"hazily" poems - Hello Poetry

"hazily" poems

Coming home from a fair, cusped between your lap a globe of darting eyes, your hands rested atop the thin film of a world as you endlessly peer in. Are you scrying over your future career? Here a tungsten bulbous body, a chunk of flame, swills itself in spins and mindless dances, as you think you could be so careless like them to live hazily in a framed bubble of treasured youth, fed by some divine fate looking over you. Golden scales make your skin, binds you as if you were a chocolate in a wrapper for people to circus over– every flicker being edible. Or maybe you're like those tinned peach slices, posing in a cage for all as a marvel to feast with until you end up rotting, there in your tomb-space, muttering an open mouth, “help me” before they serve you up on a silver-lined dish. I assure you, you'll forget these childish thoughts of aspirations and dreams sooner than you think: no matter how much you think they want you, I'll bet they'll let yourself drown in coming weeks.

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Apr 20, 2014

Apr 20, 2014 at 6:15 PM UTC

Coming home from a fair, cusped between your lap a globe of darting eyes, your hands rested atop the thin film of a world as you endlessly peer in. Are you scrying over your future career? Here a tungsten bulbous body, a chunk of flame, swills itself in spins and mindless dances, as you think you could be so careless like them to live hazily in a framed bubble of treasured youth, fed by some divine fate looking over you. Golden scales make your skin, binds you as if you were a chocolate in a wrapper for people to circus over– every flicker being edible. Or maybe you're like those tinned peach slices, posing in a cage for all as a marvel to feast with until you end up rotting, there in your tomb-space, muttering an open mouth, “help me” before they serve you up on a silver-lined dish. I assure you, you'll forget these childish thoughts of aspirations and dreams sooner than you think: no matter how much you think they want you, I'll bet they'll let yourself drown in coming weeks.

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Breakfast The morning spins lazily out of the Universe’s black eye like a surveillance camera ************ my paranoia. I eat a small breakfast of toads and do my coughing exercises. In the cellar the flesh incinerator purrs for dinner and is only satisfied with one species of rare mammal. My exotic summer guests, strewn on the floor like pickup sticks, are becoming a burden, so I toss one in the furnace and hazily return to bed.

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Aug 28, 2015

Aug 28, 2015 at 9:03 PM UTC

outsider-poet-thomas

Outsider Poetry Breakfast

Breakfast The morning spins lazily out of the Universe’s black eye like a surveillance camera ************ my paranoia. I eat a small breakfast of toads and do my coughing exercises. In the cellar the flesh incinerator purrs for dinner and is only satisfied with one species of rare mammal. My exotic summer guests, strewn on the floor like pickup sticks, are becoming a burden, so I toss one in the furnace and hazily return to bed.

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I wish stars grew in your skin Next to the oxygen humming in your lungs To thaw your stagnant blood So I could watch you orbit your part of the planet Three hundred miles away, Because your heart would then permeate faster than life's speed limit, Scaling all the mountains between us to Float in my peripherals like Residual Chernobyl radiation. Dancing hazily, Constant reminders of my past And the jenga monkey ladder to my future. I never liked being insignificant. Now please infect me with your cancer So you can't escape again.

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May 6, 2015

May 6, 2015 at 9:17 PM UTC

I wish stars grew in your skin Next to the oxygen humming in your lungs To thaw your stagnant blood So I could watch you orbit your part of the planet Three hundred miles away, Because your heart would then permeate faster than life's speed limit, Scaling all the mountains between us to Float in my peripherals like Residual Chernobyl radiation. Dancing hazily, Constant reminders of my past And the jenga monkey ladder to my future. I never liked being insignificant. Now please infect me with your cancer So you can't escape again.

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Pleasure, oh pleasure sitting in silence Among the lime trees The silence of delight A perfect pardon Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees No hurry, no hurry To go anywhere While strangers offer smiles Such perfect smiles Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Magic a specialisation A practical specialisation Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees People of all kinds Come streaming by Pilot people Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees People passing with such power Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees All power is violence Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Pleasure, oh pleasure Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees No power is needed here Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Only truth and justice Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees No grievous ache remains a mystery Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees That purple mass made clear Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees An aroma here Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees An exuding stupefying aroma Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees That startles the sparrows Identical sparrows Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Other silence is unequal Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees A quivering tenor of silence Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Gilded silence that flashes Hazily across the vision Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Frenzied silence, irresistible silence Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Silence split into fragments Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Fragments that remain intact Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Silence that vanishes from sight Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees A severed silence That remains infused Golden and deceptive Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Like split up bandits On the run Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Who race up two Different boulevards Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees A day return silence Always nervous and irritable Sitting her in silence Among the lime trees A softening handsome Lilac colored silence Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Regal in its resonance Of romance Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees A silence of scarlet kerchiefs Wears a tail coat Has black raven hair Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Trying to catch spiders Rats, little devils and dogs Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Day breaks Inexorably in silence Over the poet Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees The unstoppable Silence of silence Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Such silence once started Is unstoppable Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Such as the strange silence One finds in snow Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Silence in a deserted shout Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Oh such silent noise Such silent noise Silent noise, silent

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Sep 28, 2012

Sep 28, 2012 at 3:46 PM UTC

edgar-whitman-wilde

Silence among the lime trees

Pleasure, oh pleasure sitting in silence Among the lime trees The silence of delight A perfect pardon Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees No hurry, no hurry To go anywhere While strangers offer smiles Such perfect smiles Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Magic a specialisation A practical specialisation Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees People of all kinds Come streaming by Pilot people Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees People passing with such power Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees All power is violence Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Pleasure, oh pleasure Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees No power is needed here Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Only truth and justice Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees No grievous ache remains a mystery Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees That purple mass made clear Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees An aroma here Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees An exuding stupefying aroma Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees That startles the sparrows Identical sparrows Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Other silence is unequal Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees A quivering tenor of silence Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Gilded silence that flashes Hazily across the vision Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Frenzied silence, irresistible silence Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Silence split into fragments Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Fragments that remain intact Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Silence that vanishes from sight Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees A severed silence That remains infused Golden and deceptive Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Like split up bandits On the run Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Who race up two Different boulevards Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees A day return silence Always nervous and irritable Sitting her in silence Among the lime trees A softening handsome Lilac colored silence Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Regal in its resonance Of romance Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees A silence of scarlet kerchiefs Wears a tail coat Has black raven hair Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Trying to catch spiders Rats, little devils and dogs Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Day breaks Inexorably in silence Over the poet Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees The unstoppable Silence of silence Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Such silence once started Is unstoppable Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Such as the strange silence One finds in snow Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Silence in a deserted shout Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Oh such silent noise Such silent noise Silent noise, silent

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I will see him tomorrow And we will restore the status quo Because I can't sort through the mess in my head Can't find a topic that won't let the worry show. I will see him tomorrow And this heartbroken poetry will cease Because I'm better at controlling what I want When it's physically in my reach. I will see him tomorrow And I'll see her image hazily beside him And I'll put down my metaphorical sword Because it's not a fight I can win. I will see him tomorrow And my heart will see them both together But I won't say a single undue word Won't even ask if he's doing better. I will see him tomorrow Like nothing ever went wrong And I will wrap my arms around him And remember his favorite songs. I will see him tomorrow But I will not break down and cry Because, beyond the hurt, I understand The ever-present want to die. I will see him tomorrow And, my previous poems be ****** I'll keep my mouth, heart, and mind shut As I cope the only way I can. I will see him tomorrow And reach out for another Because I never had and I never will have The right to claim or tether. I will see him tomorrow And I won't speak of Summer or Fall I'll remain detached though I am not Though I'm not calm or collected at all. I will see him tomorrow And she will not be there in person And I will not yearn or reach for either If only because I love them.

