"exhibits" poems - Hello Poetry

She's an alphabet artist she paints in words, from a palette of adjectives, nouns and verbs, the landscape she finds in the folds of her mind she exhibits in volumes of verse.

0

Oct 8, 2014

Oct 8, 2014 at 5:21 PM UTC

bones24

Alphabet artist.

She's an alphabet artist she paints in words, from a palette of adjectives, nouns and verbs, the landscape she finds in the folds of her mind she exhibits in volumes of verse.

7

The most beautiful creation in all of existence is a mother. She's surpassed only by the love she feels for her child, or children. She's perfect by design, God's reflection. She's a gentle touch in the infancy of our being, the nurturer of adolescence, wisdom that guides our maturity. She's the love that fills our hearts, keeper of our souls, a fixture within our spirit. She exhibits incredible strength, especially those who bare the burden of being fathers as well. Life is the house in which we all reside, but a mother is Home, that amazing. She's an angel in the guise of woman, all of humanity are her offspring. A day isn't nearly enough time to express our gratitude. It would take all of eternity. Know that you are loved, and greatly appreciated mothers. Without you there would be no us. Happy Mother's Day. - James D. Woods

0

Jan 23, 2017

Jan 23, 2017 at 6:00 PM UTC

J-August

An Ode To Motherhood

The most beautiful creation in all of existence is a mother. She's surpassed only by the love she feels for her child, or children. She's perfect by design, God's reflection. She's a gentle touch in the infancy of our being, the nurturer of adolescence, wisdom that guides our maturity. She's the love that fills our hearts, keeper of our souls, a fixture within our spirit. She exhibits incredible strength, especially those who bare the burden of being fathers as well. Life is the house in which we all reside, but a mother is Home, that amazing. She's an angel in the guise of woman, all of humanity are her offspring. A day isn't nearly enough time to express our gratitude. It would take all of eternity. Know that you are loved, and greatly appreciated mothers. Without you there would be no us. Happy Mother's Day. - James D. Woods

25

I peruse exhibits through the modern art museum Nails hammered into wood And trash strewn on the floor I couldn't help thinking What the **** is this **** These can't be the champions of modern art Moonlight and Arrival morphed my empathy and perspective The theater is fine Music is there for those inclined to discover it So what about visual art? I know a few things for certain Nails hammered into wood never changed my perspective Nor does seeing a garbage can in a museum affect my empathy Trash is not art Trash is trash Waste meant to be thrown in the proper receptacles So as not to obstruct our view of true beauty I will concede that Beauty can be found in everything Depending on analyzation variation But those that live an examined life Constantly see silver linings and sour grapes Experiencing comfort in tundras to the point of banality Those visions are much more interesting in their organic state anyway As opposed to an interpersonal expression of the seemingly obvious So what to hang in an art gallery? I have my own opinions At this point in time No visuals elicit more emotions Than dank memes When I'm consuming art Questions are innate in my consumption Is this a vessel for empathy? Is this examining the human condition? Dank memes meet those criteria Satirizing the powerful Highlighting emotions and virtues in ourselves That we're either proud or ashamed of Memes share a common thread with poetry In the sense that everybody can create memes Or be a poet I get the impression that Universality of art diminishes it's importance In the minds of patrons There's an element of truth to that But what makes art special is quality And what makes art truly special is high quality And that's what belongs in museums

0

Jun 14, 2017

Jun 14, 2017 at 11:23 PM UTC

andrew-rueter

Modern Art

I peruse exhibits through the modern art museum Nails hammered into wood And trash strewn on the floor I couldn't help thinking What the **** is this **** These can't be the champions of modern art Moonlight and Arrival morphed my empathy and perspective The theater is fine Music is there for those inclined to discover it So what about visual art? I know a few things for certain Nails hammered into wood never changed my perspective Nor does seeing a garbage can in a museum affect my empathy Trash is not art Trash is trash Waste meant to be thrown in the proper receptacles So as not to obstruct our view of true beauty I will concede that Beauty can be found in everything Depending on analyzation variation But those that live an examined life Constantly see silver linings and sour grapes Experiencing comfort in tundras to the point of banality Those visions are much more interesting in their organic state anyway As opposed to an interpersonal expression of the seemingly obvious So what to hang in an art gallery? I have my own opinions At this point in time No visuals elicit more emotions Than dank memes When I'm consuming art Questions are innate in my consumption Is this a vessel for empathy? Is this examining the human condition? Dank memes meet those criteria Satirizing the powerful Highlighting emotions and virtues in ourselves That we're either proud or ashamed of Memes share a common thread with poetry In the sense that everybody can create memes Or be a poet I get the impression that Universality of art diminishes it's importance In the minds of patrons There's an element of truth to that But what makes art special is quality And what makes art truly special is high quality And that's what belongs in museums

49

Two, of course there are two. It seems perfectly natural now—— The one who never looks up, whose eyes are lidded And balled¸ like Blake's. Who exhibits The birthmarks that are his trademark—— The scald scar of water, The **** Verdigris of the condor. I am red meat. His beak Claps sidewise: I am not his yet. He tells me how badly I photograph. He tells me how sweet The babies look in their hospital Icebox, a simple Frill at the neck Then the flutings of their Ionian Death-gowns. Then two little feet. He does not smile or smoke. The other does that His hair long and plausive ******* ************ a glitter He wants to be loved. I do not stir. The frost makes a flower, The dew makes a star, The dead bell, The dead bell. Somebody's done for.

0

6.2k

Sylvia Plath

Death & Co.

