"fluidly" poems
Only you can translate
where you are
on your voyage through
this varied farce
called “life”.
No one else can dictate
to you…
or should even dare…
how to phrase
your feelings,
your thoughts,
your personal moments.
Who is anyone to
cause another to feel
inept or inferior
for wording their
experiences as they will?
We are all both
audience and poet,
consumed by the
powerful spell of words
and meaning
we are bonded
in ink.
It takes gumption
and courage
to give voice to
your vision of
the world.
It often requires
resilience and nerve
to open your heart
and peel back the
layers of skin,
and let others take
a long look at the
inner workings of YOU.
Be brave,
take courage,
let your soul speak
in its very own
language.
People will read
your words and
listen to the sweet
whispers
and thunderous shouts
that flow from pens
and keys
to release the
inner demons and angels
and the lyrical
vines that bloom and live
in our individual
landscapes,
fluidly coursing from
our own rabbit holes
with fortitude and grace
and our neverlands,
where we need never
grow up,
to share with those
that need to see
and hear and feel
and wonder.
-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 10:38 AM UTC
Despite the heart which is froze
Hatred runs fluidly
Like the water in shattered glass
Like the blood in broken bones
Like the flames in our homes
This hatred
It speaks to me
Like drugs to an addict
*When it tells me to shoot
I relapse and
aim for the sky*
I said..
In spite of my own humility
Hatred runs deeply
Like the roots beneath the dirt
Like the pain beyond the hurt
Like this poem before your eyes
*I despise
Way too many lies
And so little truth*
I said..
I hate beautiful
It cripples me deeply
For you are my pity
My pain and their pleasure
*When I am high
I'll collapse and fall
Far from this place
Of rotten bliss*
I said..
Look at me
Blood misrepresents me
For I am cut differently
This pain isn't felt
Like the emptiness
Residing in your cup
It is felt
Like a toxic
Living inside the gut
Like these words
Traveling directly
Towards the stomach
I mean..
Although this addiction kills me
Hatred is also the remedy
It is all I need to truly appreciate
The little love I have left.
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 7:30 PM UTC
Sensation, intuition, feeling, and thinking,
Is wrapped inside a ball,
A small pink ball inside our head,
That won't stop till we're dead,
Analytical bedrock inside oozing theories,
Elemental atoms sizzling logic,
The imaginative stranger,
One abstracted and eccentric,
Walking with shadows,
Talking and mocking,
Through these theories inside us,
Tilting our caps ‘til we’re shaking our heads,
Pensive love in storming analysis,
Sapiosexually excited, piqued interest,
Unemotional and thoughtfully attuned,
Absently minded, always condoned,
Unconventional and impartially stringed,
Weirdly wired in auxiliary functions,
Misconstrued and misunderstood,
An ****** intelligence bleeding paranoia,
Knocking unto me,
Into you, inside us all,
It’s something we all yearn to be,
And when you fail and prevail we laugh,
Crickling crickets thinking nothing,
Washing down the storm drain,
With no thoughts fluidly sliding down my throat,
Pop goes no questions into absolute concise words like freshly broken glass,
Again shadows await, but different shadows,
Blinking at me staring at you,
Wondering what’s what, inside this dementia made sense of a lovely afternoon,
Inside your sane, autocorrected, predetermined, twitching, little…mind.
Inspired by Myers Briggs Personality Test
Tyler is INTP... Logician (Introverted INtuitive Thinking Perception)
The drifter, dreamer the absent minded professor!
SassyJ is INTJ... Architect (Introverted INtuitive Thinking Judging)
The starry-eyed idealist manoeuvring life as if a giant chess board!
What Myer Briggs personality type are you?... See link below
It would be great to know.Please comment!!
http://www.16personalities.com/intp-personality
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 10:30 AM UTC
Both latter and former, contrary and congruent
Neither gas nor solid, the river moves fluid.
No end and no beginning, just water moving… swimming…
A formless former that is a powerful latter
Contradiction through symmetry and space within matter
Passively energetic as potential becomes kinetic
Transparently reflective and silently phonetic
Thermally dynamic and fluidly frantic
The waters maintain a static chaos through mathematical mechanics.
Mechanically architected and architecturally mechanic
Water seems the perfect medium for analysis of a dynamic.
Dynamic existence and persistent resistance
Statically chaotic seems the architect’s insistence.
Equilibriomatic, with addition subtractive
Empirical measures fail to analyze the passive.
