"errosion" poems - Hello Poetry

mesa rises a ship sans sails the moon strips the creosote to blond bone it's errosion causes the desert to ripple beaches hidden tides going out sea nyctinastic sirius flowers open their lazy eyes the moon may croon to waves dashing on the shipwreck but even the moon makes things grow SoulSurvivor (c) 7/9/2016

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Jul 9, 2016

Jul 9, 2016 at 9:59 PM UTC

SoulSurvivor

nychtinastic sirius

mesa rises a ship sans sails the moon strips the creosote to blond bone it's errosion causes the desert to ripple beaches hidden tides going out sea nyctinastic sirius flowers open their lazy eyes the moon may croon to waves dashing on the shipwreck but even the moon makes things grow SoulSurvivor (c) 7/9/2016

35

had man more ambition, he'd feed his hunger to be devoid of attaining a god-status... after all: why bother feeding a plagiarism of a plagiarism, of one man's invention being passed down for another man's itemisation of lost artefacts, that can't paraphrase: an urn's equivalence toward the monetary due or shared regrets, remains... or profits. i can't tell you what you want to know, well, "know" - that all it takes is a male cat tidy in his sleeping pose, and his female equivlanet, stirred, jolting, angry, scared, itchy... in my arms, as without my arms holding her, stirred, jolting, angry, scared, itchy, ready to jump out of the canvas and make still-life a joke. writing this she pretends the austitic stare... as all cats do... her evil eyes peer into me, and i see the shards of the omni-mirror that chords man into being god... and how belittling the "repose", oh the agony of the multitude in the all encompassing request... what sordid ambition for man to equate himself as god... how follow that knock must feel, asking for a full bodied burden of oak laboured over by man to be made into a door, with a million toothpicks: sentenced into a doorknock: regarding? good day... what audacious claim you make! three tier question you ask... that is, what will be, or what is? well... a waiting bed, the male cat fast asleep, the female cat in figgit mode - how i dream of the pillow, how i dream wide awake of placing my head onto it, and erasing all previous dreams from memory... i'm sure memory can be allowed this function: forget the last dream, than attaining autistic memorisation errosion of the alphabet... did i mention that i think that feline bonsais are autistic? i will die claiming that cats are autistic.... i guess that's why autistic children can comprehend a cat akin to the cat being able to comprehend an autistic child.

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Aug 18, 2017

Aug 18, 2017 at 7:01 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

petting cats

had man more ambition, he'd feed his hunger to be devoid of attaining a god-status... after all: why bother feeding a plagiarism of a plagiarism, of one man's invention being passed down for another man's itemisation of lost artefacts, that can't paraphrase: an urn's equivalence toward the monetary due or shared regrets, remains... or profits. i can't tell you what you want to know, well, "know" - that all it takes is a male cat tidy in his sleeping pose, and his female equivlanet, stirred, jolting, angry, scared, itchy... in my arms, as without my arms holding her, stirred, jolting, angry, scared, itchy, ready to jump out of the canvas and make still-life a joke. writing this she pretends the austitic stare... as all cats do... her evil eyes peer into me, and i see the shards of the omni-mirror that chords man into being god... and how belittling the "repose", oh the agony of the multitude in the all encompassing request... what sordid ambition for man to equate himself as god... how follow that knock must feel, asking for a full bodied burden of oak laboured over by man to be made into a door, with a million toothpicks: sentenced into a doorknock: regarding? good day... what audacious claim you make! three tier question you ask... that is, what will be, or what is? well... a waiting bed, the male cat fast asleep, the female cat in figgit mode - how i dream of the pillow, how i dream wide awake of placing my head onto it, and erasing all previous dreams from memory... i'm sure memory can be allowed this function: forget the last dream, than attaining autistic memorisation errosion of the alphabet... did i mention that i think that feline bonsais are autistic? i will die claiming that cats are autistic.... i guess that's why autistic children can comprehend a cat akin to the cat being able to comprehend an autistic child.