Two, of course there are two. It seems perfectly natural now—— The one who never looks up, whose eyes are lidded And balled¸ like Blake's. Who exhibits The birthmarks that are his trademark—— The scald scar of water, The **** Verdigris of the condor. I am red meat. His beak Claps sidewise: I am not his yet. He tells me how badly I photograph. He tells me how sweet The babies look in their hospital Icebox, a simple Frill at the neck Then the flutings of their Ionian Death-gowns. Then two little feet. He does not smile or smoke. The other does that His hair long and plausive ******* ************ a glitter He wants to be loved. I do not stir. The frost makes a flower, The dew makes a star, The dead bell, The dead bell. Somebody's done for.

31

When they get to the aquarium, the kid asks if they have a Great White shark exhibit. The volunteer says no, we don’t. The kid asks, “Why? are you afraid he might try to eat people?” The volunteer chuckles at this and tells him no. no aquarium has successfully held a Great White shark live for more than a few days. You see, in order to stay alive, Great Whites and other sharks, like hammerheads, swim on their own continuously through the ocean, never stopping, never slowing, tramping a perpetual journey with many miles to go before they finally reach “sleep”. If they stop, the oxygen rich water around them no longer flows over their gills and into their bodies and they suffocate from the strain of being at rest. So they keep going, like lost children searching for their parents in a very large amusement park. This need to keep moving, this need for space, has made it extremely difficult to keep them in our meager glass human death cages. When the Monterey bay aquarium managed to capture a juvenile that didn’t thrash itself to death like the adult sharks they netted before, it bashed its head against the tank’s sturdy walls until the shock of being dragged out of its home and put in the equivalent of a coffin killed it. But, the volunteer continued cheerfully, we have other kinds of sharks here. We have zebra sharks, which don’t need to swim nonstop. In their natural habitat, they just lie on the ocean floor all day. The kid agrees to go see them The zebra sharks are not lying on the floor nor do they look like zebras. They swim slowly past him, leopard spots dotting their ridges on their backs, their fins, their long tails. “They’re called zebra sharks because of the zebra like patterns of the juveniles,” the volunteer explains. The ones we have here are adults.When they become adults, they get the spots and those ridges you see. Sometimes people mistake them for leopard sharks, which are a totally different species.” The kid stares at the zebra sharks for a full ten minutes, looking for a sign of resignation at being called something they weren’t anymore, at collectively being referred to by a childhood nickname they had long outgrown. They did not seem to care. He gets bored and goes to other exhibits, the split fin flashlight fish blinking on and off in their darkened tank, the touch pool, the medusa jellyfish with their trailing tentacles. But the sharks are what he remembers when he leaves, and they’re what he remember when he returns three months later, six months later, two years later, three, five, ten, this is what stays with him, the sharks in our tanks and the sharks in the ocean.

0

Jun 16, 2017

Jun 16, 2017 at 2:20 AM UTC

SilverBullet

At the aquarium.

When they get to the aquarium, the kid asks if they have a Great White shark exhibit. The volunteer says no, we don’t. The kid asks, “Why? are you afraid he might try to eat people?” The volunteer chuckles at this and tells him no. no aquarium has successfully held a Great White shark live for more than a few days. You see, in order to stay alive, Great Whites and other sharks, like hammerheads, swim on their own continuously through the ocean, never stopping, never slowing, tramping a perpetual journey with many miles to go before they finally reach “sleep”. If they stop, the oxygen rich water around them no longer flows over their gills and into their bodies and they suffocate from the strain of being at rest. So they keep going, like lost children searching for their parents in a very large amusement park. This need to keep moving, this need for space, has made it extremely difficult to keep them in our meager glass human death cages. When the Monterey bay aquarium managed to capture a juvenile that didn’t thrash itself to death like the adult sharks they netted before, it bashed its head against the tank’s sturdy walls until the shock of being dragged out of its home and put in the equivalent of a coffin killed it. But, the volunteer continued cheerfully, we have other kinds of sharks here. We have zebra sharks, which don’t need to swim nonstop. In their natural habitat, they just lie on the ocean floor all day. The kid agrees to go see them The zebra sharks are not lying on the floor nor do they look like zebras. They swim slowly past him, leopard spots dotting their ridges on their backs, their fins, their long tails. “They’re called zebra sharks because of the zebra like patterns of the juveniles,” the volunteer explains. The ones we have here are adults.When they become adults, they get the spots and those ridges you see. Sometimes people mistake them for leopard sharks, which are a totally different species.” The kid stares at the zebra sharks for a full ten minutes, looking for a sign of resignation at being called something they weren’t anymore, at collectively being referred to by a childhood nickname they had long outgrown. They did not seem to care. He gets bored and goes to other exhibits, the split fin flashlight fish blinking on and off in their darkened tank, the touch pool, the medusa jellyfish with their trailing tentacles. But the sharks are what he remembers when he leaves, and they’re what he remember when he returns three months later, six months later, two years later, three, five, ten, this is what stays with him, the sharks in our tanks and the sharks in the ocean.

10

Would a blue ballpen without ink just lie To die, like the children of our past needs, The mouths of their thinning souls leeching Our piety, our profanity, our tendency to build society Off faces and masks, Individual fragments of ourselves. Would one give a thousand pesos to he who smears Windshields with soap to take a few coins hostage Or to she who exhibits a gaunt infant, an offspring Of want, not wanted, the wear and tear of a rough World manifest on emaciating juvenile skin. Would one Give a thousand? Would one commit a kiss? When mere change can buy a pen with its full blood, What then is the worth of the bleeding, the bearded Blind on the somber sidewalks of forgetfulness where Without ink, it ceases to be blue, and unable to write, He has no need for a pen. The world is writing his story, He is only there to punctuate with his blood.