What simply is, simply is… Invincible to mimicry or microcosmic reenactment.
Experimental methods seek to unify the synonymous
Attempting to prove the objective with a subjective hypothesis.
Learn from the water, let its metaphor be imminent….
For the divine externality lies not without, but within it.
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 3:53 PM UTC
How you move so fluidly
I’ll never know how
All I have are my eyes
Trying desperately to take as much of you in as I can
I want to be what inspires you
What you dance to in the morning while the coffee is brewing
And our bed is still warm
I’ll share with you every word I have
Nearly every one will be about you
Even if we should come to an end
I know I could never stop what pours from this bleeding heart
If you keep rhythm in your feet
I’ll keep lyrics in my lungs
So we may constantly be what the other needs
To keep going
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 3:07 AM UTC
Her name was Artemis.
She had a love.
Unrequited.
Not unheard of.
His name was Janus.
He was headstrong.
Never known this love.
And hadn't known her long.
He said Hello
So simple. So sweet.
It blew her gently
Right off her feet.
His shine was effervescent.
Her eyes aglow.
Her heart was on fire.
He didn't know.
All she wanted
Was to make him stay
But he was in flight
She had to find another way
It happened so fast
It flowed so fluidly
Their tale was painful
I tell you. It ruined me.
He was with a girl.
He stroked her hair.
Caressed her face.
They were a pair.
Artemis died
Inside that night
Clutched her soul
As it lost its fight.
She only wanted
The pain to end
I've been there before
I understand.
I didn't resist
When she took me here
To the open water
The blue so clear.
At the edge of the bluff
Hand in hand
I'd do anything for her.
My mirror-twin sister, my best friend.
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 6:01 PM UTC
She was the strangest football fan I'd ever met,
Between match programmes and leaflets she hid Nietzsche and Thoreau;
Philosophy being a bright passion of hers,
It all seemed so natural in her visage.
On days, she'd hum You'll Never Walk Alone
While turning delicately the pages of a new text,
Smiling at the words that appeared before her on the page.
Dorian Gray, she took time to point out,
Kept her fascinated—
But it was always going to be Nietzsche,
And the first time she strummed the pages of Thus Spoke Zarathustra it was as if the humming had turned to fire,
And she was melded with the page.
I would believe only in a god who could dance.
If you asked her who she favoured,
she would reply back with a chirp,
the Russians!
And hold to you a copy of Dostoyevsky,
Crime and Punishment, she said, was her fascination
And she'd as fluidly as ever switch back to the fixtures.
Never passion, always fancy.
It was as if viewing herself through a third party lens.
Her passion for the game,
As mysterious as her gentle touch on softer pages.
How could she love so drastically?
Football, her passion,
But her books were her mystery to all, to even herself,
And the quiet murmur of Nietzsche, her nectar.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 12:34 PM UTC
Thoughts are drenched in raw feeling
I’m daydreaming
My mind ponders, wanders
...I want to fly a kite with you
I want my head on your lap as you sit crossed legged against a tree, reading me poetry
I want you to hold the book with one hand while the other rests on my chest, occasionally stroking my head
Or I take it in mine, fluidly palm to palm till fingers entwine
Thumb stroking thumb, feeling textures on fingertips
The smoothness of your nail against my skin
I want to see reflection in your lambent eyes at sunset and sunrise
Against powerful rays and calm of night
I want to know what those eyes see
I want familiarity, of your kiss
How gentleness craves the plumpness of your lips
Where confidence grows, connection is slowed...
I want to fly a kite with you.
Jun 28, 2018
Jun 28, 2018 at 9:04 AM UTC
It was never my intention to place you in harms way.
Enlisting your heart to trouble after we kissed on that precious day.
As time elapsed, my heart took a moment to understand.
You were portraying your earnest emotions subtly then crass.
The turmoil you must’ve felt during the time you kept to yourself…
Causing you to experience agonizing despair while delving into mournful swells…
Find it in your heart to forgive these third degree burns.
For it was never my intention to crucify your kind soul.
My love yearns to romanticize unhurriedly,
Seducing passionately while intimately feeding the soul so fluidly.
Is it too much to ask for an amorous exploration?
For what is love without a genuine vibration?
If *** is all you seek,
Be explicitly direct; don’t play games that will cause deceit.
Otherwise, in the end, ambivalent emotions will prevail.
Crafting a false sense of endearment that will soon be too much for you to bear.
I once journeyed to a crucible of love and hate.
Traveling far beyond the unfathomable depths of heartache.
