"emphatically" poems
so I tried again
to train my parrot,
this time more emphatically:
*"Why don't you just
say what I say?
What, they never taught you
Repetition at Parrot School?"*
and my parrot said:
*"What, they never taught you
Thinking at Human School?"*
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 7:31 AM UTC
I met you in the time between embers and aries
when the sky darkens early and the leaves decide to depart from branches
when the cold grey dreary fuels me emphatically
and the cold crispness reminds me I am so delightfully alive
In those fiery red orange embers to the grey bleak aries
was I thus enflamed and envigorated by you
When I met you in that time between embers and aries
and we traded soft whispers and heated glances,
salacious banter and satisfied stares
in that time between embers and aries
where I hungered for all of you
exuding avaricious energy
to slake myself with your scent
and delight in the way my fingers dance through your hair
and revel in the way I trace my desire across your skin
my embers and aries are stained with you
Nov 21, 2020
Nov 21, 2020 at 5:14 AM UTC
I want a poet
between my thighs,
wicked tongue wrapped
in verse,
drive and provoke,
serenade
this dancing knot
of prose hidden here,
a hungry mound
saturated beneath a soft
cocoon of sweltering flesh,
suspended in expectation
inspired to spill forth
steaming compositions
sticky on his epic lips,
grinning.
And he’ll rise then
breathing a new stanza
onto my fragrant neck
“Sandalwood,” he’ll whisper
as he fills me with a new
refrain
emphatically taunts
my music
to sing down onto
his tightened fuse,
running rivulets spiraling
along his determined thighs,
crying out into his
listening ear,
a requiem so potent it
drips off the page
and becomes some reality.
Dec 28, 2009
Dec 28, 2009 at 7:57 PM UTC
Surrealism gone Awry
Watch, I open my skull on pneumatic hinges,you must have a hungry compulsion to peer inside and see the steamy tomato soup.
There is a certain blasphemy in believing.
See the dictator swill Avalanche in his mouth.
By decree the narcotics language
of surrealism states, that in the hierarchy of apples
Those closest to the sun murmur the sweetest, and in dreams the diabolical devil is obliged to meet you, but a committee of angels will arrive with Uzis loaded with enthusiasm... In time!
Surrealism is the proprietor
Of flowers fervently whirling like dervishes until... It is a place where I narrate lovers melting like pennies at the sight of each other, where home appliances long for your touch.
My fetish is my imagination, wild, wild imagination extravagant as your birth child,
Gaudy and beautiful like a coach built Cadillac by Saoutchick.
Where everything utter is true.
Welcome wide eyed wonder
To my simple things,
Fuel injected heart
Needle and thread
Enameled soul made from a French mind
Small animal pelts and bones for superstition
German precision
With the eye of a Xerox machine.
So one emphatically dream
Emphatically live
Emphatically believe everything uttered is true.
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 11:19 PM UTC
If aliens were real
and came down from outer-space
picking me up at sunset
from my car, or place
I'd try to be so polite
and chauffeur them the globe
while stressing emphatically
ain't gonna be an **** probe
We could go to diner
go dancing, under strobes
let me stress right now there Yoda
ain't gonna be an **** probe
They may argue all they want
but they're still just xenophobes
and unless they all look, just like Taylor Swift
ain't gonna be an **** probe
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 7:55 AM UTC
The yellowed dome cracks upon the surface
Of the moistened soil that stretches to make
Their way, emphatically filling most base
Space between dried stubs of flesh - never fake
Fruitless fingers - cracking, brushing, but now
Healing by comforting the path I pursue
With the wake of the rooster.
Home left warming behind, I gallantly
Saunter toward more humid, fume-fed airs
While leaving the thoughts that so quaintly
Filled my head, forgot to ingrain, and failed,
Allowing growth to myself.
Sun hung, high-noon, the dew fades all too soon
Creating a creaky concoction kept
Together (of sounds) by bare breaking-bones
Feet against gravel, dusty, rocky steps.
