Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
"feelingly" poems
We encountered a white-tiled wall whose             purity lingered behind earthly browns,            salmon, grass, lavender acrylic paint. And this frozen scene chilled like hot breath on winter             glass, soil-mixed dividing stories of young, smiley-touched             girls whose hair was flaxen hills in             the country and whose             eyes were opalescent azures whose opalescence             was truly the only sign of thought beyond a             glassy grin. Porcelain doll made of giggles and bubbles. She fanned her fingers in a glorious sky and leaf peacock-feathered exuberance and pawed at the dry, gritty scene of a sailboat floundering towards a sunset. She sees this world feelingly – one touch, two touch Her smile is prayer-folded hands extending across her own little world A prayer for this textured caricature of a little girl,             a happy puppet stuck until dark,             like the form the woman she’ll soon become             with her child-like fingers spidering across the stories she hopes to [but never will] tell. Her dusty hands against the comforting tinge of a watermelon’s epicenter.             So pink, so raw, so vulnerable with the valor of another brush’s turn.
0
May 31, 2012
May 31, 2012 at 7:11 PM UTC
Movement Break
Gliding over glass Gently, softly, sweetly Each movement sets a new one into motion Each touch Gently, rockingly, and feelingly All rolled into one emotion Fingers glide over the glass Until it becomes no more.
0
Feb 12, 2012
Feb 12, 2012 at 10:28 PM UTC
Gliding
Obsidian black blankets my thoughts and the night. What lurks in cracks? The cracked cement. The cracked psyche. Bats flutter in the belfry. Madness takes hold, or is the madness masked as sanity? Erudite my words may be tonight, but tomorrow I may babble. Like a brook, black as a rook. Why do these thoughts become clear in the dark? Darkness leads the way onto a path. Juxtaposed by the black night, the light is dimmed Feelingly, gropingly, groggily I'm frightfully led. To where? To bed? To sleep? To dream jet black thoughts? Oblivion, delirium, lithium. Crow black is the deepest part of the night. Inky pools of forgetfulness abound the sleepers tonight.
0
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 9:18 PM UTC
Slumbering black
Feelings more unclear than you think, heart beating faster than the fastest your eyes could ever blink. Lost amid distraction, catch me breaking while I'm still still. There's a swelling will to dwell in this well into which I fell, that's how falling for you felt; so feelingly fulfilling, so fearful but fulfilling.
0
Jun 23, 2019
Jun 23, 2019 at 4:47 PM UTC
Still Still
Gazing at the moonlight Shining and bright I look out for signs To get some respite With the blowing wind With the vibrating chime I look out for signs To keep me alive With the tides on the shore I think how much of myself I should be feelingly yours As I battle with deciphering this code I feel my heart all alone As I look out for signs Deep and Deep I fall into them Alas I find no answer no respite
0
Jun 7, 2017
Jun 7, 2017 at 11:20 PM UTC
Wanderer
your way the who the body swells the lifts the prurient skirt of my thoughts with the niggling wafer of your thighs feel better than my cheeks can feel the air (and i can only breath when) they are untogether together. feeling–and your back does–how do you feel about how feelingly it musters razors in my skin when your *** also? (and how can i describe how it feels like joy made some supple real of realness in two halves of a broken perfect? ) it defies words. there is no cheap no word no sentence made that by does not at describing it become. i am myself, and can i say how much that is a better thing when i am between you? are And how can describe it? the way it turns so deeply into creases of divinest flesh; half feet half knees upon who hurts to pray inside you my love fist? it cannot be said nor sung nor anything but tasted into one swoon of many tongues upon it– my mouth has lived whole years not so pleasant as five minutes between your hips.
0
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 6:31 AM UTC
Untitled