Hopelessly exiled to endure the slowest of brutalizing pains;
A light was discovered, allowing the abhorrence to dissipate.
By: Michael M. De La Fuente
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 12:22 AM UTC
quietly, i’ll rap on your living room window and you will show me true elation. i will beckon you out into the night. we will rush to my car, and you will see the two planks of cedar strapped to the top. as i press the gas, we’ll both gaze at each other and realize that we’re running, hard and fast, away from the noise that we know and making a new home. i will park somewhere outside of any city limits and we’ll scream in unison. for freedom, for hope, we’ll grab the cedar from the roof and surf the skies. all throughout the endless night, we’ll be fluidly passing through time and space and just as they are, we will be, one in the same. gently gliding through stars, i will pick the flowers growing out of the holes in the sky and from that garden, i will hand you a bouquet of colors never known by you. you’ll see new sights and i will be there holding your hand, loving you gently and forever.
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 5:57 PM UTC
pretty girl with pretty flowers,
do not be afraid to trace the soft curves of your body
with your round, round eyes.
your monsters hide not there—
your guardian angels do.
when your night feels longer than the day,
breathe the smidgen of youth you have left in you
into the birds swimming fluidly with the stars—
their wings swiftly cutting smooth ripples into the sky,
disturbing the grumbling twilight.
you could be one of them,
able to go nowhere and everywhere.
like air.
don’t you want to go home?
sad girl with sad flowers,
keep your leaves tucked inside your old books,
in lacy sleeves, your peeling boots—
hope He finds them all there.
sing sweetly of the poets of all ages—siken, plath, wilde, whitman—
shamelessly climb inside His chest,
gently rip His ribs apart,
the you that's serenading, softly seducing Him
with songs unsung and dreams undreamt.
let your baby blue skirt ride up,
drip, drip, drip,
let His calloused fingers brush your thighs made of syrupy milk,
as you smile, and smile, and smile.
fiery girl with stormy flowers,
the best things in life cannot be confined to a physical shape, cannot be
seen, or touched, or heard, or said—
yet in your eyes set heavy by damp eyelashes,
there is the primal, unconfined, raw thirst,
desperately hoping and searching.
is it a lost love? an unfounded love?
what is it that you are looking for?
Sep 26, 2017
Sep 26, 2017 at 11:42 AM UTC
Hearts racing
We intertwine
Two become one
Panting
Moaning
Breathing
Heavily breathing
We move fluidly
One ****** to another
Toes curling
We intertwine
Eyes meet
Lips meet
Bodies together
Sweating
Sliding
Screaming
Changing positions
Eyes rolling
We intertwine
Panting
We approach that moment
That moment when time stops
The ******
My ******
Your ******
Our ******
Tongues meeting
Sighs of relief
Sighs of exhaustian
Hands touching
We remain intertwined
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 11:49 PM UTC
*A bittersweet mixture of agony and ecstasy
Found in the lone voice of a piano
Painting colours in harmony
That leave my senses reeling
Flying through the air like an arrow
Shot from cupids bow
An electric arc in the atmosphere
Piercing my soul with forgotten longing
Balancing in timeless beauty
Pirouetting chiffon billows elegantly through the notes
Defying gravity
Suspended in animation
Music that compels my body into
Configurations that delight and thrill my perceptions
An exquisite pain of my own making
I lose myself in abstractions
Octaves fluidly creating shapes
Resembling cursive script
The author of symmetry
I hover on the edge of a lost dream .....
I once stood on my toes
Until the day
Fate took it from me*
(C) Pixievic 2016
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 10:12 AM UTC
If this vast azure emptiness can prove
An aghast endless vacuum measure
Take it for granted, research process sure
It will fuel your thought resources, true.
Mining specks and dots in deep space treasures
Boundless designs shine assigning pleasures
Unfurl within mind in gaseous beams
Overflowing the banks of conscious streams
Filling the utmost sanctum with soft skills
Milling vacuum with colorful quills
Calming the pulses with embracing lulls
Warming all lives with fundamental pulls
Creating a sense of duo, I and you
Love and dislikes and points of view.
Feeling satiety in charity
Finding synergy in activity.
Minting amity in society
keeps you young aged muddling in daring dreams
Deeply engage you cuddling realms supreme.
So what? if this vast thought mine be blanked out
Will the ghost mute vacuum follow suit?
If sense aides guide a slow downward exit
And mind bids the fairy lids to close it
Will the sun bewail, bemoan and eclipse?