Sky set so wearisome and pink, I fall
To my knees in the midst of high terrain
Marked by thin grasses and rolling hill plains;
As I beg for mercy, not from this all-
Endowed sight, but from God(s) who seem only
To make this life right - I'll collapse further,
My hands move mountainous dirt and holy
Diadems of twig, while I decide - worth
When shall I dig?
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 10:09 AM UTC
The passion released in the medley of intrigue
Flows restoring as an onrush of air
Deeply inhaled as a kiss of aching persuasion
Gently arresting the heart waiting there
A resonant fascination mesmerizes the pulsation
Tempting the acceleration to exceed
The natural precision, which is known to maintain
A rush of harmony, as the heart beats
There are some who will emphatically attempt to deny
This medley of delightful intrigue exists
As they have never inhaled, the passion released
By the aching persuasion of the kiss
If your heart has never felt this deep fascination
A swift acceleration that rises above
The natural precision, the heart's known to maintain
Then you have never, truly been in love
Jul 18, 2010
Jul 18, 2010 at 6:56 PM UTC
colin, was a camel
who liked to roam
a two ****** fella
sort of brownish yella
decidely cool and mellow
had an eye on the road
always moving forward
albeit at a somewhat leisurely pace
and always with a goofy
smile on his face.
never looked back
and that's a fact
often found straying
from the beaten track
never in lack
of a kind word or to
incredably pragmatic
in his point of view
when asked his opinion
on the world today
stated emphatically
ya just gotta hope
and pray....that
and stay outta
the big boys way.
colin the camel
who liked to roam
had eleven big brothers
who stayed at home
colin was wise
most were twiçe
his size
and the rest
had habits
that attracted flies.
so colin kept
more than one step ahead
cause if they caught up
with him
colin was dead....
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 7:43 AM UTC
Indolence always gets the best of me
I feel like a jab
painting images without metaphors,
avoiding the intense visions of the lot
Indifferent, inebriated.
All demons slayed. Spread eagle.
Life seems to be a hassle,
in two ways on the same street
I am the attention *****
who wants to be left alone
Pushing them back only draws them closer
Today is no different,
a muse, a good laugh, a realization
my schedule is full again.
I just want to spend my time
anything else lacks luster
Goal: (noun)
1. aim, 2. end, 3. target, 4. purpose,
5. intention, 6. objective, 7. ambition,
I have none.
You can't force me, try as you may.
What does pique my interest is art
If I ever get over self indulgence,
which I will market emphatically,
I may consider starting a career
Controversies are fun, so is ******
to balance them both in one hand
and collect with the other
that is art.
Form, the world has never seen.
Abstract ambiguity rewriting itself.
Displeasing parents and loved ones around.
The one the perverts idolize
the critics would bow in awe to
Ah yes...
I feel so lazy.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 4:55 AM UTC
In the hush of your eyes
my heart speaks loudest
feeling our lips hover
our conversations
not a word
rhythmic drums
rapacious lungs /
repeating
the beatitude
getting
after you
inhaling
exhaling
in all “caps”
“YES!”
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 3:10 PM UTC
The Dream Stream
I transfer the rods energy from slack to a hell bent back cast stroke,
The line straightens, teeth clenched…..I push the casting arc forward.
My delivery is spot on, dead drift fly traveling the same pace as the current,
The trout’s jumping rise brings on a grin and the caddis hatch is on.
I look up stream and catch a glimmer of another heavy hatch of Caddis,
Grandpa’s eyes search for mine and finding them he flashes a toothy smile.
“Having Fun?"He shouts….I nod my head emphatically and give him a thumbs up.
And we keep it going until darkness prevails and the hatch finds sanctuary.
We walk and talk all the way home and I can’t remember a better time.
And now I have the honor of teaching my own son this gift.
Generation after generation it’s our duty to pass down our experience & know-how to the next.
