"enjoining" poems
987
The Leaves like Women interchange
Exclusive Confidence—
Somewhat of nods and somewhat
Portentous inference.
The Parties in both cases
Enjoining secrecy—
Inviolable compact
To notoriety.
2k
1345
An antiquated Grace
Becomes that cherished Face
As well as prime
Enjoining us to part
We and our pouting Heart
Good friends with time
1.8k
Eye Balling
I felt your eyes ******* my poems
You took away the Island flavor
Enjoining adjectives, nouns and pronouns
Only blends like a raw smoothie,
However, without crush ice, it's bland
Let’s be blunt nothing beats originality in poetry
Poems demand originality not mind ****
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 6:18 PM UTC
When I first heard you speak, my soul grew weak and I knew then and there I would **** your mind,
I could picture your bare naked goals and Raw aspirations intertwined with mine.
I want to make love to your inner-most thoughts in the most intimate way as I run my lips across your imagination, creating nonstop sensation!
Threw my words of ****** elevation. This can be a ****** preparation! pleasure is only momentary.
Let's smash atoms like Adam and Eve,
piercing fiercely with particles blown white hot from my accelerator
Like trying to fill up a black hole, so i accelerate her
excite her, ignite her, my touch lights her on fire!
combusting her into
a cloud of ecstasy like Co2 rising higher,
snapping a photos to digitize her
particles turned pixels tilt their head skyward
transcendant enlightenment, released it inside her
If E=mc^2 , then I know can please you at the speed of light!
Baby we just rewrote the whole big bang theory and this time we got it right.
When opposites attract charged sparks will fly!
we might not touch but i be ****** if we don't try!
I'm a ****** intellectual
I love your body AND your mind.
Taking you to places that you’ve only seen in dreams
Reaching the highest peaks of that pearl you keep secret behind those soaking wet lips that stick to each kiss. You enjoining every lick of spit that drips off the tip of my **** as I lay and alternate those hips, dip after dip after dip after dip....
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 10:04 PM UTC
Just ***
Close the door.
Take off your clothes.
Listen.
This Christmas Let's just Be naughty and save Santa a trip.
Threw my words of ****** elevation. This can be ****** preparation! this pleasure is only momentary.
Is *** *****
Well I believe Only if it's done right
With A Conversation so deep,
I’ll unleash submarines of the mind
You never even knew existed
You have been Hurt before? i know your Guard up?
I understand why you''re so tight ******
But let me ease your mind
Naw, let me ease your soul.
just to be another chick
Is not this woman’s goal
This is it for us, for u, for me.
For in time you I see what I thought we could never be.
And in me u find things you wouldn’t dare to fathom
For I am your Mickey And will always be your
Intellectual ******
Taking you to places that you’ve only seen in dreams
Reaching the highest peaks of that pearl you keep secret behind those soaking wet lips that stick to each kiss. You enjoining every lick of spit that drips off the tip of my ****
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 5:32 PM UTC
CAIN
By Ariana Reines
The city was humming gently under me
Like an adolescent quaffing deeply
from the cup of righteousness
Out of practice with my own world
I was looking at how someone else saw it
Longer than I realized
Longer than I care to admit
Those goggles left a mark on me
Then I stared at my own face
An invitation came with my face
To melancholy while Nature
Purred at the edges of my perception
And before me lay a broad road
Enjoining me to do of myself and make
Of myself according to the American
Tradition. Secretly I felt and knew
Things I had not perceived my body
Turning into secrets. In other words
I did not notice the mechanism
By which something within me noted
My experiences and apprehensions of ‘the truth’
Would not be met with favor if I spoke them
Which is not to say one speaks only to find favor
Only that unreciprocated realities have a boring
Way of haunting the cells
Pulling them somehow down
Like the countenance of Cain
Which fell one day and never rose
Again, and the fall of his face
Rhymed with the fall out of Eden
Leading to the first murder and the invention
Of cities, where we now find ourselves
Each tower the ghost of a farmer
Who failed to meet the favor of the Lord
<|>
Anne Boyer is a poet and an essayist. Her memoir about cancer and care, “The Undying,” won a 2020 Pulitzer Prize for general nonfiction. Ariana Reines is a poet, a performing artist and a playwright from Salem, Mass. “A Sand Book” won the 2020 Kingsley Tufts Poetry Award. She runs Invisible College, a study hall for poetry, sacred texts and the arts. This poem is from her next book, “The Rose.”
Sep 23, 2023
Sep 23, 2023 at 10:24 AM UTC
On Tuesday morning
I discovered
That I had missed your late night call
And I found that I didn’t care at all
But then the next day I was tricked by your enjoining smiles
And I pretend to love you for a while
It’s now Thursday afternoon
And you don’t recognize me
So I think to myself who is he?