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Jun 2, 2014

Jun 2, 2014 at 7:34 PM UTC

I will see him tomorrow And we will restore the status quo Because I can't sort through the mess in my head Can't find a topic that won't let the worry show. I will see him tomorrow And this heartbroken poetry will cease Because I'm better at controlling what I want When it's physically in my reach. I will see him tomorrow And I'll see her image hazily beside him And I'll put down my metaphorical sword Because it's not a fight I can win. I will see him tomorrow And my heart will see them both together But I won't say a single undue word Won't even ask if he's doing better. I will see him tomorrow Like nothing ever went wrong And I will wrap my arms around him And remember his favorite songs. I will see him tomorrow But I will not break down and cry Because, beyond the hurt, I understand The ever-present want to die. I will see him tomorrow And, my previous poems be ****** I'll keep my mouth, heart, and mind shut As I cope the only way I can. I will see him tomorrow And reach out for another Because I never had and I never will have The right to claim or tether. I will see him tomorrow And I won't speak of Summer or Fall I'll remain detached though I am not Though I'm not calm or collected at all. I will see him tomorrow And she will not be there in person And I will not yearn or reach for either If only because I love them.

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these songs are dedicated to those hours late into the night; when the sky gravitates towards the end of the colour spectrum, in which the hues collide, to create an illusion as mesmerising as the look in her eyes when he smiles. because the way the notes grazed her ear drums, as they lift themselves hazily off of the sheet, is one way to describe how it feels when she hears his voice; his laugh encompassing her whole being, enclosing her in a tight embrace. i sincerely apologise to all the songs i've ruined and stained with the ****** memory of you.

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Mar 25, 2018

Mar 25, 2018 at 3:48 PM UTC

these songs are dedicated to those hours late into the night; when the sky gravitates towards the end of the colour spectrum, in which the hues collide, to create an illusion as mesmerising as the look in her eyes when he smiles. because the way the notes grazed her ear drums, as they lift themselves hazily off of the sheet, is one way to describe how it feels when she hears his voice; his laugh encompassing her whole being, enclosing her in a tight embrace. i sincerely apologise to all the songs i've ruined and stained with the ****** memory of you.

Continue reading...

A pearl mansion, three stories tall Soaring on a halcyon hill. A stretched view to read the world. A throne with riches to fill. The comfort of a swain. But carnality in silence An everlasting reserve of cake. A bottomless appetite in defiance. A quail in a cage, the keys in her hand. To pluck the plume languidly. A daffodil to determine fate: “I love him. I love him not.” To spoil their fly, To reap their fall. Their loyalty hazily sewn In grounds of her royal hall. Heels encased in crystals of tears. To lien their names And shine her shoes Perched high on a golden bluff. To shutter her windows On cloudy days. To be a star in the night Despite the moon’s wane. Eternal seasons of the self. To watch feathers move Without the burden of wind. The quietude of stillness but to fill the void. To reign solely as a dreary majesty. To kiss and then walk astray. Or perhaps earnest denial To pacify the pain.

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Sep 29, 2021

Sep 29, 2021 at 11:07 AM UTC

A pearl mansion, three stories tall Soaring on a halcyon hill. A stretched view to read the world. A throne with riches to fill. The comfort of a swain. But carnality in silence An everlasting reserve of cake. A bottomless appetite in defiance. A quail in a cage, the keys in her hand. To pluck the plume languidly. A daffodil to determine fate: “I love him. I love him not.” To spoil their fly, To reap their fall. Their loyalty hazily sewn In grounds of her royal hall. Heels encased in crystals of tears. To lien their names And shine her shoes Perched high on a golden bluff. To shutter her windows On cloudy days. To be a star in the night Despite the moon’s wane. Eternal seasons of the self. To watch feathers move Without the burden of wind. The quietude of stillness but to fill the void. To reign solely as a dreary majesty. To kiss and then walk astray. Or perhaps earnest denial To pacify the pain.

Continue reading...

