
to confuse me with another
spewing me on a distant shore
to bear my craziness of walking naked
among suspicious warriors
to teach me a prayer for each & every
breathing day
to take me to the other side
inside
I want elongation & annihilation
the practice of martial arts
in the truth of uncertainty
to invent distant words for the violent joy
of being alive
I want the little things
filling the imperfection of the day
like the warmth of your socks
my hand finding your stubborn lips
the forgetting of your tired shoulders
the softness of my whispers sometimes
my shoes next to yours wandering there
where something always happens
hic sunt leones
the shape of your thoughts in the bedclothes
I want to fall from grace
to love the weight burying
me in this round-about,
the hymn of my blood
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 7:28 PM UTC
“He also saw the cook’s cat which could do somersaults.”
At least that’s what the cook said,
a claim the cat, shapeless sack
of snide, deigned neither to confirm
nor deny, content to ****
long afternoons in desultory
elongation, stationed
on the window sill above
the blackened eight burner Garland.
Once, when the cook stepped outside
to smoke, the cat, mood sour,
expansive, airily confided
the corpulent cook could climb
stairs on his hands while whistling
“Parlez-Moi d’Amour”
then spat in the soup, dispelling
any lingering incredulity,
his stomach duly nailing
a flawless double backflip.
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 9:26 AM UTC
that there be no memorandum and that's, with ~one word:
enough said -
enough to say
Maurice Jarre; and the kept heart;
autumnal bearers of
the Griffin mould of brown and
quarter orange -
so i too might remember...
that beckon of the south....
at last in rhapsody
to the one remembered as having the attention span....
and the Shakespearean puncture -
well...
had we been so loved up with learning
as Ancient Arabs were with Aristotle....
10th century revision acquired demand -
i too would make a joke concerning
the black gold of the Saudis...
being spent on joking around the totality
of human affairs... and when the Koran was necessary
the Saudis simply quoted their newly established
Kabul of unorthodox idea -
parallel to Mecca -
minding the failure of:
fill 'em up, meaning they'll be fulfilled;
who gives a **** if the Arabs read Aristotle pristine
in the 10th century, they're hardly the ones to
speak a "saving the planet" speech these days...
they could have read Aristotle perfectly in the 10th
century... but when it comes to readers' digest:
they're basically not clued in...
given it's the 21st century...
i'm blaming all that spending potential...
all that spending potential
on Arab sycophancy, elaborated;
cos', after all, it's just cheese: mozzarella elongation
and a tribute to the moustache.
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 9:26 PM UTC
Adam’s urination was obnoxious in duration
Misidentification of the peeing location
Caused initial complication, then a long deliberation
Yet upon his infiltration of the urinary station
We waited in frustration, with a growing perturbation
But soon anticipation, fell to demoralisation
Why this elongation of his bladder evacuation?
Is his stream without cessation in this lengthy expellation!?
We waited in vexation through lavatorial vacation…
Was it *** misapplication, needing re-sanitisation?
Or perhaps an altercation with the flush mechanisation?
Or maybe ************ for some cheap gratification?
Excuse the scandalisation of his prolonged defecation
This versification of constipation has a solid allegation
Tis not a fabrication, that a massive **** was taken!
Jul 7, 2025
Jul 7, 2025 at 10:54 AM UTC
Therefore, I opted to
reduce heavy sedation
within unsuspecting reader rabbit
summarization superseded elaboration,
less reason spurring salacious secretion
i.e. a-z expletive epithet, et cetera laced
verbalization crucifixion subsequently,
neither nameless nincompoop (me)
crossing verboten drive,
nor this ditto anonymous
poetic purveyor to burden heavy
onlookers with elegiac colluding bugaboo
even daunting grizzly Adams,
endeavoring exclusively exercising
"E" valuation in futile attempt
to express mild exuberance
entailing English language.
Essentially erudition wrought
elucubration, ecstatic emotion,
enunciation, enumeration, eradication
narrowly avoiding writer's block
concomitent ebullition, emasculation
exacerbation, exasperation,
stepped up escalation elevation
malignant hypertension, encrustation
elementary (my dear Watson)
extemporaneous embarkation
severely affected non exlax induced
emergency enema evacuation,
but not even for the grace of dog
unstoppable elimination, ejection...
exhausting excavation
water closet expedition
elucidation, elation, edification,
vis a vis emancipation,
despite literary emaciation malnutrition
near extinction yours truly,
nonetheless... faint eruption
eureka *********** elongation
emanation awoke new edition
regarding neigh saying kid on the block
elicitation, elocution, energization,
eroticization, estimation, excitation
activated skeletal echolocation
eye opening entrepreneurial effectuation
analogous TVA electrification,
hence enervation equalization
relieved self cannibalization
thankfully discouraging envenomization
invariably in conclusion,
no exaggeration pronouncing
exemption verdict against
my extirpation sore disappointment!
Jun 13, 2019
Jun 13, 2019 at 12:29 AM UTC