But the entire thing is a tragedy
You and I acting out our daily roles
Letting the heat dissipate from the coals
Of the hypothetically imaginary flame
Of a possible love affair
One we knew wasn’t there
And it’s a whole month of Sundays
Yet we still haven’t talked
But I’ve memorized the way you walk
The thread connecting you and I
Is woven together with Wednesdays and lies
As deceptively delicate as a spider’s web
Let’s try again and close our eyes.
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 3:10 PM UTC
less than twenty four hours after dashing off a poem
explaining why i wanted to die
found me experiencing physical duress vis a vis,
a bowel movement wherein waste unable to expel
from the **** of this guy
which bout with ****** obstruction
found me doubled over
with lower abdominal distress
whereby comfort found me unable to lie
down nor sit upright (with back padded with pillows
against the cellar brick wall),
thus severe bloating a bonus well nigh
and managed to muster the means to bare
frigid arctic vortex aire to purchase
the Acme brand Metamucil,
which akin to drano doth ply
thru the excretory tract
supposedly loosening the stools,
which optimism (product
didst earn claim to fame) generated a sigh
if that expressed intent
to cease livingsocial would try
humph enjoining
this lvii year old married male
to cede victory
to the grim reaper, who would vie
as winner de jure
to this common fellow invoking libretto
ohm resistant understudy waste not want not
allowing, enabling and providing relief,
without successful defecation
despite the oppressive urge to bolster this uriah
heap of balled up and tuckered i.e. pooped out
five foot and ten inches of lovely bones
thence mouthing retraction
of former thought to cease existing,
though a non-bull lever
in any power broker qua mankind
relief at long last
provided posterior answered prayer
yet, this scrivener scrutinizes
his recurring pain in the *** jagged torture
and asks
a rhetorical one word question "WHY"?
Apr 11, 2018
Apr 11, 2018 at 3:13 PM UTC
Growing up waiting, wishing to be set free
Ready to take over the world with some degree
Having beautiful memories of growing up
Only to be smashed with a hop, skip, and a jump
Enjoining parts of childhood, trying to forget the bad
Having an understanding that it was all a fantasy land
***** to have to fail to say
Wish I knew that before I went astray
As we grow into adulthood we marry and have a family
At that point we understand why our moms protected us daily
I always thought I'd die by age twenty-eight
I must have been high, I could've sworn I seen the expiration date
We shuffle through life, career, and family it's all just so mechanical
Deciding on Plans of burial, which seems practical
Leaving my children one less thing to worry about once I finally expire
So my children can grieve instead of worrying about the open fire
Boxing sentimental values and sorting pictures,
brings back wonderful memories of little sneakers
Sad to see them grow but very proud of how they've turned
Into handsome young men that's adjourned
As life goes on knowing that everything is in order
I'll pick up my bag of memories and go quietly to the transporter
Don't worry boys, I'll always be close
I'll guide you through the right path of life of course
So we'll meet again in the afterlife
Be ready for me because I'm going to hang tight
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 9:37 PM UTC
less than twenty four hours after dashing off a poem
explaining why i wanted to die
found me experiencing physical duress vis a vis,
a bowel movement wherein waste unable to expel
from the **** of this guy
which bout with ****** obstruction
found me doubled over
with lower abdominal distress
whereby comfort found me unable to lie
down nor sit upright (with back padded with pillows
against the cellar brick wall),
thus severe bloating a bonus well nigh
and managed to muster the means to bare
frigid arctic vortex aire to purchase
the Acme brand Metamucil,
which akin to drano doth ply
thru the excretory tract
supposedly loosening the stools,
which optimism (product
didst earn claim to fame) generated a sigh
if that expressed intent
to cease livingsocial would try
humph enjoining
this lvii year old married male
to cede victory
to the grim reaper, who would vie
as winner de jure
to this common fellow invoking libretto
ohm resistant understudy waste not want not
allowing, enabling and providing relief,
without successful defecation
despite the oppressive urge to bolster this uriah
heap of balled up and tuckered i.e. pooped out
five foot and ten inches of lovely bones
thence mouthing retraction
of former thought to cease existing,
though a non-bull lever
in any power broker qua mankind
relief at long last
provided posterior answered prayer
yet, this scrivener scrutinizes
his recurring pain in the *** jagged torture
and asks
a rhetorical one word question "WHY"?
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 12:58 AM UTC
if I were you
what thoughts would pervade
enjoining on a journey
Nov 28, 2021
Nov 28, 2021 at 5:32 AM UTC