I'm Outstanding in a field While out standing in a field ....with these teachers C̵͍̞̓̄r̸̛͖̣͙̋̀ë̵̝͔́ä̶͎͕͉̈́t̶̢̠̍ͅǔ̵̹̠̖̊͠r̴̜̙̗̊̀e̷̡̢̜̕s̵͖͚̒̿ and prophets You'd think its an easy hike, but its more seagoing I see, means my ego pre-going: Just Color coding as another motif to talk with No Shovel loading this buffer coating some mock spit Of Sirrus winds and summer loving... Was it other living or utter loathing? No component, Native I'm Buffaloing Icarus took the fire and I took the flowin We've got the water ̶̧̧̼̖͙͔̹̻͕͖̠̤̓͊̆͋̐̓͂̄̊̚̕͠r̵͍͔̮͒̿̎́̊̈́͝ ũ̸͖͇̟̯̅̌̈́̕͠ n̵̲̤̙̜̑̑̽͑ n̵̡̺̪͎̯̫͐́̉͜͜ ì̷̺͍̹́̓̈́ ṉ̸̣̪͓̗̤́̈̊̈́̀ g̵͓̲̺̙̘̤̞̦̺̥̓͋̈̇͌̈́̃́͂̍͝ Is it fear or love? Got the mother-loving is it dear or turtle-dove? Talking in terms of inhaling foxglove Stuck in the mud asking: What's the size of.... What are we in the Light of? Still: Growing like a d̶̰̊̿̈́̓̿̿̑̈́͆̈̅̕a̵̻̤̒̅͛̿̀̎͘i̷͎̜̰̯͆̏̚s̵̡̢̼̺̬̬̖͚̦͍̠͑̀̀̃̀͌́͛̈́̌͝ȳ̴̞͖͓̝̥̭̥̖̑͋̔̎̀͗͘ ̸̢̪͍̠͕̩̥̒̍̓͋̈̐͊̂̎̓͝ ̵̡͇̳̦̦̥̰̝̐͐͌̐̓͐̈̏̀͘̕ ̶̡̨̟̼̺̺̝͇̍̀̓̓̏͌́͗̓̂͆͠ Growing like my Day Be more than Dimebag lately Growling like I'm Day Z̶̯̲̹̠̙̊̏́͗̿̎̅͗͐̿̃ Standing tall // Just Massing Nation Is it all in my Imagination? Fountain passion Claim free Mountain Fashioned hazily Passion Painting with Green Sea Ripples passing freely through the sword I be puffin on a horn like G̶̹͎̓̄̃͛͂͐͐a̵̻͕͔̯̹̿̕͝b̶̧̛͔̙͙̰̭̯̥̩̉̅̅̿̂̃r̴̝̞͎͂͗̈ĭ̴̘̈́̄̽̃͂̑́̈́͘͠ȩ̷̞̹̮̃̑̌͛̂́̀͝ḷ̶̢̡̭̫͉̬͇̀͜ ̸͚̳̘̜̫̱͖͂̇̓̈́̂̽͂̀̒ (Pfu du duu do duuuu) Tougher than.... ~imagining_ All the rougher when we matching wings Most people here ~just gather things_ Always stuffing torn like here we go: (̷̛̰̼͕̰͊̂͆̿̅̀͝F̴̧̛͎͎̹͕̬͔͉̃͆̄̎͛̈͋͆̓̇͝ͅū̸̪͎̦̻͕̼͉̼͇̤̄̀̏̓̅͗͌ ̸̧͚̝̟͎̺̝̱͉̓͝ḑ̷̧̰̞̪̥͊̈̑̑̔͋͐͜͝͝ų̵̢̮̙͙̭̫̤̤̖̽̄̈́̀͒̅̀̕͜͝͠ ̷̨̨̥̩̘̱̘̓̉̈̈͌̃͊́̾̚͘d̷̺͛͂̏͑̂͛̊͛͘͝u̷̧͉̹̟͎͉̎̓̎̌ú̵̢̪̺̱̥͆̅́̄̈́̈̚͝ ̷̨̝̥̫̣̻͚̍̍͊͛͌̃͌̀̆̃̚͜͠ḑ̵̡̛͚͚̩͓̼̲͇̮͑̃̅͗̿̓͐͝ͅõ̵̢̰͎̹̥̫̺͍̎́͌̓ ̵͚̺̼͇͔̻̫͇̤̆̔͛͐͆̀̚͝ḑ̴̻̪̉̍͌̽̿̚̚̚ͅư̶̛̘͔̹̰̈́͒͑̍͐̎̈̈́̒͜û̶̬̮̙͍̺̬̯̻͚̺͌̂̌ͅu̴̞̫͓̭̮̽̽͌̊̄̃̔̎̃͘͠͠ŭ̷͎̎̉̆̈́̚͠)̷͖͔͔̤̗̋͛͜ Come and tumble Hear how can it sing... All the colors, Smatterings Can't muck with my energy Mastered the art of astral projection Grinding rice with mortar and pestle Just to Vortex the best view Motor no next to you Torn from the best of true R̶̯̞͕̭͠͝e̴̳̗̍͒ͅä̷͎̬́̀̋̂̕l̴̼͇̗̈́̿̈ỉ̶̙͔̤̓t̵̩͚͎̥͕͓̍̏̌̉ẏ̸̫͌ worn for the rest of you. Rolling free with no potent fees Taking liberties with the energies Got the water ̶̧̧̼̖͙͔̹̻͕͖̠̤̓͊̆͋̐̓͂̄̊̚̕͠r̵͍͔̮͒̿̎́̊̈́͝R ũ̸͖͇̟̯̅̌̈́̕͠ Un̵̲̤̙̜̑̑̽͑ Nn̵̡̺̪͎̯̫͐́̉͜͜ Nì̷̺͍̹́̓̈́ Nṉ̸̣̪͓̗̤́̈̊̈́̀Gg̵͓̲̺̙̘̤̞̦̺̥̓͋̈̇͌̈́̃́͂̍͝ Is it fear or love? Got the mother-loving is it dear or dote? More like do or don't. Floating on the shore like: Heeere we go. Blowing on a horn with Gabriel : (̴̨̳̙͕̲̤̮͕̖̅͐̄̍͒́̎̋̌̈́̾͑̆͑̊̿̃̓͛̓̒͘͜͝F̴̧̢̨̹͎̖̼̝͚̤̥̖̰̭͕̳̖̩̘̜̝̩̟̠̩̝̘̰͎̜̮͖̓̏̾̔̉͗̈́̕͝ͅͅ ȗ̶̡̳͕̘̲̜̳͖͉͇̮̟̪̬̜̜̩̥̻̝̭͓̥̍̍͂̈͆̉͗̎̈́͗̓́̑͊̋́͗̿͐̍̏̋̓̓͊̿̚͠ ̷̢̧̹͙̫̜̝̲͖̹̪͓̲̫̟̹͎̖̦̝̳̙͎͍͍̱̳̼̗͎̻͖̰̘̻͈̲͌̏̐̽̀̉̇̒͗́͑́͑͐̈͌̿͐̍̒̒̌̀̈͑̃̅͋̌͛͂̔́̀̍́̎̅̚̚͘͝ͅͅḑ̶̧̢͇͎͖̝̠͈͍̫̰̝̯͔͉̝͓͚̭͖̻͓̗̬̺̞̖͈̜͍̹̜̺̩͈̃̎̀̂͂́̀͂̄̐̍̆̈́́̈́̈̏̈́̉̿͒͋̈́̓̾̍̆̍̈͊͂̐̒̀̚͜͝͝͝͝ û̷͚̻̟̰͈̒̊͒̀̿̾͋̒͌̊̾̇̉́͆̅͒̈́̈̾̓̑͗̃̈́̓̄̀́́̽͗͘̚̕͘͝ ̵̡̢̢̡̢̘͍͉͕̠̮̤̗̻͈̯͙̲̳͎̪̹̗͓͈̟͕͇̃͒̋͒͒̉͊̎̂̽̋͋̈̀͊̅̔̒͐̋́͐̏͑͋͌͛̇͛̓̄̄̍͐ͅd̸͔͕̞̪̝̖̩͂̂̎̀͐͒̿͘ư̶̡̩͙͇̥͈͔̮̟͕̺͙̈̅̽̍̒͌͛͑͋̉̿̎̂̿́̈́̊͗̄̔̎̏̑̂̔̊̈́̕͝ͅ ư̸̧̡̼͈̲̰͓̹̗̩͓͙̹̯̹͊͐̒̾̆́̍̒̓͑̍̈́͆̉̀͘ ̷̢̧̺̩͕̟̙̳̜̩̗͔̻͕͈̥͈͖̩͇͈̠͉̩̈́̃̌̈́͌̇͂̓̐̇̍̏́̋̔͂̈́́̒̽́̓̓̚͜͜͝͠͝ d̷͔̮͓͖̉ ờ̷̧̨̡̛̛͓̗͉̪͖̼̜̬̜̦͎̻̙̖̣̠͈̳͊́̈́͊͋͊̉̈͒̔̐̄̌̎̀̈́̊̋̉̏̒̑͗͋̓̔̉̓̋͒̇͘͘͝͝͠͠ͅ ̷̳̦͙͙̤̺̜̥̖̬̮̰͈̣̗̙̮̬̈́̈́̾̂͆̓̈́ͅͅ d̵̛̳͈̗̋͊̓̒̅̿́͗́̒̂̈́̌͋̄̀́̌̄̈́͛͋̊̎̈́̓̉̕͠͝͝͠͝͠ư̵̘͚͔̫̮̭̖̱̞͔̦̩̹̱̺̺̝̬͖̜̼̬̮͎͚̪̼̯̫̳̜̙͓̥͎̳̥̻̾͆̄̋̅̂̃͒͛̿̐͒̿̊̌̓̈̅̃̒̈̈́̎̿̓̕͘͜͝͝͠͝͝ ư̴̡̧̢̧̦̭͍̮̜͓̫̪͇̖̤͙̻̮͉̭̯̙̞̥̗̱̩̞̞̼̟̱̟̦͚̼̲̼͚͈̈́͆̏͆̌̉̀͛͆͐͛̇̇̍̓̔̄͂͌̿̒̄́̌̕̚̕̕̕͝͝ ų̵̧̛͉̺̜͎̜̩͖̲̟͔̬̦̤̖͎̫͔͖̮͕̗̼͙̫̼̭̦͕̫͖͉̆͐̾̑͂͋͂̎̊͗̈́̂̕͘͜͝ͅͅ ư̶̛͙̠͆̓̃̀̍̄̔̄̇͗̀́̐́̌͂̋̑̏̄̑̕͠͠͝͝͝)̵̨̡̧̛̛̙͚̪̬̤͕̥̳̥̱̞̺͎̫̩͌́̈́̑̂̌̈͐͐͊̈́̇͐̍͒̓̓̀͐̃̆͐̓̍̀̐̃͑̕̕̕̕͝͝