0

Jul 12, 2012

Jul 12, 2012 at 11:56 PM UTC

imka

Utility and Humanity

Would a blue ballpen without ink just lie To die, like the children of our past needs, The mouths of their thinning souls leeching Our piety, our profanity, our tendency to build society Off faces and masks, Individual fragments of ourselves. Would one give a thousand pesos to he who smears Windshields with soap to take a few coins hostage Or to she who exhibits a gaunt infant, an offspring Of want, not wanted, the wear and tear of a rough World manifest on emaciating juvenile skin. Would one Give a thousand? Would one commit a kiss? When mere change can buy a pen with its full blood, What then is the worth of the bleeding, the bearded Blind on the somber sidewalks of forgetfulness where Without ink, it ceases to be blue, and unable to write, He has no need for a pen. The world is writing his story, He is only there to punctuate with his blood.

20

I plunge into the cold water on that warm July day no goggles, only the loose-fitting swimming trunks I swim through the blur of chlorine pushing through the water when a familiar tune I heard hours earlier traps itself in my brain and I suddenly become weightless, a plane high above in the air The water is pure blue sky, below me the clouds And at the bottom the city in ruins I take my plane and dive down below the clouds past the blur, until the city is in view just below me I level the bomber and let it soar low above the ground Over the pale white shells of buildings I remember the museum exhibit that inspires this flight I walk through, studying the pictures and the uniforms and the weapons on display when in the distance of the room beyond I hear the familiar tune: Brian Eno's "Ascent (An Ending)". It brings me closer, and I move past the exhibits at a quickening pace, past the slow browsers glancing only briefly to read, to catch a glimpse of an object, a photo, a map I keep going, "Ascent" on a loop, its minimalist beauty entrancing me until I find a large television in a small corner. A few people are gathered around, solemn, the television entrancing them, the music washing over the room. First the white words centered against the black screen: "The Bomb". The come the white-and-black photos and footage of the mushroom clouds hovering above Hiroshima, then Nagasaki, standing tall like ungainly trees in an empty field. The soundtrack to the short video before me is "Ascent", or rather an excerpt, a piece of it, stirring strange emotions Familiar ones that I give attribution to when I listen to it on my own. Yet it feels different coming from this; on the screen a few photographs of corpses and burnt victims flash by. And then the screen fades to black, a moment of silence before it all starts again I hear this loop and see these images before me as I fly above the imagined city in ruins And for a brief moment I am the Enola Gay; I will only know it at the bottom of a hotel pool

0

Mar 9, 2015

Mar 9, 2015 at 4:23 AM UTC

daylight627

The Enola Gay is at the Bottom of a Hotel Pool

I plunge into the cold water on that warm July day no goggles, only the loose-fitting swimming trunks I swim through the blur of chlorine pushing through the water when a familiar tune I heard hours earlier traps itself in my brain and I suddenly become weightless, a plane high above in the air The water is pure blue sky, below me the clouds And at the bottom the city in ruins I take my plane and dive down below the clouds past the blur, until the city is in view just below me I level the bomber and let it soar low above the ground Over the pale white shells of buildings I remember the museum exhibit that inspires this flight I walk through, studying the pictures and the uniforms and the weapons on display when in the distance of the room beyond I hear the familiar tune: Brian Eno's "Ascent (An Ending)". It brings me closer, and I move past the exhibits at a quickening pace, past the slow browsers glancing only briefly to read, to catch a glimpse of an object, a photo, a map I keep going, "Ascent" on a loop, its minimalist beauty entrancing me until I find a large television in a small corner. A few people are gathered around, solemn, the television entrancing them, the music washing over the room. First the white words centered against the black screen: "The Bomb". The come the white-and-black photos and footage of the mushroom clouds hovering above Hiroshima, then Nagasaki, standing tall like ungainly trees in an empty field. The soundtrack to the short video before me is "Ascent", or rather an excerpt, a piece of it, stirring strange emotions Familiar ones that I give attribution to when I listen to it on my own. Yet it feels different coming from this; on the screen a few photographs of corpses and burnt victims flash by. And then the screen fades to black, a moment of silence before it all starts again I hear this loop and see these images before me as I fly above the imagined city in ruins And for a brief moment I am the Enola Gay; I will only know it at the bottom of a hotel pool

36

Love Has no shape Love Has no color Love Has no meaning Love Has no dimension Love Is different for each…………. Love Could be craving for body Love Could be making out in bed Love Could be lust between two couples Love Could be vulgarity couples offer Love Could be kissing all-day Love Could be in laughing all the way Love Could be crying together Love Could be comforting each other Love Is different for each………… For me, Love Is the way she stalks me Like a tigress stalking from behind bushes Love Is the way she talks to me Like sweet raindrops of love falling on my body Love Is the way she cares for me Like air, can’t be seen, but exists Love Is the way her heart beats for me Like waves in the ocean on their way to my beach Love Is the way she sparkles with her smile Like a spectrum of colours vivid and bright Love, Is a feeling she feels Love, Is an emotion she exhibits Love, Is the bond she has with me she carries Actually, She Is Love in disguise The only definition, Of love in my life The lone Love Of my Lonely Life For me, She is Love and Love Is She Only she

0

May 17, 2021

May 17, 2021 at 9:51 PM UTC

Neel_ku123

Love is She

Love Has no shape Love Has no color Love Has no meaning Love Has no dimension Love Is different for each…………. Love Could be craving for body Love Could be making out in bed Love Could be lust between two couples Love Could be vulgarity couples offer Love Could be kissing all-day Love Could be in laughing all the way Love Could be crying together Love Could be comforting each other Love Is different for each………… For me, Love Is the way she stalks me Like a tigress stalking from behind bushes Love Is the way she talks to me Like sweet raindrops of love falling on my body Love Is the way she cares for me Like air, can’t be seen, but exists Love Is the way her heart beats for me Like waves in the ocean on their way to my beach Love Is the way she sparkles with her smile Like a spectrum of colours vivid and bright Love, Is a feeling she feels Love, Is an emotion she exhibits Love, Is the bond she has with me she carries Actually, She Is Love in disguise The only definition, Of love in my life The lone Love Of my Lonely Life For me, She is Love and Love Is She Only she

