"fontanelle" poems - Hello Poetry

mixed stirrings hard to place this constant ire rising from ashes of a fire not quite, yet felt stir into that melting *** the sum of miscellany unknowns all wrought from the unsweet gifts of quotidian sighs no need to wrap the present, baby, for it's already here twinkling in the birth of every moment we hardly know it nor acknowledge so busy wrenching pain from secret places the darkness loves to keep yesterday brought unsought smiles of outer space dust then space in pushed into the blue spit bubble of crayfish folly and fear frozen into place on cauldroned cheeks as tendons pulled fury tight on a cocky bounty's cry I want to carry that sweet loading joy which scorches my receptiveness in astringent non reciprocation I die to please that spangled energy so much which holds back its cagey kernel, far from my prying hands I kneel to take in out of the blue blessings which fall slapdash on this preoccupied trajectory, forever waiting in sozzled hope I take the package you flash and cast heavy which leave sweltering whiplines across my insides all fine, all just a fine melange beneath your magic fontanelle lies a sunken cache there are painfully few privy to that miracle I live in hope of neither looping nor taking but just to be happy to bear witness to the shiny array of your gem stock you are like none other, inimitable and hard gemstone (inside) a mix of purity stirred in crazy, along with star shine and fire sparks my angel with honey eyes

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Dec 8, 2013

Dec 8, 2013 at 2:34 PM UTC

s-e-l

mix

mixed stirrings hard to place this constant ire rising from ashes of a fire not quite, yet felt stir into that melting *** the sum of miscellany unknowns all wrought from the unsweet gifts of quotidian sighs no need to wrap the present, baby, for it's already here twinkling in the birth of every moment we hardly know it nor acknowledge so busy wrenching pain from secret places the darkness loves to keep yesterday brought unsought smiles of outer space dust then space in pushed into the blue spit bubble of crayfish folly and fear frozen into place on cauldroned cheeks as tendons pulled fury tight on a cocky bounty's cry I want to carry that sweet loading joy which scorches my receptiveness in astringent non reciprocation I die to please that spangled energy so much which holds back its cagey kernel, far from my prying hands I kneel to take in out of the blue blessings which fall slapdash on this preoccupied trajectory, forever waiting in sozzled hope I take the package you flash and cast heavy which leave sweltering whiplines across my insides all fine, all just a fine melange beneath your magic fontanelle lies a sunken cache there are painfully few privy to that miracle I live in hope of neither looping nor taking but just to be happy to bear witness to the shiny array of your gem stock you are like none other, inimitable and hard gemstone (inside) a mix of purity stirred in crazy, along with star shine and fire sparks my angel with honey eyes

28

Amo la libertà dè tuoi romiti vicoli e delle tue piazze deserte, rossa Pavia, città della mia pace. Le fontanelle cantano ai crocicchi con chioccolìo sommesso: alte le torri sbarran gli sfondi, e, se pesante ** il cuore, me l'avventano su verso le nubi. Guizzan, svelti, i tuoi vicoli, e s'intrecciano a labirinto; ed ai muretti pendono glicini e madreselve; e vi s'affacciano alberi di gran fronda, dai giardini nascosti. Viene da quel verde un fresco pispigliare d'uccelli, una fragranza di fiori e frutti, un senso di rifugio inviolato, ove la vita ignara sia di pianto e di morte. Assai più belli i bei giardini, se nascosti: tutto mi pare più bello, se lo vedo in sogno. E a me basta passar lungo i muretti caldi di sole; e perdermi nè tuoi vicoli che serpeggian come bisce fra verzure d'occulti orti da fiaba, rossa Pavia, città della mia pace.

