"graeae" poems - Hello Poetry

*magdalene just wanked off st. peter, and i’m like... magdalene just wanked off st. peter., the pope was caressed by tabloid headlines... and jesus did a miracle streak of shit-smear in leather, gagged the dsm iv into s & m translation; i used to play the guitar once... but i got choreographed into a back-up dancer / mimer role - and then i sold 1million singles in the first hour of the realese.* self-love amiss is a potato patch of the revelatory, self-love quotes from what the greeks missed in threes: the furies stagnated into the eye of the graeae; i can write about my **** life in the same way you write to idealise your **** life, 9/5 on the black mustang... who ran out from the better’s sardine packing of expected, tight... he’s got life... not a reminder of a cloned bricklayer for a bricklayer just to suggested a bowtie of an accent: i will not make england my home just because i can speak it... i’ll speak english so well i’ll make the english feel like lower class... if not migrants; and i did... some boy from cyprus thought i was posh enough to practice conservatism at a private school teaching that mathematics using a, b c, d, semi-colon... ah... grammar; unless of course it was all rather unnecessary, then i abide by the law of knock down ginger... and walking beneath the a12’s batty man’s legs sign for gills.

0

Nov 25, 2015

Nov 25, 2015 at 7:59 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

bundles of led

*magdalene just wanked off st. peter, and i’m like... magdalene just wanked off st. peter., the pope was caressed by tabloid headlines... and jesus did a miracle streak of shit-smear in leather, gagged the dsm iv into s & m translation; i used to play the guitar once... but i got choreographed into a back-up dancer / mimer role - and then i sold 1million singles in the first hour of the realese.* self-love amiss is a potato patch of the revelatory, self-love quotes from what the greeks missed in threes: the furies stagnated into the eye of the graeae; i can write about my **** life in the same way you write to idealise your **** life, 9/5 on the black mustang... who ran out from the better’s sardine packing of expected, tight... he’s got life... not a reminder of a cloned bricklayer for a bricklayer just to suggested a bowtie of an accent: i will not make england my home just because i can speak it... i’ll speak english so well i’ll make the english feel like lower class... if not migrants; and i did... some boy from cyprus thought i was posh enough to practice conservatism at a private school teaching that mathematics using a, b c, d, semi-colon... ah... grammar; unless of course it was all rather unnecessary, then i abide by the law of knock down ginger... and walking beneath the a12’s batty man’s legs sign for gills.

26

I miss the solace of your blue and citrine eyes the anxious twist of the zephyrs in my core Stilled near you, Standing in cool shadows beneath an oak— The heart tree your parents Planted when you were born still mewling as white coats pricked your tiny feet The hunger they induced that never quite left you. Still, under your branches I was safe. I remember the night Lachesis plucked a few more inches From her spool And you wrapped them around your finger Driven by ****** of dread Drew me into your arms, clinging to the spaces between my hips and ribs Whispering into the curve of my neck that if you released me into starlight Erebus would ****** me away from you. And I had not doubted that you loved me But feeling your caged panic I learned the wings of your heart were strong enough to bend mine. In the dark I am more skittish now Untangling our threads I unraveled the Moirai’s veil. Alone, I am under the crimson eye of too many men Now that I am not The apple of yours. The Graeae glance down from their mountain Holding their eye above an abyss Words I always wanted said are poisoned by unwanted lips. The restless zephyr in my stomach stirs Searching the nearest escape route. And the softer tint of the world has turned hard again. But you are still the nearest sanctuary And maybe it is selfish To think of you so But I hope I am still the same For you.

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Sep 15, 2021

Sep 15, 2021 at 12:41 PM UTC

elaenor-aisling

Emergency Contact

I miss the solace of your blue and citrine eyes the anxious twist of the zephyrs in my core Stilled near you, Standing in cool shadows beneath an oak— The heart tree your parents Planted when you were born still mewling as white coats pricked your tiny feet The hunger they induced that never quite left you. Still, under your branches I was safe. I remember the night Lachesis plucked a few more inches From her spool And you wrapped them around your finger Driven by ****** of dread Drew me into your arms, clinging to the spaces between my hips and ribs Whispering into the curve of my neck that if you released me into starlight Erebus would ****** me away from you. And I had not doubted that you loved me But feeling your caged panic I learned the wings of your heart were strong enough to bend mine. In the dark I am more skittish now Untangling our threads I unraveled the Moirai’s veil. Alone, I am under the crimson eye of too many men Now that I am not The apple of yours. The Graeae glance down from their mountain Holding their eye above an abyss Words I always wanted said are poisoned by unwanted lips. The restless zephyr in my stomach stirs Searching the nearest escape route. And the softer tint of the world has turned hard again. But you are still the nearest sanctuary And maybe it is selfish To think of you so But I hope I am still the same For you.