59

*As a kid when I heard the stories Of heavens and hells And gods and ghosts I thought of those to be true But as I grew My education warned me Not to trust that view As a child when my elders advised Do unto others as you would have them do to you I thought they were impractical Ignorant of smartness required To manage things through By far I thought I was the wise To have known it all Realized late in time How great was that fall Superficial logic, intellectual materialism Cloaked my natural state of true mind Boosting desires, sterile opinions Leaving the true sense behind I am thankful to the nature For giving me an opportune To study the greatest reality Why humans are marooned Time and space are eternal I am just the part of that infinite The one awarded with human form For some past intentions right I should not take pride in that For where I am today Later might be someone else’s part Man who decoded the mystery of mind Taught this decades ago Guard thoughts, actions, and speech To reach the real goal Not judge anything and any being Instead focus on developing clear seeing As everything is ever changing Including ones birth realms A full mind just exhibits knowledge Only in empty mind wisdom reaps Don’t get swayed by extremes Middle way is the path of keep Now I understand Message behind the moral stories What one sows is what one reaps One gets heavenly pleasures or hellish pain Exclusively based on law of deeds One gets what one deserves For law of nature never fails But latent power within Can turn it all around If not enlightenment One can at least find in life A decent ground Now and in future!*

0

Mar 5, 2016

Mar 5, 2016 at 1:18 AM UTC

bharti-singh

Power of Mind-A Tiny Buddha Within All

*As a kid when I heard the stories Of heavens and hells And gods and ghosts I thought of those to be true But as I grew My education warned me Not to trust that view As a child when my elders advised Do unto others as you would have them do to you I thought they were impractical Ignorant of smartness required To manage things through By far I thought I was the wise To have known it all Realized late in time How great was that fall Superficial logic, intellectual materialism Cloaked my natural state of true mind Boosting desires, sterile opinions Leaving the true sense behind I am thankful to the nature For giving me an opportune To study the greatest reality Why humans are marooned Time and space are eternal I am just the part of that infinite The one awarded with human form For some past intentions right I should not take pride in that For where I am today Later might be someone else’s part Man who decoded the mystery of mind Taught this decades ago Guard thoughts, actions, and speech To reach the real goal Not judge anything and any being Instead focus on developing clear seeing As everything is ever changing Including ones birth realms A full mind just exhibits knowledge Only in empty mind wisdom reaps Don’t get swayed by extremes Middle way is the path of keep Now I understand Message behind the moral stories What one sows is what one reaps One gets heavenly pleasures or hellish pain Exclusively based on law of deeds One gets what one deserves For law of nature never fails But latent power within Can turn it all around If not enlightenment One can at least find in life A decent ground Now and in future!*

56

in the summer before everything ended, we went to an art museum that had entire rooms showcasing death and you pulled me away before I could admire the human composition stains, melted into bronze silhouettes, because what if I thought it looked ugly what if I figured out I didn’t actually want to **** myself and instead just wanted to escape you – stains of strawberry juice around my mouth I thought of as blood and you thought of as lipstick I prettied myself for suicide , I scratched maps into my thighs – little guides of where a knife would go little hopes that if I saw the death display maybe I would have known. for years it was all experimental. I watched pieces of us come and go like art exhibits, you watched me as if I was nothing but a work in progress that soaked up so much paint I could not help but look like you when it was through. I was a child, was impressionist (impressionable – now your thoughts persist as human composition stains – happily, I am alive and you will never be dead enough.

0

Apr 20, 2015

Apr 20, 2015 at 2:47 AM UTC

sarina

impressionism

in the summer before everything ended, we went to an art museum that had entire rooms showcasing death and you pulled me away before I could admire the human composition stains, melted into bronze silhouettes, because what if I thought it looked ugly what if I figured out I didn’t actually want to **** myself and instead just wanted to escape you – stains of strawberry juice around my mouth I thought of as blood and you thought of as lipstick I prettied myself for suicide , I scratched maps into my thighs – little guides of where a knife would go little hopes that if I saw the death display maybe I would have known. for years it was all experimental. I watched pieces of us come and go like art exhibits, you watched me as if I was nothing but a work in progress that soaked up so much paint I could not help but look like you when it was through. I was a child, was impressionist (impressionable – now your thoughts persist as human composition stains – happily, I am alive and you will never be dead enough.

29

Back in the days when my friend Grisham John started as a teenage artist, he was poor and had but onions and yogurt for meals; and once he stole some paint from the local corner shop "Aha, caught you red-handed," said the cliche-infested store-owner *"Give me a reason why I should not call the police"* "Well," said John Grisham cock-sure of his talent *"I can immortalize you as 'Scrooge in Red' or 'Generosity in Psychedelic' You choose..."* --------------------------------------------------------- so when Grisham John comes to your town, look out for, amongst his exhibits: *"Generosity in Psychedelic with inset of Scrooge in Red"*

0

Sep 9, 2014

Sep 9, 2014 at 4:09 AM UTC

raj-arumugam

Grisham John stole paint

Back in the days when my friend Grisham John started as a teenage artist, he was poor and had but onions and yogurt for meals; and once he stole some paint from the local corner shop "Aha, caught you red-handed," said the cliche-infested store-owner *"Give me a reason why I should not call the police"* "Well," said John Grisham cock-sure of his talent *"I can immortalize you as 'Scrooge in Red' or 'Generosity in Psychedelic' You choose..."* --------------------------------------------------------- so when Grisham John comes to your town, look out for, amongst his exhibits: *"Generosity in Psychedelic with inset of Scrooge in Red"*