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Oct 27, 2021

Oct 27, 2021 at 1:12 PM UTC

(-)en-erg-es(Z)

I'm Outstanding in a field While out standing in a field ....with these teachers C̵͍̞̓̄r̸̛͖̣͙̋̀ë̵̝͔́ä̶͎͕͉̈́t̶̢̠̍ͅǔ̵̹̠̖̊͠r̴̜̙̗̊̀e̷̡̢̜̕s̵͖͚̒̿ and prophets You'd think its an easy hike, but its more seagoing I see, means my ego pre-going: Just Color coding as another motif to talk with No Shovel loading this buffer coating some mock spit Of Sirrus winds and summer loving... Was it other living or utter loathing? No component, Native I'm Buffaloing Icarus took the fire and I took the flowin We've got the water ̶̧̧̼̖͙͔̹̻͕͖̠̤̓͊̆͋̐̓͂̄̊̚̕͠r̵͍͔̮͒̿̎́̊̈́͝ ũ̸͖͇̟̯̅̌̈́̕͠ n̵̲̤̙̜̑̑̽͑ n̵̡̺̪͎̯̫͐́̉͜͜ ì̷̺͍̹́̓̈́ ṉ̸̣̪͓̗̤́̈̊̈́̀ g̵͓̲̺̙̘̤̞̦̺̥̓͋̈̇͌̈́̃́͂̍͝ Is it fear or love? Got the mother-loving is it dear or turtle-dove? Talking in terms of inhaling foxglove Stuck in the mud asking: What's the size of.... What are we in the Light of? Still: Growing like a d̶̰̊̿̈́̓̿̿̑̈́͆̈̅̕a̵̻̤̒̅͛̿̀̎͘i̷͎̜̰̯͆̏̚s̵̡̢̼̺̬̬̖͚̦͍̠͑̀̀̃̀͌́͛̈́̌͝ȳ̴̞͖͓̝̥̭̥̖̑͋̔̎̀͗͘ ̸̢̪͍̠͕̩̥̒̍̓͋̈̐͊̂̎̓͝ ̵̡͇̳̦̦̥̰̝̐͐͌̐̓͐̈̏̀͘̕ ̶̡̨̟̼̺̺̝͇̍̀̓̓̏͌́͗̓̂͆͠ Growing like my Day Be more than Dimebag lately Growling like I'm Day Z̶̯̲̹̠̙̊̏́͗̿̎̅͗͐̿̃ Standing tall // Just Massing Nation Is it all in my Imagination? Fountain passion Claim free Mountain Fashioned hazily Passion Painting with Green Sea Ripples passing freely through the sword I be puffin on a horn like G̶̹͎̓̄̃͛͂͐͐a̵̻͕͔̯̹̿̕͝b̶̧̛͔̙͙̰̭̯̥̩̉̅̅̿̂̃r̴̝̞͎͂͗̈ĭ̴̘̈́̄̽̃͂̑́̈́͘͠ȩ̷̞̹̮̃̑̌͛̂́̀͝ḷ̶̢̡̭̫͉̬͇̀͜ ̸͚̳̘̜̫̱͖͂̇̓̈́̂̽͂̀̒ (Pfu du duu do duuuu) Tougher than.... ~imagining_ All the rougher when we matching wings Most people here ~just gather things_ Always stuffing torn like here we go: (̷̛̰̼͕̰͊̂͆̿̅̀͝F̴̧̛͎͎̹͕̬͔͉̃͆̄̎͛̈͋͆̓̇͝ͅū̸̪͎̦̻͕̼͉̼͇̤̄̀̏̓̅͗͌ ̸̧͚̝̟͎̺̝̱͉̓͝ḑ̷̧̰̞̪̥͊̈̑̑̔͋͐͜͝͝ų̵̢̮̙͙̭̫̤̤̖̽̄̈́̀͒̅̀̕͜͝͠ ̷̨̨̥̩̘̱̘̓̉̈̈͌̃͊́̾̚͘d̷̺͛͂̏͑̂͛̊͛͘͝u̷̧͉̹̟͎͉̎̓̎̌ú̵̢̪̺̱̥͆̅́̄̈́̈̚͝ ̷̨̝̥̫̣̻͚̍̍͊͛͌̃͌̀̆̃̚͜͠ḑ̵̡̛͚͚̩͓̼̲͇̮͑̃̅͗̿̓͐͝ͅõ̵̢̰͎̹̥̫̺͍̎́͌̓ ̵͚̺̼͇͔̻̫͇̤̆̔͛͐͆̀̚͝ḑ̴̻̪̉̍͌̽̿̚̚̚ͅư̶̛̘͔̹̰̈́͒͑̍͐̎̈̈́̒͜û̶̬̮̙͍̺̬̯̻͚̺͌̂̌ͅu̴̞̫͓̭̮̽̽͌̊̄̃̔̎̃͘͠͠ŭ̷͎̎̉̆̈́̚͠)̷͖͔͔̤̗̋͛͜ Come and tumble Hear how can it sing... All the colors, Smatterings Can't muck with my energy Mastered the art of astral projection Grinding rice with mortar and pestle Just to Vortex the best view Motor no next to you Torn from the best of true R̶̯̞͕̭͠͝e̴̳̗̍͒ͅä̷͎̬́̀̋̂̕l̴̼͇̗̈́̿̈ỉ̶̙͔̤̓t̵̩͚͎̥͕͓̍̏̌̉ẏ̸̫͌ worn for the rest of you. Rolling free with no potent fees Taking liberties with the energies Got the water ̶̧̧̼̖͙͔̹̻͕͖̠̤̓͊̆͋̐̓͂̄̊̚̕͠r̵͍͔̮͒̿̎́̊̈́͝R ũ̸͖͇̟̯̅̌̈́̕͠ Un̵̲̤̙̜̑̑̽͑ Nn̵̡̺̪͎̯̫͐́̉͜͜ Nì̷̺͍̹́̓̈́ Nṉ̸̣̪͓̗̤́̈̊̈́̀Gg̵͓̲̺̙̘̤̞̦̺̥̓͋̈̇͌̈́̃́͂̍͝ Is it fear or love? Got the mother-loving is it dear or dote? More like do or don't. Floating on the shore like: Heeere we go. Blowing on a horn with Gabriel : (̴̨̳̙͕̲̤̮͕̖̅͐̄̍͒́̎̋̌̈́̾͑̆͑̊̿̃̓͛̓̒͘͜͝F̴̧̢̨̹͎̖̼̝͚̤̥̖̰̭͕̳̖̩̘̜̝̩̟̠̩̝̘̰͎̜̮͖̓̏̾̔̉͗̈́̕͝ͅͅ ȗ̶̡̳͕̘̲̜̳͖͉͇̮̟̪̬̜̜̩̥̻̝̭͓̥̍̍͂̈͆̉͗̎̈́͗̓́̑͊̋́͗̿͐̍̏̋̓̓͊̿̚͠ ̷̢̧̹͙̫̜̝̲͖̹̪͓̲̫̟̹͎̖̦̝̳̙͎͍͍̱̳̼̗͎̻͖̰̘̻͈̲͌̏̐̽̀̉̇̒͗́͑́͑͐̈͌̿͐̍̒̒̌̀̈͑̃̅͋̌͛͂̔́̀̍́̎̅̚̚͘͝ͅͅḑ̶̧̢͇͎͖̝̠͈͍̫̰̝̯͔͉̝͓͚̭͖̻͓̗̬̺̞̖͈̜͍̹̜̺̩͈̃̎̀̂͂́̀͂̄̐̍̆̈́́̈́̈̏̈́̉̿͒͋̈́̓̾̍̆̍̈͊͂̐̒̀̚͜͝͝͝͝ û̷͚̻̟̰͈̒̊͒̀̿̾͋̒͌̊̾̇̉́͆̅͒̈́̈̾̓̑͗̃̈́̓̄̀́́̽͗͘̚̕͘͝ ̵̡̢̢̡̢̘͍͉͕̠̮̤̗̻͈̯͙̲̳͎̪̹̗͓͈̟͕͇̃͒̋͒͒̉͊̎̂̽̋͋̈̀͊̅̔̒͐̋́͐̏͑͋͌͛̇͛̓̄̄̍͐ͅd̸͔͕̞̪̝̖̩͂̂̎̀͐͒̿͘ư̶̡̩͙͇̥͈͔̮̟͕̺͙̈̅̽̍̒͌͛͑͋̉̿̎̂̿́̈́̊͗̄̔̎̏̑̂̔̊̈́̕͝ͅ ư̸̧̡̼͈̲̰͓̹̗̩͓͙̹̯̹͊͐̒̾̆́̍̒̓͑̍̈́͆̉̀͘ ̷̢̧̺̩͕̟̙̳̜̩̗͔̻͕͈̥͈͖̩͇͈̠͉̩̈́̃̌̈́͌̇͂̓̐̇̍̏́̋̔͂̈́́̒̽́̓̓̚͜͜͝͠͝ d̷͔̮͓͖̉ ờ̷̧̨̡̛̛͓̗͉̪͖̼̜̬̜̦͎̻̙̖̣̠͈̳͊́̈́͊͋͊̉̈͒̔̐̄̌̎̀̈́̊̋̉̏̒̑͗͋̓̔̉̓̋͒̇͘͘͝͝͠͠ͅ ̷̳̦͙͙̤̺̜̥̖̬̮̰͈̣̗̙̮̬̈́̈́̾̂͆̓̈́ͅͅ d̵̛̳͈̗̋͊̓̒̅̿́͗́̒̂̈́̌͋̄̀́̌̄̈́͛͋̊̎̈́̓̉̕͠͝͝͠͝͠ư̵̘͚͔̫̮̭̖̱̞͔̦̩̹̱̺̺̝̬͖̜̼̬̮͎͚̪̼̯̫̳̜̙͓̥͎̳̥̻̾͆̄̋̅̂̃͒͛̿̐͒̿̊̌̓̈̅̃̒̈̈́̎̿̓̕͘͜͝͝͠͝͝ ư̴̡̧̢̧̦̭͍̮̜͓̫̪͇̖̤͙̻̮͉̭̯̙̞̥̗̱̩̞̞̼̟̱̟̦͚̼̲̼͚͈̈́͆̏͆̌̉̀͛͆͐͛̇̇̍̓̔̄͂͌̿̒̄́̌̕̚̕̕̕͝͝ ų̵̧̛͉̺̜͎̜̩͖̲̟͔̬̦̤̖͎̫͔͖̮͕̗̼͙̫̼̭̦͕̫͖͉̆͐̾̑͂͋͂̎̊͗̈́̂̕͘͜͝ͅͅ ư̶̛͙̠͆̓̃̀̍̄̔̄̇͗̀́̐́̌͂̋̑̏̄̑̕͠͠͝͝͝)̵̨̡̧̛̛̙͚̪̬̤͕̥̳̥̱̞̺͎̫̩͌́̈́̑̂̌̈͐͐͊̈́̇͐̍͒̓̓̀͐̃̆͐̓̍̀̐̃͑̕̕̕̕͝͝

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There’s nothing special here Hearts are trampled by and by Lost looks go searching for lost loves There’s nothing special here Long thoughts and short lives Descending riffs rush by every day There’s nothing special here No tour bus stops for the lonely souls Smoke drifts wafting lazily Hazily the air never clears There’s nothing special here High times never made it through The door stays shut as often as not Slumped shouldered fools look down Frowns etched sketched amid the lines There’s nothing special here Just lost souls and hazy minds There’s nothing special here cc0111

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Jan 3, 2011

Jan 3, 2011 at 5:58 PM UTC

There's Nothing Special Here

There’s nothing special here Hearts are trampled by and by Lost looks go searching for lost loves There’s nothing special here Long thoughts and short lives Descending riffs rush by every day There’s nothing special here No tour bus stops for the lonely souls Smoke drifts wafting lazily Hazily the air never clears There’s nothing special here High times never made it through The door stays shut as often as not Slumped shouldered fools look down Frowns etched sketched amid the lines There’s nothing special here Just lost souls and hazy minds There’s nothing special here cc0111