Or will the same smile prevail on red-lips?
If souls sunset in seamless sea of mind
Will lights spill out; team up to stay behind?
To form anew a fresh long microwave
To indent a start with a soul suave
A new spectrum to perceive the forces
For the soul that constantly resources
That differently formats transceiver courses
The energy that cannot be destroyed
But that which can be candidly portrayed
On a vast emptiness fluidly stolid
On a continuum vividly solid
On a clean canvas without dimensions
In a brave new world that cannot mention
A name which is beyond comprehension
A frame that doesn't fall on known convention.
Jan 16, 2019
Jan 16, 2019 at 2:30 PM UTC
I have travelled, many a weary step, so long, and for so long with baited breath,
ANXIOUS
ready to be relieved of the responsibilities of life
craving freedom from calamity and strife
frantic and frenzied
as though at some point i might find the answer
to an oft ignored question
i look up at the stars, as they look down at me
and bask in the glory of the past and present's symmetry
because there are so many of us...
all bound to humanity
now passed through the flame of mortality
the "others"
the ones who have asked themselves why they're here
the intellectuals warriors who have no need for fear
when they look into the veil of death
and sense the first vibrations on the pulse of life
when i used to dip my pen into the ink,
metaphorically, because my computer helps me to think
i used to doubt engaging in the process of creation
it used to enrage
my self serving denomination
the sensation of never quite being able to express yourself as fluidly as option b
or the devilry that comes from hiding yourself within the layers of flesh referred to as anatomy
i use to cower by act three,
run from the stage before the audience saw through me,
never receiving my final bow
but now i realize,
that at the core of my existence
imbedded in my instincts
is the ability of my creator....
and I'm a fan
so now when i dip my pen to the paper
I'm a masked crusader
cool, liek darth vader
and i aint never going back
to that tired dusty beaten track
refered to, in passing, as memory lane
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 2:03 PM UTC
-Breath in Pace without practice,
or Scarcely even a thought.
-Hands entwined without effort,
Creating a feeling that could never be bought.
-Intoxicated all the more by the Knowledge
of Contentment Equally Earned
-Blanketed by Trust so Complete, we could fly
to the sun without getting burned.
-Not Possibly an Illusion, for the emotions are too Strongly Felt
*(I never knew love grounded by reason
could so fluidly make my heart melt)*
-Not to be treasured without expecting to carry
the Burden of Blood, Sweat, and Tears.
-Unthinkable to dispose of lightly.
-Worth every ounce of struggle as days lapse into years.
-Delight at all there is to receive.
(Things I never seemed to deserve)
-And surprising Eagerness to Bestow the blessings
that Ease the pain of past devotion (lest passion should begin to swerve)
Keep this list close to your heart,
To grant yourself solid evidence (though time defies perception)
That we should never allow our souls to part.
As you mark every sign with a tick,
you're certain to see we could not be faking the Understanding, the Peace,
The Happiness that is gained by the puzzle's simple click.
Apr 5, 2012
Apr 5, 2012 at 6:28 PM UTC
where shall I send my poems?
to my eyelashes,
for they beat irregularly
unconcealed and unconscious
like my poems
to my fingertips,
where they are released fluidly
they grasp, strained and staining, tapping breaths
like my poems
to my smile,
fleeting and happy weeping fortuitously
a lifetime of a whisper, glimpsed and gone
like my poems
to my brain,
where they are symmetrically born only to die ceremonially
a fireworks duration evaporating into a rich velvet
like my poems
like my poems,
none will survive me,
blemishes, pockmarks, beauty marks, residues,
in a flash bang born, in a flash bang consumed
3:08am dec. 9 2019
Dec 9, 2019
Dec 9, 2019 at 3:17 AM UTC
Oh, hello there.
I managed to slip away from my previous adventure,
With the knight and his beloved.
My beloved, too;
I suppose.
I've stumbled upon a peculiar thing, though.
An olive tree,
In the midst of this lush underbrush.
It's quite twee,
If I do say so myself.
Although I'm more interested in the treasure below.
A pristine white glows beneath.
I twiddle with the branches a little to find a lovely treasure.
I sit down,
Outstretched my fingers towards the snow,
And carefully pluck at it,
Delicately brushing along the olives in the midst
Of my glissando.
Yohan Heineken, I believe.
A baroque composer.
My thoughts fluidly sailing as the leaves of the tree rustle,
And the snow echos as more olives fall upon it.