And just before I close my eyes tonight, I recall this quote…
“It is not flesh and blood but the heart which makes us fathers and sons”. F. Schiller
- K.E. Carman 2016
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 5:38 PM UTC
This terse verse was not
coerced or rehearsed,
the characters dispersed,
automatically, erratically,
forming statically cohering
patterns emphatically stating
my state of mind unwinding,
binding to the page,
for my pen is but a player and
this paper is its stage.
So now these thoughts have autonomy
despite their bond with me,
they're free to be a part apart from the
constraints of my mind, and now without
restraint they find their way to yours
as you perceive them.
I emit, the pen transmits,
now you receive them.
Adopt the words with
your optic nerves.
But be warned that these forms
Do not appease norms.
Jul 26, 2017
Jul 26, 2017 at 4:41 AM UTC
She was a lovely looking thing,
A beautiful young blonde girl/woman
She hadn't been with us long... at
work
She was smart and sassy, even a little
scary
Held strong opinions on some things,
She lived close to where I lived, only
a few miles away
So I was sitting amongst them one
day, the girls/the ladies
They were a little bored that day and
for some sport
Were trying to draw me out, to get me
to open up a little
To reveal some more about my ways
and my life
So I thought I'd have some fun with
them
I told them I did some painting as a
hobby
And that my speciality was 'the
female Nude'
But alas! I had a problem, I had no
one to sit for me
"If only I had some beautiful nymph, some haughty Queen, some dazzling princess", I lamented
And then I'd gaze over at Her, give her
a longing look,
Then of course, someone upped and
said the obvious
" Jen....don't you live close to where he lives, would you not go sit for him "
My face it lit up and I smiled
"No! I would not!!! she said
emphatically, disgusted
Now I knew from the Christmas party
she liked to drink Gin
So I said enticingly "I'll throw in a
few bottles of Gin"
"I'd never pose **** for anyone", she replied again emphatically, "it'd be embarrassing, it'd be degrading! Sitting naked before some man!",
" But ", I replied, " you wouldn't be embarrassed sitting for me
'Cos when I paint a **** I insist on
being in the **** myself as well
So as to make my Sitter feel more at
home, more at ease
Yeah, Me! I'm very... Avant Garde"
(said with a devilish twinkle in my eye)
Still she resisted my painterly
charms
So as to further entice her I said
"I'll even cook you breakfast, no one can resist my lovely sizzling sausages".
I felt as though I'd dangled my carrot
right in her face
But still she wouldn't take the bait.
I suppose I was lucky she hadn't for if
she had of (agreed)
I would have had to have learnt how
to paint Nudes real fast
And how to cook sausages and other
breakfast repast.
Apr 18, 2020
Apr 18, 2020 at 9:38 AM UTC
the radio is thrumming in the distance and you are measuring something
its scientific
so you don't bother to explain it to me
because we both know that i won't understand it
and i'm okay with that
because i am more than happy staring in wonder at you
perhaps it sounds cheesy
that's okay, because it's sincere
and you know this
the radio is listing random numbers
as always when it's not tuned to my voice
and the sun hasn't set
but that means very little, because the sun has not been setting at the right time anyways
not that it matters, since electric lights were invented some time ago
you're leaning against me
and smiling
and i am carding my fingers through your hair
and its lovely, it is
because this moment has not yet ended
and while it is nice to have memories to look back on
its never quite the same
it must be heaven, i think
because i am not used to acceptance
not even in such a strange town as this
i am not used to acceptance and while i am okay with this
its nice
to have someone know your darkest secrets
and stay by your side
it make you feel worthwhile
before i told carlos - beautiful carlos, and he's mine -
i was worrying
my mother
before she died
told me many things
most of them to do with my death
but also
some things that are a little more meaningful
and sitting here with my carlos
i am reminded of what opposites they are
carlos
has always accepted by glowing tattoos that sometimes
when i'm not careful
morph into tentacles that snake their way around his arms, holding him close
he may have been a little annoyed when he couldn't sleep
but it wasn't my fault
he said that
very emphatically
and it was very kind
it's never my fault
he said
when someone bad does something bad to you
and that
has made all the difference
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 7:56 PM UTC
I was breathing in the beauty of Scala dei Turchi,
as I sat atop pure white marlstone crescendo,
etched by the winds and the rains of time;
the view emphatically embracing the coast of Agrigento.