0

784

Ada Negri

Giardini nascosti

Amo la libertà dè tuoi romiti vicoli e delle tue piazze deserte, rossa Pavia, città della mia pace. Le fontanelle cantano ai crocicchi con chioccolìo sommesso: alte le torri sbarran gli sfondi, e, se pesante ** il cuore, me l'avventano su verso le nubi. Guizzan, svelti, i tuoi vicoli, e s'intrecciano a labirinto; ed ai muretti pendono glicini e madreselve; e vi s'affacciano alberi di gran fronda, dai giardini nascosti. Viene da quel verde un fresco pispigliare d'uccelli, una fragranza di fiori e frutti, un senso di rifugio inviolato, ove la vita ignara sia di pianto e di morte. Assai più belli i bei giardini, se nascosti: tutto mi pare più bello, se lo vedo in sogno. E a me basta passar lungo i muretti caldi di sole; e perdermi nè tuoi vicoli che serpeggian come bisce fra verzure d'occulti orti da fiaba, rossa Pavia, città della mia pace.

23

a black boi/girl prays that they aren’t so black and blue in the new year, they write the manifestation and burn it over orange blue flames. in the evening, blue-black girl’s stomach is swollen with wine, they sit and think of the blue-black boi with the heavy eyelids and the dark Pisces eyes they have been dreaming of drowning in. day-dreaming of the warmth of their breath, short of breath, warm mouths, shared cold showers between the two of them. we get our start in liquid – do you remember the states of matter? solidliquidgasplasma drowning in you sounds like a game of memory, a nostalgia for beginnings, the dreams of a fontanelle filled with memories yet to already become, a yearning for something that has yet to have happen a futurity encapsulated somewhere inside of our dna. I want to drown in her brownness and let it saturate my lungsmouthnoseears. I want to taste you on my lips when I first wake. like you fill my every inch. I want your essence to effuse from my pores, to feel like my teeth are still at your ear. do you remember when we first found each other? my heart broke from the levees and you opened your arms. you felt like the warm stillness before the storm. you remind me of the way that the summer time humidity hangs in the air. i’m not suffocating in it, i’m drowning.

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Feb 2, 2018

Feb 2, 2018 at 3:21 PM UTC

alaya

jan 2nd

a black boi/girl prays that they aren’t so black and blue in the new year, they write the manifestation and burn it over orange blue flames. in the evening, blue-black girl’s stomach is swollen with wine, they sit and think of the blue-black boi with the heavy eyelids and the dark Pisces eyes they have been dreaming of drowning in. day-dreaming of the warmth of their breath, short of breath, warm mouths, shared cold showers between the two of them. we get our start in liquid – do you remember the states of matter? solidliquidgasplasma drowning in you sounds like a game of memory, a nostalgia for beginnings, the dreams of a fontanelle filled with memories yet to already become, a yearning for something that has yet to have happen a futurity encapsulated somewhere inside of our dna. I want to drown in her brownness and let it saturate my lungsmouthnoseears. I want to taste you on my lips when I first wake. like you fill my every inch. I want your essence to effuse from my pores, to feel like my teeth are still at your ear. do you remember when we first found each other? my heart broke from the levees and you opened your arms. you felt like the warm stillness before the storm. you remind me of the way that the summer time humidity hangs in the air. i’m not suffocating in it, i’m drowning.

17

number, tell and scribe secret of universe vibe everything ruled by mathematic from esoteric to pragmatic vibration of the sonant, consonant, vowel, 'n sonerant, the hidden song and current of existence and occurrent history guided by Hand hidden in purpose grand Thought laid out 'n planned to play out in sea and land written in every living cell from heart tissue to fontanelle from jubilant birth to distant knell Face of Divine hides to dwell.

0

Apr 11, 2021

Apr 11, 2021 at 7:39 AM UTC

david-r

Esoteric

number, tell and scribe secret of universe vibe everything ruled by mathematic from esoteric to pragmatic vibration of the sonant, consonant, vowel, 'n sonerant, the hidden song and current of existence and occurrent history guided by Hand hidden in purpose grand Thought laid out 'n planned to play out in sea and land written in every living cell from heart tissue to fontanelle from jubilant birth to distant knell Face of Divine hides to dwell.

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