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Not One Hours Rest, Moon Still Standing Nice and Tall Stars Still Hanging on, You Ride Hazily and Lazily to The City Train Station Seeing Faces, Seeing Slouched Shoulders, Seeing Tired Eyes all around you Waiting and Thinking of Home, Observing Yet Constantly Yawning In No Time You Are Propelled Forwards and Out Through the City Limits Metal Container Rattling, No Snooze Alarm for the Rising Sun The City Dissolves into the Back of Your Eyes as You Hit A Tunnel and Enter the Suburban Void Suddenly Fantastic Splotches of Greenery Drift into Sight, Dabs of Golden Light Float Like Dandelion Spores in The Air People Move Up and Down the Carriage Schizophrenically, Fidgeting, Never Considering Sitting Still, Not Even Once Please Just Look Out the Window Outside Battered Tree Trunks Lay Lifelessly in the Middle of Wondrous Sprawling Fields Clouds Ripple Insanely Throughout the Horizon, Livestock Enjoying Themselves While They Still Can What Follows This is a Series of Dilapidated Sheds and Abandoned Roads Leading Up into the Hills so Jagged They Must Have Been Cut by a One Single Colossal Breadknife

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Feb 28, 2019

Feb 28, 2019 at 8:30 AM UTC

Hugooseyintoinfinity

Not One Hours Rest

Not One Hours Rest, Moon Still Standing Nice and Tall Stars Still Hanging on, You Ride Hazily and Lazily to The City Train Station Seeing Faces, Seeing Slouched Shoulders, Seeing Tired Eyes all around you Waiting and Thinking of Home, Observing Yet Constantly Yawning In No Time You Are Propelled Forwards and Out Through the City Limits Metal Container Rattling, No Snooze Alarm for the Rising Sun The City Dissolves into the Back of Your Eyes as You Hit A Tunnel and Enter the Suburban Void Suddenly Fantastic Splotches of Greenery Drift into Sight, Dabs of Golden Light Float Like Dandelion Spores in The Air People Move Up and Down the Carriage Schizophrenically, Fidgeting, Never Considering Sitting Still, Not Even Once Please Just Look Out the Window Outside Battered Tree Trunks Lay Lifelessly in the Middle of Wondrous Sprawling Fields Clouds Ripple Insanely Throughout the Horizon, Livestock Enjoying Themselves While They Still Can What Follows This is a Series of Dilapidated Sheds and Abandoned Roads Leading Up into the Hills so Jagged They Must Have Been Cut by a One Single Colossal Breadknife

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degenerate beauty queen treasure from the dredge of the Earth strung up like Christmas lights white crystal **** aflame hydrangeas cower from her gaze pink ribbons stained with age droop lonesome in soft noir locks pulled loose from men along the way she'll be lucky if she doesn't die young photos on the television gunned down in some gang's maze or somewhere in the gutters she calls home expensive death bought by scratch she'll be lucky to make it to twenty three cigarettes and xanax soothe her to sleep dancing on a silver pole took her hazily high school diploma left her trailer park bound never felt love 'less it came from a bottle kissed only by knuckles since she began running from ambitions to become no one just someone's baby mama left shattered she smiles to the world, for anyone who can see inside she's full of rage, i see the tear stains mascara runs black from her bambi eyes complacent at best, naïve at worst ****** never grew up, she just grew angrier i pray for you and the person you've become ring me when you find your head ring me when you find your way home there's nothing from you that i wanna take no matter how insignificant or terrifying i love you forever and always

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Oct 3, 2021

Oct 3, 2021 at 3:22 AM UTC

degenerate beauty queen treasure from the dredge of the Earth strung up like Christmas lights white crystal **** aflame hydrangeas cower from her gaze pink ribbons stained with age droop lonesome in soft noir locks pulled loose from men along the way she'll be lucky if she doesn't die young photos on the television gunned down in some gang's maze or somewhere in the gutters she calls home expensive death bought by scratch she'll be lucky to make it to twenty three cigarettes and xanax soothe her to sleep dancing on a silver pole took her hazily high school diploma left her trailer park bound never felt love 'less it came from a bottle kissed only by knuckles since she began running from ambitions to become no one just someone's baby mama left shattered she smiles to the world, for anyone who can see inside she's full of rage, i see the tear stains mascara runs black from her bambi eyes complacent at best, naïve at worst ****** never grew up, she just grew angrier i pray for you and the person you've become ring me when you find your head ring me when you find your way home there's nothing from you that i wanna take no matter how insignificant or terrifying i love you forever and always

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My body temperature rises like the moon. Odd that the sun is the symbol of heat, yet, most heat is felt at night. Subtlest of sighs and I am undone. Buttressed and encompassed by you. I want to bite, nibble, peck at your neck Like an artist with granite I want to carve into you I crave you, I want to market our practiced need. Subtle yet lulled, our lust will be boundless. Founded on our need to keep our word. We together are a force, a natural force. Unreserved, unobserved, unconcerned I allow you to flood into me. Hazily, I am drawn to the figure on the floor, we swore no more, but the thrill of the slow **** allows us to be enthralled, exhilarated, liberated. The moon wanes, the body grows cold, we soar as we clean the gore. We swear 'nevermore' but are we just Poe's distraught lovers, falling into madness? The madness of the bloodlust, ******

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May 20, 2014

May 20, 2014 at 6:53 PM UTC

Camellia-japonica

My body temperature rises like the moon. Odd that the sun is the symbol of heat, yet, most heat is felt at night. Subtlest of sighs and I am undone. Buttressed and encompassed by you. I want to bite, nibble, peck at your neck Like an artist with granite I want to carve into you I crave you, I want to market our practiced need. Subtle yet lulled, our lust will be boundless. Founded on our need to keep our word. We together are a force, a natural force. Unreserved, unobserved, unconcerned I allow you to flood into me. Hazily, I am drawn to the figure on the floor, we swore no more, but the thrill of the slow **** allows us to be enthralled, exhilarated, liberated. The moon wanes, the body grows cold, we soar as we clean the gore. We swear 'nevermore' but are we just Poe's distraught lovers, falling into madness? The madness of the bloodlust, ******

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Been itchin' to step on the toes of some politicians, ditchin' the sneakers and hitchin' the anger, an armor of agression, clothes of choler, cursing the contempt-ridden regressions of the system. Edgy kids turn into violent adults, You have the right to remain violent, folks, 'long as you're getting something done and not lounging lazily, waiting for things to change by themselves, putting your drive on a shelf, hazily remembering what you actually believed - go **** right off and leave. Stick to your guns. I'm so sick of saints and nuns advocating for peace. Peace is a piece of giving up belief. "Friendly Negotiations" to talk you out of your convinction, turn convicts into martyrs and we'll see which side you really trust. How can you believe that peace will will solve problems when it just causes feelings to be pent up? People are competitive, wanting all that opulence in the posthumous, and peace is a puzzling problem, not a solution. Peace would be basic if human nature wasn't so acidic, mixed with the tension of a complex society, your peace is about to burn a hole in the walls of government. The only peace for me is death. Ideals are nothing without people fighting for them with every last breath. Go out and scream as long as you're making noise. Rip limits to shreds, and raise your ******* voice.