21

I feel as though I have an obligation, A duty, you could say, to address something We ignore almost everyday. Washington walks on, head high Strutting around like it owns civil liberties, Like hearing its name is something so profound. So I think I’ll ask what gives you the right To tell my best friend who fights with herself In the dark, at night, who cries herself to sleep Because of the hardest decision of her life, That she can’t make this choice with her own mind? That it’s wrong when you’re so right, about things Like pro-life. And what gives you the final say on my brother And his boyfriend, and their wedding day? Oh, the bible does? Really? Okay. Because you know there is such a thing As separation of church and state, I’m sure. And if religion, if God is your problem, Where is your scorn? Why aren’t atheists and agnostics being burned At the stake because of your proverbial witch hunt? Ah, right, because discrimination is against the law, And law is something you can’t shun in light Of running a political race, or else have your own medicine Shoved in your face. If God is the only thing you can think to use To your political values that are so terribly flawed, Did you ever stop to think that I don’t believe in Him, Your God? That maybe I like mine better, He accepts us all. Honestly, tell me please, how in the hell you expect To get my vote with all your arrogant decrees? I sincerely hope before you run, you rethink your thesis’s, Or before you go around telling me who I can and cannot be. So what if I don’t believe your God, Your religion or how you live it? What if I believe in exhibits, or Dr. Seuss? But that’s not really the point, is it?

0

Mar 13, 2013

Mar 13, 2013 at 11:20 PM UTC

rachael-p-presley

A Civic Duty

I feel as though I have an obligation, A duty, you could say, to address something We ignore almost everyday. Washington walks on, head high Strutting around like it owns civil liberties, Like hearing its name is something so profound. So I think I’ll ask what gives you the right To tell my best friend who fights with herself In the dark, at night, who cries herself to sleep Because of the hardest decision of her life, That she can’t make this choice with her own mind? That it’s wrong when you’re so right, about things Like pro-life. And what gives you the final say on my brother And his boyfriend, and their wedding day? Oh, the bible does? Really? Okay. Because you know there is such a thing As separation of church and state, I’m sure. And if religion, if God is your problem, Where is your scorn? Why aren’t atheists and agnostics being burned At the stake because of your proverbial witch hunt? Ah, right, because discrimination is against the law, And law is something you can’t shun in light Of running a political race, or else have your own medicine Shoved in your face. If God is the only thing you can think to use To your political values that are so terribly flawed, Did you ever stop to think that I don’t believe in Him, Your God? That maybe I like mine better, He accepts us all. Honestly, tell me please, how in the hell you expect To get my vote with all your arrogant decrees? I sincerely hope before you run, you rethink your thesis’s, Or before you go around telling me who I can and cannot be. So what if I don’t believe your God, Your religion or how you live it? What if I believe in exhibits, or Dr. Seuss? But that’s not really the point, is it?

38

974 The Soul’s distinct connection With immortality Is best disclosed by Danger Or quick Calamity— As Lightning on a Landscape Exhibits Sheets of Place— Not yet suspected—but for Flash— And Click—and Suddenness.

0

2.6k

Emily Dickinson

The Soul’s distinct connection

974 The Soul’s distinct connection With immortality Is best disclosed by Danger Or quick Calamity— As Lightning on a Landscape Exhibits Sheets of Place— Not yet suspected—but for Flash— And Click—and Suddenness.

9

I leafed through the DSM this morning diagnosing every ******* person in my life incessent character flaws, maladaptive responses that ache in my mind, and shatter my "normal" expectancies of human behavior In all of the descriptors "has a strong desire to be the center of attention" "is often inappropriately provocative or sexually seductive" "Exhibits odd or eccentrive appearance/behavior" "Seeks excitement and stiumulation, often acting on impulse" the only person I could really diagnose was me your therapist

0

Aug 6, 2012

Aug 6, 2012 at 4:29 PM UTC

lucanna

Your therapist is crazy

I leafed through the DSM this morning diagnosing every ******* person in my life incessent character flaws, maladaptive responses that ache in my mind, and shatter my "normal" expectancies of human behavior In all of the descriptors "has a strong desire to be the center of attention" "is often inappropriately provocative or sexually seductive" "Exhibits odd or eccentrive appearance/behavior" "Seeks excitement and stiumulation, often acting on impulse" the only person I could really diagnose was me your therapist

14

It is Whatever you want it to be. How you perceive is your perception, Your perspective is not deception -But why are we so reluctant to make use of affection? The detection of attraction exhibits bits of satisfaction That neither of us can speak of. If push comes to shove, Don't make me make you fall in love. If I can't have your body I don't want no body. Celibacy. It will be a delicacy to insituate the thoughts that insituate your time I'll obituate your loss And re-birth worth in your mind- The situation Is a mind **** manipulation. I will eliminate the No And inseminate the Yes Undressed across your expression The progression Of ********** The contents of your mind until you bare a confessional corruption For when mutuality is in play; Manipulation is just seduction.

0

Mar 28, 2013

Mar 28, 2013 at 2:50 PM UTC

rissa-ann

Delicacies

It is Whatever you want it to be. How you perceive is your perception, Your perspective is not deception -But why are we so reluctant to make use of affection? The detection of attraction exhibits bits of satisfaction That neither of us can speak of. If push comes to shove, Don't make me make you fall in love. If I can't have your body I don't want no body. Celibacy. It will be a delicacy to insituate the thoughts that insituate your time I'll obituate your loss And re-birth worth in your mind- The situation Is a mind **** manipulation. I will eliminate the No And inseminate the Yes Undressed across your expression The progression Of ********** The contents of your mind until you bare a confessional corruption For when mutuality is in play; Manipulation is just seduction.