‘Twas along those balbutient banks of the Mediterranean sea
I saw him silently standing there,
his hands resting in white linen pockets,
the salt wind blowing through his peppery hair.
Serenely somber in quiescent stillness,
he was dashingly debonair,
his form earnestly beseeching, a wish
delicately wrapped in the guise of a prayer.
He peeled his stare away from crystal waters clear,
I was transfixed by eyes that gallantly gazed at me;
eyes that emerged from pools of a deep sorrow,
eyes as transparent as the turquoise blue sea.
Deftly ascending those limestone cliffs,
he was reminiscent of Saracen pirates penetrating;
with such determination of gait and surety of purpose,
he approached me with palpable power emanating.
His drawing near sent my heart swiftly a-pounding,
a halo of light behind his sun-kissed face –
I imagined I saw a shadowed smile emerge
as he nonchalantly quickened his pace.
He took his place beside me
atop the pure white marlstone crescendo;
and we waited for the sun to descend,
against the skies of beautiful Agrigento.
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 3:20 PM UTC
not a papist or ****** or shapist
but enjoying a curve
not an escapist
lacking the nerve
not a florist, tourist or activist
unless its summer time
and certainly not an alchemist
no water into wine
a lovely smiley altruist or artistically quite loud
but sadly failed when drawing
kindness from the crowd
mist
gist
fist
hoping to desist in being a monarchist
and always very eager on not being dogmatist
but still I really strongly emphatically insist
that faddist, fauvist fashion
is only a passing passion
for the narcissists among us
realist
publicist
terrorist
humbly suggesting that zeitgeist
is an ist
but failing to enjoy the line
being a fatalist
not a facist, xylophonist or anything with isms
just a bad contortionist
with creeping rheumatism
determining the future through a timely
cruel twist
whilst realising ultimately
I’m just
a sad typist
Aug 19, 2011
Aug 19, 2011 at 7:10 AM UTC
I am emphatically flawed.
I will make mistakes,
I'll be distant and difficult.
Things will rarely if ever,
be "perfect."
But I will always come back to you,
with a sad smile and soft voice,
and the most heartfelt of apologies.
On occasion I will be incredulous.
I'll question your actions,
and your motive.
I'll **** near border on paranoia.
But I'm easily proven wrong,
it won't take much to re-build my confidence.
I may very likely disappear,
from time to time.
I'm an enigmatic rambler,
and a vagabond.
I won't often buy you roses.
But I will show up after days in the wilderness,
with a heart full of love,
and a whiskey bottle stuffed full of wildflowers...
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 10:37 PM UTC
Amidst created worries, troubles and troubles, as if I were falling into a gaping abyss, half-balancing on the edge of animals, hyena-scavengers, like a shaky-legged, slightly hesitant, underestimated tightrope walker, - I can deliberately hold on or not in the draft of depravity. In the purgatory of an endless rail, as if I were one of those Bosch could have painted in his lifetime; a gathering of hell-shaped soul-shadow visions ready to rage.
It would be nice to hide back at least sometimes in some strange, sprawling Hawaiian wilderness, where crystal-clear, raw-visceral emotions can also manifest themselves more emphatically, more faithfully to themselves. A middle-aged rose withers and withers in the filth of big cities, because there was no one left to console her instead of her selfish strawman-peddler husband; because even hook-nosed prophets fall for whales, after devouring even the smallest tadpole embryos.