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Oct 15, 2018

Oct 15, 2018 at 7:51 PM UTC

rant - transcribed from paper

Been itchin' to step on the toes of some politicians, ditchin' the sneakers and hitchin' the anger, an armor of agression, clothes of choler, cursing the contempt-ridden regressions of the system. Edgy kids turn into violent adults, You have the right to remain violent, folks, 'long as you're getting something done and not lounging lazily, waiting for things to change by themselves, putting your drive on a shelf, hazily remembering what you actually believed - go **** right off and leave. Stick to your guns. I'm so sick of saints and nuns advocating for peace. Peace is a piece of giving up belief. "Friendly Negotiations" to talk you out of your convinction, turn convicts into martyrs and we'll see which side you really trust. How can you believe that peace will will solve problems when it just causes feelings to be pent up? People are competitive, wanting all that opulence in the posthumous, and peace is a puzzling problem, not a solution. Peace would be basic if human nature wasn't so acidic, mixed with the tension of a complex society, your peace is about to burn a hole in the walls of government. The only peace for me is death. Ideals are nothing without people fighting for them with every last breath. Go out and scream as long as you're making noise. Rip limits to shreds, and raise your ******* voice.

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Grim drops slowly through the window His front door's broken, the lock is gone On the way home from school he saw an omen It told him tonight would be long. Grim shouts his mother get your lazy **** over here And Grim shouts his father get in here and bring me a beer. Grim drops his schoolbag and walks to the kitchen And plonks down a beer on the table for father to drink With his TV show watching the Simpsons As mother lies hazily under the influence Grim leaks slowly up the staircase Into his room with the chain on the door He pours himself into bed, lies on his back He looks at the clock and he's sure Eleven eleven, it's one one one one It's the omen his demons have told him about Wish on a star they said, and if that doesn't work Wait til the clock pulls you out of all doubt. Grim waits for nightfall He doesn't have dinner He's been getting thinner But no one has seen. He seeps from the bedroom Down stairs and through hallways He knows he is going where he hasn't been. Grim please don't do it his friends would all say (If he had any friends but he doesn't) You know teachers despair of him Teenagers laugh at him Old ladies scared of him GO ****** GO Grim sets his face to determined He runs down the path to the cliff He launches himself from the edge and he flies For a wonderful moment A heartrending moment A glorious screamingly awesomest moment And then... Then all is Grim.

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Jun 23, 2015

Jun 23, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC

Grim drops slowly through the window His front door's broken, the lock is gone On the way home from school he saw an omen It told him tonight would be long. Grim shouts his mother get your lazy **** over here And Grim shouts his father get in here and bring me a beer. Grim drops his schoolbag and walks to the kitchen And plonks down a beer on the table for father to drink With his TV show watching the Simpsons As mother lies hazily under the influence Grim leaks slowly up the staircase Into his room with the chain on the door He pours himself into bed, lies on his back He looks at the clock and he's sure Eleven eleven, it's one one one one It's the omen his demons have told him about Wish on a star they said, and if that doesn't work Wait til the clock pulls you out of all doubt. Grim waits for nightfall He doesn't have dinner He's been getting thinner But no one has seen. He seeps from the bedroom Down stairs and through hallways He knows he is going where he hasn't been. Grim please don't do it his friends would all say (If he had any friends but he doesn't) You know teachers despair of him Teenagers laugh at him Old ladies scared of him GO ****** GO Grim sets his face to determined He runs down the path to the cliff He launches himself from the edge and he flies For a wonderful moment A heartrending moment A glorious screamingly awesomest moment And then... Then all is Grim.

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the sun also rises with the smoke, staling sweetly while the coffee drinkers scatter dewy dawns. we're smoking your last cigarette letting soreness seep into concupiscent sluggish limbs, as sleep-cornered bedroom eyes melt their waxy redness into the cruelty of morning light. insipid tongues, chapped and swollen, speak in strokes of satin whispers; breathy simple silken strands "you're so soft" scintillate resplendence with moth-wing gentleness to evanesce the daybreak chill. how i yearn to remain in between the days, hazily hidden in the serenity of our echo-quiet secret place.

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Oct 17, 2013

Oct 17, 2013 at 3:58 AM UTC

the sun also rises with the smoke, staling sweetly while the coffee drinkers scatter dewy dawns. we're smoking your last cigarette letting soreness seep into concupiscent sluggish limbs, as sleep-cornered bedroom eyes melt their waxy redness into the cruelty of morning light. insipid tongues, chapped and swollen, speak in strokes of satin whispers; breathy simple silken strands "you're so soft" scintillate resplendence with moth-wing gentleness to evanesce the daybreak chill. how i yearn to remain in between the days, hazily hidden in the serenity of our echo-quiet secret place.

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yellow is a colour that goes nicely over another; the halo surrounding the saint's head on a stained glass window; watery yellow acrylic pressed onto cream canvas with a soft, wide brush; yellow-tinted glasses pushed too far up your nose, that make you see the sky hazily; sunlight that envelops us all, submerges us all, makes us warm, makes us precious, covers what is underneath with the gold it is worth.

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Jan 17, 2021

Jan 17, 2021 at 6:46 AM UTC

202801 (paper gold)

yellow is a colour that goes nicely over another; the halo surrounding the saint's head on a stained glass window; watery yellow acrylic pressed onto cream canvas with a soft, wide brush; yellow-tinted glasses pushed too far up your nose, that make you see the sky hazily; sunlight that envelops us all, submerges us all, makes us warm, makes us precious, covers what is underneath with the gold it is worth.