27

Love Has no shape Love Has no colour Love Has no meaning Love Has no dimension Love Is different for each…………. For others, Love Could be craving for body Love Could be making out in bed Love Could be lust between two couples Love Could be vulgarity couples offer Love Could be kissing all-day Love Could be in laughing all the way Love Could be crying together Love Could be comforting each other Love Is different for each………… For me, Love Is the way she stalks me Like a tigress stalking from behind bushes Love Is the way she talks to me Like sweet raindrops of love falling on my body Love Is the way she cares for me Like air, can’t be seen, but exists Love Is the way her heart beats for me Like waves in the ocean on their way to my beach Love Is the way she sparkles with her smile Like a spectrum of colors vivid and bright Love, Is a feeling she feels Love, Is an emotion she exhibits Love, Is the bond she has with me that she carries Actually, She Is Love in disguise The only definition, Of love in my life The lone Love, Of my Lonely Life For me, She is Love and Love Is She Only she

0

May 16, 2021

May 16, 2021 at 2:29 AM UTC

Neel_ku123

Love is She

Love Has no shape Love Has no colour Love Has no meaning Love Has no dimension Love Is different for each…………. For others, Love Could be craving for body Love Could be making out in bed Love Could be lust between two couples Love Could be vulgarity couples offer Love Could be kissing all-day Love Could be in laughing all the way Love Could be crying together Love Could be comforting each other Love Is different for each………… For me, Love Is the way she stalks me Like a tigress stalking from behind bushes Love Is the way she talks to me Like sweet raindrops of love falling on my body Love Is the way she cares for me Like air, can’t be seen, but exists Love Is the way her heart beats for me Like waves in the ocean on their way to my beach Love Is the way she sparkles with her smile Like a spectrum of colors vivid and bright Love, Is a feeling she feels Love, Is an emotion she exhibits Love, Is the bond she has with me that she carries Actually, She Is Love in disguise The only definition, Of love in my life The lone Love, Of my Lonely Life For me, She is Love and Love Is She Only she

60

~ *precious metal detector of tourism, as in a dream, such device has the power to make one nostalgic for places either never visited or nonexistent. this strange museum exhibits sometimes airplanes, always mortality salience, and the impossibly probable idea that travel can change your sense of time, so you don't really mind if things slip away, or alter in some disenchanted way.* ~

0

Aug 21, 2022

Aug 21, 2022 at 12:21 PM UTC

Carlo-C-Gomez

Airport Terminal 2

~ *precious metal detector of tourism, as in a dream, such device has the power to make one nostalgic for places either never visited or nonexistent. this strange museum exhibits sometimes airplanes, always mortality salience, and the impossibly probable idea that travel can change your sense of time, so you don't really mind if things slip away, or alter in some disenchanted way.* ~

18

Two sockets to accommodate a pair of eyes Due to them this complex device cries But today, man has taught them to become spies Dwelling in them is lust for ephemeral joys Two cartilaginous sound receivers on both sides They can efficiently detect the screams and sighs But today, they even ignore the ferocious tides Engrossed in fabrications, for which today’s man strives Two arms strong enough to lift and support Are being used to steal and chop someone’s throat They refuse to help anyone near or remote ‘Guns and shells’, this is what they promote A small fleshy speaker which exhibits perfect duality It allures others through its’ pitch and clarity Today, it has mastered the skills of acerbity Forgetting that soft speech is a part of generosity A complex storehouse of feelings which supplies blood It is covered with rust although made from mud Polluted intentions have made it their cozy hut Very delicate, but today, it is like a walnut At last, a rotten soul which is wandering aimlessly It has thirst for contentment and tranquillity But today, man considers wealth as a source of felicity I shed tears when I can’t find humanity and piety

0

Oct 8, 2010

Oct 8, 2010 at 12:17 PM UTC

fakiha-hassan-rizvi

HUMAN CONSTRUCTION IN MATERIALISTIC WORLD

Two sockets to accommodate a pair of eyes Due to them this complex device cries But today, man has taught them to become spies Dwelling in them is lust for ephemeral joys Two cartilaginous sound receivers on both sides They can efficiently detect the screams and sighs But today, they even ignore the ferocious tides Engrossed in fabrications, for which today’s man strives Two arms strong enough to lift and support Are being used to steal and chop someone’s throat They refuse to help anyone near or remote ‘Guns and shells’, this is what they promote A small fleshy speaker which exhibits perfect duality It allures others through its’ pitch and clarity Today, it has mastered the skills of acerbity Forgetting that soft speech is a part of generosity A complex storehouse of feelings which supplies blood It is covered with rust although made from mud Polluted intentions have made it their cozy hut Very delicate, but today, it is like a walnut At last, a rotten soul which is wandering aimlessly It has thirst for contentment and tranquillity But today, man considers wealth as a source of felicity I shed tears when I can’t find humanity and piety

24

I can have whatever I want I hold my father's wallet and my mother's softness Frequently the pantry overflows, clothes don't fit the closet I am immune from suffering and misery. Never will I fear life I steal my father's wallet and my mother's softness Manipulative, selfish- I create problems because I have none I fear life- Never will I be immune from misery and suffering I reach at others scars and pretend I am one of them I create problems because I am manipulative and selfish people linger as experiments, museum exhibits, re-writable pages I reach with others, pretending their scars are mine limping in persistent perfection, curiously wiping sweat from addicts Lingering are people's experiments, museum exhibits, re-written pages What is it that leaves me unsatisfied? A limping, sweaty addict to perfection, curiously persistent Eventually, will I be grateful? Will I be proud? What is it that leaves them unsatisfied? I've noticed some would rather stray than try Eventually I will be grateful and proud. I feel compelled-maybe to an idea not yet discovered I've noticed some would rather try than stray Innocently I'll lock my door and each night I'll be safe I feel compelled to discover an idea...maybe I have sometimes I'll examine hands or gaze at trampled leaves I'll be safe each night, innocent behind my locked door Lost in thought, writing apologetic love letters with a snack I'll sometimes hold trampled leaves- examining. gazing. I can have whatever I want