Like...an orchestra.
The olives falling unto the porcelain, I mean.
What a beautiful melody it creates,
And my fingers magically gloss along the porcelain,
Carefully molding the remaining olives into the crevices my fingers have made.
Oh dear, I've become too passionate for this!
I carry on anyways, 3rd Movement and all.
The Tempest...
A lovely play by Shakespeare & a dazzling story told by Beethoven.
Or simply a way to express my current emotions.
The wind carried the melody...
...to the ears of the waking princess.
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 3:56 AM UTC
I write so my demons don't consume me
with a pen in my hand they flow through me
i turn my demons into ink so fluidly
that all they can even begin to speak is smoothly
my demons think they've got me beat
but with my text i break their teeth
disarm my demons with my metaphors
i slit their throats with my pen and they fall bleeding to the floor
flay them open with my similes
like wounds cut open to release disease
and spread their skin like butterfly wings
and with precision and delivery
pin them here for you to see
see
my demons flow through me like ink through a pen
so i pick up their cage and i confine them
put the cap back on and snap it into place
i might look calm but there are demons beneath this face
Jan 27, 2012
Jan 27, 2012 at 2:33 PM UTC
The air my lungs grows stagnant
Between heartbeats
Heartbeats that dance
As he pumps it in his hand
Squeeze release. Squeeze release
Slowly, fluidly
Keeping time with his own
Basking in the moments between moments
Increasing and decreasing at his will
By his hand
Rolling on the sea of tympani
The music of his heart
Bleeds life into my own
Riding the crescendo
Between the stillness
Hidden in the silence of time
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 6:51 AM UTC
To you, it is a spectacle
You watch with congealed disgust and cloying pity
Perverse satisfaction oozes from your pores
But you dare not to push back the velvet curtain
And glance behind its inky whisper
For you know deep in the soft malleable crevasses of your mind
That the walls will stand firm with time,
That the flowers breathe,
That the lamps light.
You compare each life like photographic negatives
Whispering affirmations
My dishes are whole
My walls are smooth
My curtains match
Standing ***** on a pedestal of entitlement
A halo of ivy above your eyes
Gleaming incisors bared.
You meditate only on the dysfunction
You hear only raised voices
You see only the shards, never the whole
But behind that silky curtain are eddying currents of actuality
Fluidly changing
Even as you enjoy the show.
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 11:51 PM UTC
exhaust’d thru months of
stress’d quandaries. have
clear’d the worst. and
i ripped through older
pages, stealing the words
that sound’d best. the
only ones
able to fluidly
patch fragments. brake.
been a long couple day(s);
singular, i guess. and
the sassy black chick,
she doesn’t give a ****
never did. and friend is
asking why, asking
questions of the sky.
- what if what’s complicated
is so because we never
let it be easy?
infectious thoughts of
what to do to complicate, or
of how we might proliferate.
and ringing:
- why not just be easy?
and ringing:
- you’re just going to have to
stop having fun for a while.
and ringing:
- i mean, not quit, but
ease up. don’t spend
your money.
knowing is ninety-percent
of the problem with
stubbornness. and remem-
bering when first told
to get on with it –
to let go –
the other ten-percent.
and being one day closer –
to be one minute closer –
brings restlessness. and
i lay my head to rest, if
only to pass time as lids
squeeze light from eyes.
and thoughts, peaceful a
moment prior, begin to
rage. to thrash and stomp.
to draw from dead qualms
and questions. and past
turbulences become reali-
gn’d. yet,
most were left behind or
under the Pinelawn.
something missing,
memories of how her
**** were like tiger claws.
brake. get on with it.
and the vessels of my eye
throb in ticks. forcing
metronome. and i count the
seconds, the seconds
on minutes
on hours
on eternity. and if
i were here – if
i were awake – when
the sun came ‘round,
then perhaps the metro-
nomes tick would cease. or,
let it go, get on with the
passing of time.
getting on with it, to
force the dawn sun
to rise of me.
Jan 31, 2013
Jan 31, 2013 at 9:32 PM UTC
The graceful improvisation
Moves through your body
As your feet rhythmically glide
My eyes stuck fixation
Embody emotion inside
Artistic beauty
With effortless elegance
Reveals truly
This sorceress's extravagance
Illuminating passion
With every twist in time
Balanced fashion
Which resists the paradigm
Expressive energy
Fluidly maintained in the trance
Creating synergy
Entrained into your dance
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 4:10 AM UTC