"forgetters" poems - Hello Poetry

I wish you wouldn't hurt yourself, You're so much better off, But this time's set and the past isn't present, I'm cut as deep as yours, Charming letters and flattering smiles, I can almost taste the passion, How far can I go to get lost in your see-thru? I don't have the heart to steal your heart from the edge of your sleeve, And tell him I'm here and disappear to drown all of your fear, 900 miles could seperate an obvious shade of what we thought we made, Pull apart and push cause I'm ready, set, going your heart to steal your way, So I'm moving like a river, only heading down, to you, To fix the forgetters and never's that we've found, So I'm moving like a statue with my head hanging down, To give your way back to the heart I never found, in you. And here I sit, wanting you.. Can you see what I need? I can too... It's not my fault, I did what I could do.... So I'll lie to forget the truth.....

0

Oct 29, 2012

Oct 29, 2012 at 3:07 PM UTC

mark-boucher

Tell Myself.

I wish you wouldn't hurt yourself, You're so much better off, But this time's set and the past isn't present, I'm cut as deep as yours, Charming letters and flattering smiles, I can almost taste the passion, How far can I go to get lost in your see-thru? I don't have the heart to steal your heart from the edge of your sleeve, And tell him I'm here and disappear to drown all of your fear, 900 miles could seperate an obvious shade of what we thought we made, Pull apart and push cause I'm ready, set, going your heart to steal your way, So I'm moving like a river, only heading down, to you, To fix the forgetters and never's that we've found, So I'm moving like a statue with my head hanging down, To give your way back to the heart I never found, in you. And here I sit, wanting you.. Can you see what I need? I can too... It's not my fault, I did what I could do.... So I'll lie to forget the truth.....

19

tippity tippity tap tap tap tippity tap tippity tap tap tap And stop. This is not it. This is not art, this is no way for me to start. This glowing screen this cold machine can never catalyze my dreams into communication conversation or fire my imagination (nor can The mincing of a pen across neat lines). Writing only hurts my hand. And so, I stand. Re-align the ol’ synapses Click my fingers and my HOUSE collapses! And THERE, Planet Earth, with a grin, says, “I dare you! Throw form to the winds!” And I, I want to blast my words from the sky with a big, black blunderbuss, scatter the survivors to the four corners of heaven! I want to ****** my fingers, scraping in the grit, Frantically digging in the glaur and the grime for runaway rhyme I want to haul my metaphors in, thrashing, from the sea Hold them, know them, set them free! I want my similes to flatten me Like rhinos on the rampage Tell me your stories, in everything you do Make a bonfire of biros, a pixel pyre And dance your poems as the flames leap higher! I want to write with my FEET across a Scotland-shaped sheet! I do not want to be neat. To tether in letters, To file for forgetters. Words on a page are birds in a cage, Poetry unspoken Life, unwoken.

0

Nov 24, 2010

Nov 24, 2010 at 1:40 AM UTC

alan-mcclure

Lament

tippity tippity tap tap tap tippity tap tippity tap tap tap And stop. This is not it. This is not art, this is no way for me to start. This glowing screen this cold machine can never catalyze my dreams into communication conversation or fire my imagination (nor can The mincing of a pen across neat lines). Writing only hurts my hand. And so, I stand. Re-align the ol’ synapses Click my fingers and my HOUSE collapses! And THERE, Planet Earth, with a grin, says, “I dare you! Throw form to the winds!” And I, I want to blast my words from the sky with a big, black blunderbuss, scatter the survivors to the four corners of heaven! I want to ****** my fingers, scraping in the grit, Frantically digging in the glaur and the grime for runaway rhyme I want to haul my metaphors in, thrashing, from the sea Hold them, know them, set them free! I want my similes to flatten me Like rhinos on the rampage Tell me your stories, in everything you do Make a bonfire of biros, a pixel pyre And dance your poems as the flames leap higher! I want to write with my FEET across a Scotland-shaped sheet! I do not want to be neat. To tether in letters, To file for forgetters. Words on a page are birds in a cage, Poetry unspoken Life, unwoken.

43

Collections of repetition far too worn in to be without, far too rooted in muscles that are not forgetters, the kind that hold tight to the limit, hold tight to what they know, hard is letting go of things we know better, letting go of hazardous misconception that muscles never think of merely hold, until little change is ever seen, and rarely heard, change is not for the weak, and not for the people that merely sleep...while awake.

0

Jan 15, 2015

Jan 15, 2015 at 12:56 PM UTC

Docstrange

While awake

Collections of repetition far too worn in to be without, far too rooted in muscles that are not forgetters, the kind that hold tight to the limit, hold tight to what they know, hard is letting go of things we know better, letting go of hazardous misconception that muscles never think of merely hold, until little change is ever seen, and rarely heard, change is not for the weak, and not for the people that merely sleep...while awake.

10