0

Oct 23, 2012

Oct 23, 2012 at 2:04 PM UTC

megan-hundley

Spoiled

I can have whatever I want I hold my father's wallet and my mother's softness Frequently the pantry overflows, clothes don't fit the closet I am immune from suffering and misery. Never will I fear life I steal my father's wallet and my mother's softness Manipulative, selfish- I create problems because I have none I fear life- Never will I be immune from misery and suffering I reach at others scars and pretend I am one of them I create problems because I am manipulative and selfish people linger as experiments, museum exhibits, re-writable pages I reach with others, pretending their scars are mine limping in persistent perfection, curiously wiping sweat from addicts Lingering are people's experiments, museum exhibits, re-written pages What is it that leaves me unsatisfied? A limping, sweaty addict to perfection, curiously persistent Eventually, will I be grateful? Will I be proud? What is it that leaves them unsatisfied? I've noticed some would rather stray than try Eventually I will be grateful and proud. I feel compelled-maybe to an idea not yet discovered I've noticed some would rather try than stray Innocently I'll lock my door and each night I'll be safe I feel compelled to discover an idea...maybe I have sometimes I'll examine hands or gaze at trampled leaves I'll be safe each night, innocent behind my locked door Lost in thought, writing apologetic love letters with a snack I'll sometimes hold trampled leaves- examining. gazing. I can have whatever I want

28

I see you sit expectantly biting lips on the extended museum steps leading to a veranda around the building, that invites a flash mob,of your ilk, effervescent, to come together perform and celebrate, nothing in particular, except giving a shock pleasure to all those marked "the other" Once you made me believe, together we make a whole, that is the story we live on I was told, I merely listened, I and you missed few beats and steps here and there find us now in pages different, why, even ages apart, "What a fine specimen,!" a pacifist, I can't but appreciate watching your elan. As if seeing an alien in my home ground, I watch the spectacle, gulping down my discomfiture dutifully, while you romance with much finesse,to the cell phone, you cling on as if it's the beau you want to show off. "Wouldn't she make a fine museum piece?" that would point towards the life style, that highlights only the moment present, and constantly on the run to remain there, while past vanishes and future becomes obscure more and more. With a gentle smile for you to pick up, when you are at peace, I move on; more than the museum pieces still living, I am interested in regular exhibits I easily grasp.

0

Sep 20, 2014

Sep 20, 2014 at 10:20 AM UTC

k-balachandran

A museum piece of the present impermanent moment

I see you sit expectantly biting lips on the extended museum steps leading to a veranda around the building, that invites a flash mob,of your ilk, effervescent, to come together perform and celebrate, nothing in particular, except giving a shock pleasure to all those marked "the other" Once you made me believe, together we make a whole, that is the story we live on I was told, I merely listened, I and you missed few beats and steps here and there find us now in pages different, why, even ages apart, "What a fine specimen,!" a pacifist, I can't but appreciate watching your elan. As if seeing an alien in my home ground, I watch the spectacle, gulping down my discomfiture dutifully, while you romance with much finesse,to the cell phone, you cling on as if it's the beau you want to show off. "Wouldn't she make a fine museum piece?" that would point towards the life style, that highlights only the moment present, and constantly on the run to remain there, while past vanishes and future becomes obscure more and more. With a gentle smile for you to pick up, when you are at peace, I move on; more than the museum pieces still living, I am interested in regular exhibits I easily grasp.

23

date a boy who owns a sewing machine and takes you to feminist modern art exhibits date the son of a librarian who can tell you all your favorite stories while you fall asleep date a boy who wears a chalkboard helmet to ride a motorcycle to the top of the mountain to see the city lights date a boy who follows you up mountains to kiss you in the wind and run his hands through your hair and date a boy with glasses who pushes them up on the bridge of his nose after he kisses you your voice still sounds like flowers but now your hands feel familiar

0

Jul 11, 2014

Jul 11, 2014 at 12:13 AM UTC

felicia-c

Tall

date a boy who owns a sewing machine and takes you to feminist modern art exhibits date the son of a librarian who can tell you all your favorite stories while you fall asleep date a boy who wears a chalkboard helmet to ride a motorcycle to the top of the mountain to see the city lights date a boy who follows you up mountains to kiss you in the wind and run his hands through your hair and date a boy with glasses who pushes them up on the bridge of his nose after he kisses you your voice still sounds like flowers but now your hands feel familiar

16

There would be no way To determine it's course Unshackled Love, be it called Screaming without a motive Dripping in tears Unrivaled in fear Underfoot lies hate Decaying in self deprecating Beauty A book So misjudged By it's cover Glorious, and oh So glorious love To be set upon By flights of fancy Gold, lace and all To be a spectacle A beacon of the triumph Of good over evil Light over dark Yin over Yang Yang over Yin? Silly ponderous mind Queer that one Would meander Outside the box Do not forget that poetry Is only here to Accommodate your Flair Perhaps I Am the box To think Of boxes Perfect little squares Perfect exhibits Of a mistrial To wander Look away To see To think of subjection To think...

0

May 8, 2015

May 8, 2015 at 4:28 PM UTC

Avy

To Think Of Sheep

There would be no way To determine it's course Unshackled Love, be it called Screaming without a motive Dripping in tears Unrivaled in fear Underfoot lies hate Decaying in self deprecating Beauty A book So misjudged By it's cover Glorious, and oh So glorious love To be set upon By flights of fancy Gold, lace and all To be a spectacle A beacon of the triumph Of good over evil Light over dark Yin over Yang Yang over Yin? Silly ponderous mind Queer that one Would meander Outside the box Do not forget that poetry Is only here to Accommodate your Flair Perhaps I Am the box To think Of boxes Perfect little squares Perfect exhibits Of a mistrial To wander Look away To see To think of subjection To think...