Forever chained as mere passengers in spiral circles, because that is how people are now, intentionally tied to the work methods of unbearable, unfulfillable working hours, petty-gallant deadlines. Because now it seems that washerwomen and hostess models are once again selling their commodity love for tinkling silver coins, until another incomprehensible, twisted property division lawsuit comes; "Daddy and Mommy really love you children! You just know that Mommy and Daddy can't stand each other anymore!"
They would rather drown each other in a spoonful of water, if they could do that!" - Thus, the slow, conscious disillusionment can still remain. Among the calculated, manipulative genres of attempts and cheap escapes, there is certainly no one left who would actually understand their job and act as their heart commands?! - A casual party queen or a diva imitating luxury is handing out slaps with stamps stuck on guest masks.
Sep 12, 2025
Sep 12, 2025 at 12:40 AM UTC
it is midnight, and i am lonely
perched near an open window
looking out into the city
full of strangers
pulsing through the streets
it is midnight, and i am lonely
the cool air striking my face
as i listen to the bells chime
and count them
one, two, three, four, five
and it is only when i get to twenty-seven
that i realize i'm doing something wrong
it is midnight, and i am lonely
laying on the worn mattress, thin bars pressing
into my back
staring at the cracked white ceiling
making constellations out of spiderwebs
and generally thinking about nothing
it is midnight, and i am lonely
wandering the empty streets of Harlem
plastic bags fluttering by
someone screaming
and me, walking
it is midnight, and i am lonely
standing in a large crowd
telling a joke and gesticulating emphatically
wiggling my eyebrows when i get to the funny part
it is midnight, and i am lonely.
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 8:26 PM UTC
I got soul and I am a soldier.
I got soul, and I AM a soldier.
The world, is full of soldiers, some no older;
than ten, learning to use the pen.
Others, grow colder, killing with their swords again.
In the end, regardless of your reasons or weapons,
it would be treason for me to treat these soldiers like peasants.
The feudal lords send us to die on distant shores as though we were ****** bought and sent to supply their wars and satisfy their demands for more,
blood lust.
Human being does not mean mindless killing machine.
The next time a war scene, plays out in the news,
and you hear the same rhapsody about third world violence and blues;
take a moment of silence, to question,
if it was you,
would you take a different direction or stand up to fight for you and your section?
Soldiers come in all ages, shapes, and complexions.
Some use words for weapons, trading carnage for college;
that's why I don't drop bombs, I drop knowledge, and I don't quote psalms, I pay homage,
to the earthly soldiers of humanity fighting the insanity of a planet where they die in wars fueled by greed, fear, and vanity.
Men, women, and children around the globe rally to the banners of Love, Happiness, and Hope,
trying to cope, with the ropes tightening around their throats.
So they turn to the Pope, or the Shah, or the President, or the King,
all draped in their righteous bling,
blissfully ignoring, the mystery,
as to why history's greatest soldiers were common folks who just kept pushing forward.
Jesus, Muhammad, and anyone who survived a nuclear bombing.
Gandhi, King, and the few whites that stood against African-American lynching.
Galileo, Newton, and those that researched in secret to avoid persecution.
Wellington, Eisenhower, and those that died fighting tyranny in the darkest hours.
The true power, of the soldiers of Man, comes when we take a stand fighting for something we demand. Our grand,
struggles and revolutions are led by those fighting for solutions,
by those that may become political executions.
So to those that question me,
I state emphatically,
yes indeed,
no matter race, gender, or creed,
I stand with all the other souls that are soldiers of humanity,
fighting to save our sanity.
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 1:34 PM UTC
You,
Lone being
Of enduring kindness,
Your tiny hand touching me tenderly,
Even in the bleakest times.
Dragging me out of the darkness
Even as I continually crawled toward it.
The tortures inflicted,
both blindly and unintentionally
And with premeditation and surety
Should surely not have befallen one so gorgeous of spirit.
It seems now you have lost your faith in me,
As I have failed to fulfill a slew of promises.