42

I see Even when I miss my eye I think Even when I rest I make Even when I follow I am alert My kin becomes me Until I become my kin Until my turn

0

Dec 1, 2012

Dec 1, 2012 at 3:33 PM UTC

paris-mexis

“Graeae” (from "Teratology")

I see Even when I miss my eye I think Even when I rest I make Even when I follow I am alert My kin becomes me Until I become my kin Until my turn

10

yeah, buy art, what a weird concept in the 21st century; i'm waiting for pope Francis to become my patron and ask me to redo the Sistine chapel. i can only remember buying four singles disks in my day, i bought en vogue's don't let go (love) when i was "supposed" to buy the prodigy's music for the jilted generation (indeed i'm part of the jaded crew), i bought no doubt's cover it's my life (original version by talk talk), m.m.'s fight song, and indeed the Budweiser advert song done by the wise guys say ooh la la - the Graeae frogs you remember? bud - weis - er... the shared eye actually a brown glass bottle - peer in... admit it, pop music is intended to make your heart into a sponge, soak up **** up all those emotions that you'll never get as you might get from toasting bread or making coffee or drinking a sharpshooter of excess whiskey and little coke, a shandy by comparison (shandy? ah, beer topped up with lemonade, like you like me i know the only slang is that of drunks)... well the 5th was eagle eye cherry's save tonight, but i don't know why i returned it at the our price store (post-virgin megastore music cornershop outlet) with the cashier's bewilderment; but admit it, pop music is intended to make your heart into a sponge, **** it up and soak in it, when the songs don't reveal you the love intended; well, the music industry did combat the free music policy (i still stream but don't keep), they employed about 5 producers, used algorithms to create an endless stream of music without an original message but a pattern by which you react emotionally to it in the same way... and i'm not ashamed to admit that justin bieber's love yourself is good, i mean the sly and gentle guitar riff and the horns... and i can relate to the message... music for the bedroom, music not for arenas or clubs... music you can think in rather than dance or be a cheerleader of movie iconoclasm - man, the lack of drums, where the vocals act like drums, bring back the woodwinds of the vocals and drop the excess bass and drums that thump your eardrums deaf.

0

Mar 19, 2016

Mar 19, 2016 at 8:26 AM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

the graeae frogs

yeah, buy art, what a weird concept in the 21st century; i'm waiting for pope Francis to become my patron and ask me to redo the Sistine chapel. i can only remember buying four singles disks in my day, i bought en vogue's don't let go (love) when i was "supposed" to buy the prodigy's music for the jilted generation (indeed i'm part of the jaded crew), i bought no doubt's cover it's my life (original version by talk talk), m.m.'s fight song, and indeed the Budweiser advert song done by the wise guys say ooh la la - the Graeae frogs you remember? bud - weis - er... the shared eye actually a brown glass bottle - peer in... admit it, pop music is intended to make your heart into a sponge, soak up **** up all those emotions that you'll never get as you might get from toasting bread or making coffee or drinking a sharpshooter of excess whiskey and little coke, a shandy by comparison (shandy? ah, beer topped up with lemonade, like you like me i know the only slang is that of drunks)... well the 5th was eagle eye cherry's save tonight, but i don't know why i returned it at the our price store (post-virgin megastore music cornershop outlet) with the cashier's bewilderment; but admit it, pop music is intended to make your heart into a sponge, **** it up and soak in it, when the songs don't reveal you the love intended; well, the music industry did combat the free music policy (i still stream but don't keep), they employed about 5 producers, used algorithms to create an endless stream of music without an original message but a pattern by which you react emotionally to it in the same way... and i'm not ashamed to admit that justin bieber's love yourself is good, i mean the sly and gentle guitar riff and the horns... and i can relate to the message... music for the bedroom, music not for arenas or clubs... music you can think in rather than dance or be a cheerleader of movie iconoclasm - man, the lack of drums, where the vocals act like drums, bring back the woodwinds of the vocals and drop the excess bass and drums that thump your eardrums deaf.

47