44

**When you need that special friend one who cares deeply and is real i think of elsa, a real true godsend her heart is deep, and she has sense appeal** *Everyone should have a ''Elsa'' in their life. She makes me laugh louder, smile brighter, and live alittle bit better* **Her love is contagious her eyes are to die for the warmth she exhibits grown men have cried for** *She gives the best advice & she is always there for others. Girls can survive without a boyfriend but, they can't survive without a bestfriend.* **She has been my rock when my world began to roll brought me back uphill before things took their toll** *She was the one who told me to ask for a second a chance with ''him'' She was the one who realized that he wasn't the one She knew that I deserved better than ''him'' before I did* **Wise beyond her years listens to your fears loves unconditionally darling elsa. true friend, always, to me** *You're an angel, it's in your last name for crying out loud.* :D **Such a sweet angel and being your friend makes me feel proud** Thank you Elsa for everything you do.

0

Dec 17, 2015

Dec 17, 2015 at 6:14 PM UTC

Bunhead17

Angelica By: Wolf & Falen

**When you need that special friend one who cares deeply and is real i think of elsa, a real true godsend her heart is deep, and she has sense appeal** *Everyone should have a ''Elsa'' in their life. She makes me laugh louder, smile brighter, and live alittle bit better* **Her love is contagious her eyes are to die for the warmth she exhibits grown men have cried for** *She gives the best advice & she is always there for others. Girls can survive without a boyfriend but, they can't survive without a bestfriend.* **She has been my rock when my world began to roll brought me back uphill before things took their toll** *She was the one who told me to ask for a second a chance with ''him'' She was the one who realized that he wasn't the one She knew that I deserved better than ''him'' before I did* **Wise beyond her years listens to your fears loves unconditionally darling elsa. true friend, always, to me** *You're an angel, it's in your last name for crying out loud.* :D **Such a sweet angel and being your friend makes me feel proud** Thank you Elsa for everything you do.

35

I have been taken to someplace new, someplace with ample beauty, Above me, pearly white clouds drift lazily on the clear blue sky, Below me, luscious grass licks my ankles, blowing in the warm breeze, Behind me, a clear river flows, its water clean enough to see the trees’ reflection, In front of me, baby blue mountains pierce the sky in abundant numbers, To my left, a thick forest of a seemingly endless assortment of trees flourishes, To my right, a single snowy white dove sits perched on a very large evergreen tree. The dove lives in harmony with me, alongside me, within me, The tree on which it rests is the largest tree within my view, As long as the tree exists, the dove exists; as long as the dove exists, I exist, The dove and the tree tell a story of great friendship and harmony, For without the dove, there is no tree; without the tree there is no dove, I am its only audience, the only one who is listening, yet I listen with great attention, Their story is that of life: what it was, what it is, what it will come to be. The sun is rising, but something is different, something is not quite right, The river exhibits a shade of ****** red; the forest reeks of damage, The mountains sing a sorrowful tune; the clouds obliterate the sky, The grass has hardened, now a gloomy gray; the breeze has turned frigid cold, The dove has gone, its once green home reduced to a defeated ash, The once great land has vanished, and with it, the feathered wing had vanished too, For without the dove, there is no tree; without the tree there is no dove.

0

Dec 2, 2012

Dec 2, 2012 at 12:32 PM UTC

serpent-king

The Dove

I have been taken to someplace new, someplace with ample beauty, Above me, pearly white clouds drift lazily on the clear blue sky, Below me, luscious grass licks my ankles, blowing in the warm breeze, Behind me, a clear river flows, its water clean enough to see the trees’ reflection, In front of me, baby blue mountains pierce the sky in abundant numbers, To my left, a thick forest of a seemingly endless assortment of trees flourishes, To my right, a single snowy white dove sits perched on a very large evergreen tree. The dove lives in harmony with me, alongside me, within me, The tree on which it rests is the largest tree within my view, As long as the tree exists, the dove exists; as long as the dove exists, I exist, The dove and the tree tell a story of great friendship and harmony, For without the dove, there is no tree; without the tree there is no dove, I am its only audience, the only one who is listening, yet I listen with great attention, Their story is that of life: what it was, what it is, what it will come to be. The sun is rising, but something is different, something is not quite right, The river exhibits a shade of ****** red; the forest reeks of damage, The mountains sing a sorrowful tune; the clouds obliterate the sky, The grass has hardened, now a gloomy gray; the breeze has turned frigid cold, The dove has gone, its once green home reduced to a defeated ash, The once great land has vanished, and with it, the feathered wing had vanished too, For without the dove, there is no tree; without the tree there is no dove.

21

••• *Dancing lights Only hurt my eyes Screaming and loud music Disgusting to my ears Vodkas, cocktails and whiskeys Never wanted to feel frisky *** dope, cigarettes I will only regret Dancing, party, bar Never wanted to go that far Yes I have been to parties But never will it become my thing Maybe my past life has an old soul Who finds comfort in her own hole Yes, sometimes an anti-social And sometimes interacting is crucial So next time you ask me out Make sure you know what I'm about Coffee or tea, movies and books Exhibits and museums let's take a look A good music or a storytelling A walk in a park or just talking Pick me a flower, don't buy me a bouquet Just hold my hand and always stay*

0

Nov 9, 2016

Nov 9, 2016 at 8:11 AM UTC

fallen-one

Old Soul

••• *Dancing lights Only hurt my eyes Screaming and loud music Disgusting to my ears Vodkas, cocktails and whiskeys Never wanted to feel frisky *** dope, cigarettes I will only regret Dancing, party, bar Never wanted to go that far Yes I have been to parties But never will it become my thing Maybe my past life has an old soul Who finds comfort in her own hole Yes, sometimes an anti-social And sometimes interacting is crucial So next time you ask me out Make sure you know what I'm about Coffee or tea, movies and books Exhibits and museums let's take a look A good music or a storytelling A walk in a park or just talking Pick me a flower, don't buy me a bouquet Just hold my hand and always stay*

25