But, you do not understand where I stand,
How my hands are shackled
Fettered to the spot,
When we dwelled together
Hell rained down until our hearts were parted.
I do not wish for the intensity of my vile
To drizzle and stain, and burn and brand you.
You are far too precious to me to allow the chance of that.
But, seeing you burn my page from your diary,
Finally and emphatically denouncing me,
I am torn down like a ***** ******
I love you with devout intensity,
And watching you suffer at our separation
It equalled the potential pain of my tint tainting you.
So what am I to do now, kind one?
My smile only masks the agony so long.
Sweet one, whose kiss lasted longest,
Which sadly meant, there were fewer of them.
The clever saboteur will always sabotage us.
The angry cannoneer will always barrage us.
I don't want you to endure such things.
But NEVER stop believing I Love you!
Whatever you see occur,
Never forget this.
Sep 23, 2012
Sep 23, 2012 at 9:13 AM UTC
Silence -
Emphatically daunting,
Patiently awaiting resolve,
Hoping you choose me.
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 12:00 AM UTC
Tomorrow night, you’ll sleep walk into your lover’s dreams.
You’ll open the gate to hell, where you’ll find the poor ******
souls of a lost generation. Their lust, recklessness & drunkenness
will come as no shock to you. You’ll find your people trashed;
***** bottles smashed & abandoned, intoxicated girls balanced
on their Jeffrey Campbell Litas floating through social groups.
Boys, barely men, will be seen beaten down to the bare bones
of their existence, cigarette blunts piercing their open chests;
stinging & burning, red & yellow ash sparking flames on
the black lingerie of their lover’s.
Tomorrow night, you’ll wish you were not sleep walking into
your lover’s dreams. In the days you spend there, you will not
find the lover you know. You’ll find a lover who is invaded
by body snatches; emphatically dominating every white cell.
You’ll find a lover, cast away with the ghosts of his past.
You’ll bear witness to pendulums of excessive desires
swinging to & fro – where time stands still, & not even
the ticking of a clock can be found, to count the days til
the grave he will fly.
© Sia Jane
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 1:12 PM UTC
It looks inviting.
Clean. Fresh. Sweet.
I carefully touch it's cold and tight skin,
Lifting it slightly with a few fingers.
Feeling out, all over its ripe flesh;
Feeling out the soft and moist spots,
As gently as possible with a knowing finger.
Even just by looking, I can tell that the flesh behind the skin will be juicy.
After the briefest pause to appreciate the appetizing view,
I bring my mouth down onto it
Feeling the cold skin become
very warm against my mouth.
My mouth attaches to its skin and takes it apart with skilled suction,
(I'd hate to needlessly tear the skin to shreds with my teeth)
Immediately, my mouth is suddenly sweetly flooded with those sticky juices;
That savory flavor flowing down my face, mixed in with the taste of my own saliva.
...
I taste and drink it in. All of it.
The taste, the smell, the flavor.
I nibble away, emphatically and eagerly;
Excited by the rich and strong taste of it,
Pouring itself out to me from underneath it's skin.
I am enraptured by the entirety of it.
I wish I could eat Pears, everyday.
Nov 7, 2016
Nov 7, 2016 at 1:32 PM UTC
thank you for signing in
in between the signs
thank you for leaving space
luminously empty
thank you for listening
to the masterpiece
of silence
thank you for quoting quantum leaps
while twirling the hairs on my chest
thank you for choosing
azure and the network of spring
so emphatically
thank you for collecting
the echoes of a single dewdrop
with the presence of a child
thank you for creating
miracles and bubbles:
360°
thank you for breathing
flashy ******* passionately
thank you for your interstellar
plexus and your solar torus
dewdrop glass, thy name
thank you for wordplaying
magnifying fiery patterns
(dewdrop glass, 2017
christian sonnenklar)
Oct 29, 2017
Oct 29, 2017 at 7:14 AM UTC