66

i crafted an exquisite note to be sent along to the exquisite woman that no longer deserved it. i sat down in a wildflower patch with an empty bottle which gave me the courage to roll the parchment the ants in all their fury held no charge against me and the strategically buried daggers left nothing more than an impression on my bare feet nor did the canals formed by tears' errosion on the cheek the largest tree now long dead a landmark lost to time a love a partner

0

Jun 2, 2014

Jun 2, 2014 at 11:52 PM UTC

allan-jain-bonder

message in a bottle

i crafted an exquisite note to be sent along to the exquisite woman that no longer deserved it. i sat down in a wildflower patch with an empty bottle which gave me the courage to roll the parchment the ants in all their fury held no charge against me and the strategically buried daggers left nothing more than an impression on my bare feet nor did the canals formed by tears' errosion on the cheek the largest tree now long dead a landmark lost to time a love a partner

18

Never have I carried a violent mind, Still I take your words, a travesty on my character Still I receive punishment for acts I failed to commit Or that are buried so deep in the past Even the tides have forgotten But like the shore is broken by the wave, these too have subjected me to errosion Parts of my whole, broken And you may not now regret the thoughts you project Until they replace the air in your opinions and the people in the room Until you are left alone with them As they suffocate you.

0

Jan 15, 2018

Jan 15, 2018 at 10:06 AM UTC

PollyMonroe

I'm Not Who You Made Me

Never have I carried a violent mind, Still I take your words, a travesty on my character Still I receive punishment for acts I failed to commit Or that are buried so deep in the past Even the tides have forgotten But like the shore is broken by the wave, these too have subjected me to errosion Parts of my whole, broken And you may not now regret the thoughts you project Until they replace the air in your opinions and the people in the room Until you are left alone with them As they suffocate you.

11

December, a vision, A most wise decision, I believe a derision Left us all alone, Nothing between us, No one could have seen us, This event completes us And leads us along, My mind was so clouded And as we were shrouded, The rest left confounded And sent to atone, To seek willing penance, To break their dependence To find our ascendance An encompassing throne, I seek, we yet make it, Deciding to break it, Knowing not what’s at stake yet, We sought a true home. But finding revulsion Furthered compulsion Our hearts’ errosion A broken gramaphone. No memory corrected, No statue erected We became infected With our words in tone, I looked o'er shoulder, No longer could hold her, Or either composure, Left a haunting moan. Seeing not corrected, My soul now indebted, Forever inspected, Silencing a groan, I walked as if courted, My love, I aborted, To see you contorted, My dear, so distorted, I find self remorseless Morbid, forsworn it, Disgusting discourses, All else but abhor it, It seems so alluring, Though mildly incurring, All but securing A life worth enduring, I’d say it was the last thing that I said in this world, But that’s just a paradox, and a lie beyond that.

0

Aug 31, 2016

Aug 31, 2016 at 8:07 PM UTC

andrew-p-marheine

A Paradox And A Lie.

December, a vision, A most wise decision, I believe a derision Left us all alone, Nothing between us, No one could have seen us, This event completes us And leads us along, My mind was so clouded And as we were shrouded, The rest left confounded And sent to atone, To seek willing penance, To break their dependence To find our ascendance An encompassing throne, I seek, we yet make it, Deciding to break it, Knowing not what’s at stake yet, We sought a true home. But finding revulsion Furthered compulsion Our hearts’ errosion A broken gramaphone. No memory corrected, No statue erected We became infected With our words in tone, I looked o'er shoulder, No longer could hold her, Or either composure, Left a haunting moan. Seeing not corrected, My soul now indebted, Forever inspected, Silencing a groan, I walked as if courted, My love, I aborted, To see you contorted, My dear, so distorted, I find self remorseless Morbid, forsworn it, Disgusting discourses, All else but abhor it, It seems so alluring, Though mildly incurring, All but securing A life worth enduring, I’d say it was the last thing that I said in this world, But that’s just a paradox, and a lie beyond that.

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