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I closed my eyes again last night, Hoping for dreams of the misery I love so much The kind you can only bring The sweet, cold touch of your fingers Or the disgustingly loving sound of your spiteful voice Anything to get me out of this terrible nightmare But there's no feeling here but perpetual numbness As I lay here staring into the darkness My lungs grow heavy with the cries I've stifled, With the frigid breaths that I dare not breathe in your presence Even though you're gone now And there's only an empty space where you once sat beside me I can't do anything here by drown Filling the room with my tears so that I'm left Drowning again in the unbarable sea of silence That you had found me in so long ago Holding me by that delicate thread And dangling me above the water's edge I believed so much in the light you gave me But it was blinding and by the time you had let me go I was already deeply submerged under the surface of my dispair once again My eyes locked hazily on the distant figure of you as you left But drowning is a hobby of mine And I'll do it again tomorrow night

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Feb 20, 2015

Feb 20, 2015 at 2:43 AM UTC

Drowning Is A Hobby

I closed my eyes again last night, Hoping for dreams of the misery I love so much The kind you can only bring The sweet, cold touch of your fingers Or the disgustingly loving sound of your spiteful voice Anything to get me out of this terrible nightmare But there's no feeling here but perpetual numbness As I lay here staring into the darkness My lungs grow heavy with the cries I've stifled, With the frigid breaths that I dare not breathe in your presence Even though you're gone now And there's only an empty space where you once sat beside me I can't do anything here by drown Filling the room with my tears so that I'm left Drowning again in the unbarable sea of silence That you had found me in so long ago Holding me by that delicate thread And dangling me above the water's edge I believed so much in the light you gave me But it was blinding and by the time you had let me go I was already deeply submerged under the surface of my dispair once again My eyes locked hazily on the distant figure of you as you left But drowning is a hobby of mine And I'll do it again tomorrow night

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Show me the peace of mind that I lack. Apart I am weak and wondering and shuttering and stuttering. And at time's I am very alone. More panic attacks. More feelings I'm stuck muttering as others are meddling. Not having a life of my own. not completely although maybe bleakly. So please show me the peace of mind I can't find for myself. Stay my mind I beg you because the alternative is... Unspeakable. Stay my mind for me. I don't have the strength to do it myself. Self-pity is so easy. Comes so quickly. Flows so hazily. From now on that stops. Maybe it's time I learn a thing or two... and begin to stay my own mind.

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Apr 30, 2014

Apr 30, 2014 at 3:46 PM UTC

Show me the peace of mind that I lack. Apart I am weak and wondering and shuttering and stuttering. And at time's I am very alone. More panic attacks. More feelings I'm stuck muttering as others are meddling. Not having a life of my own. not completely although maybe bleakly. So please show me the peace of mind I can't find for myself. Stay my mind I beg you because the alternative is... Unspeakable. Stay my mind for me. I don't have the strength to do it myself. Self-pity is so easy. Comes so quickly. Flows so hazily. From now on that stops. Maybe it's time I learn a thing or two... and begin to stay my own mind.

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I imagine your voice waking me up On cold mornings. I imagine seeing you face come hazily into focus As the suns shines its sweet rays on our skin. I imagine you pushing the hair from around my lips And kissing me inhaling every scent. I imagine feeling you smile Embrace me; And I smile too.

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Oct 30, 2012

Oct 30, 2012 at 1:47 AM UTC

I imagine your voice waking me up On cold mornings. I imagine seeing you face come hazily into focus As the suns shines its sweet rays on our skin. I imagine you pushing the hair from around my lips And kissing me inhaling every scent. I imagine feeling you smile Embrace me; And I smile too.

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A patch of green Meets the burning red Of my skin, It's morning dew Slipping through my arm- Into the Abysmal Inner-workings Of a soul hidden from view. Blue skies with clouds of white Hanging drearily above my eyes; Gazing hazily at the ocean That is our gentle sky. Perhaps we are like fish- Only we swim with more esteem. Our sentience something profound; Lonely we sit in wait of dreams. They, however, pass us by, Shifting through the cycles of life. From the deepest darkness Until the morning light, Their thoughtless will fuels Their primitive might. So burn out your wick As you thrash about the sea- Exhausted and melting. Whatever fire you extinguish Will let the cool water sink slow. Then the sun will surely rise As it always has: Above us all, through mighty fire. Permit the stars into your life- They will save you from false desire.

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Feb 11, 2019

Feb 11, 2019 at 3:55 PM UTC

Channel of Sentience

A patch of green Meets the burning red Of my skin, It's morning dew Slipping through my arm- Into the Abysmal Inner-workings Of a soul hidden from view. Blue skies with clouds of white Hanging drearily above my eyes; Gazing hazily at the ocean That is our gentle sky. Perhaps we are like fish- Only we swim with more esteem. Our sentience something profound; Lonely we sit in wait of dreams. They, however, pass us by, Shifting through the cycles of life. From the deepest darkness Until the morning light, Their thoughtless will fuels Their primitive might. So burn out your wick As you thrash about the sea- Exhausted and melting. Whatever fire you extinguish Will let the cool water sink slow. Then the sun will surely rise As it always has: Above us all, through mighty fire. Permit the stars into your life- They will save you from false desire.

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*The wanderers lips chapped thirsty peeled and parched in deserts inhuman of love bereft,sought hard but unfound! a search on legs last,romance unfazed, for that mirage shimmering hazily afar of her eyes, face and lips softly smiling. so dear once,long abandoned in betrayal. a heartfull of love unrelinquished still, throbbing unforgotten in existence skeletal pausing for breaths last, a hoping soul numb, now sighting that luscious red neon cherry the glossy round O of Marylin the pretty a wan smile just, of a small solace strange lit up on a face entreating so desperate. paving happily the deaths way at last blown in the wind final,an abstract kiss.*

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Feb 9, 2013

Feb 9, 2013 at 4:42 AM UTC

max-chelur-the-hermits-corner

A Lovers Kiss Abstract. ( That Death Romantic!)

*The wanderers lips chapped thirsty peeled and parched in deserts inhuman of love bereft,sought hard but unfound! a search on legs last,romance unfazed, for that mirage shimmering hazily afar of her eyes, face and lips softly smiling. so dear once,long abandoned in betrayal. a heartfull of love unrelinquished still, throbbing unforgotten in existence skeletal pausing for breaths last, a hoping soul numb, now sighting that luscious red neon cherry the glossy round O of Marylin the pretty a wan smile just, of a small solace strange lit up on a face entreating so desperate. paving happily the deaths way at last blown in the wind final,an abstract kiss.*

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Fifty years ago today A half century. Yes--seems like a long time when we say it that way, sublimely forgetting time is a dimension we chop cheaply for convenience. In earth time, in galaxy time, the vast blue stretch since the cosmos’ first coding coughing of carbon, that five decades has been but a clipped comma in a thousand page tome, with a single stout capital letter being the history of a country, and a verbose sentence or two being the tale of our two legged species. For me, the 50 years since that day has been most of my book--nearly all that has been written since the dawn of light. I was on the Kanto plains of Japan, so it was already Christmas--though I guess my world has always spun faster than most. During the night, my father had assembled my new black three speed 26 inch Raleigh English racer, a serious upgrade from my red 24 inch Schwinn, my first bike, long lost to spinning memory, and likely the property of some dump in the heartland. The new bike stood beside the table in our large combination kitchen/dining room of our temporary officer quarters. I can’t recall if it was too cold to ride that day, but I probably ventured out, either in the real rays of the sun or in the land of imagination, the two being of equal measure in the realm of memory. A month before, my father woke me with the news of Kennedy’s assassination. Like others who were old enough to remember, the events of that November day have much crisper edges than any other, including the Raleigh racer Christmas or any Christmas I can recollect. Tomorrow is another Christmas. I won’t look at that day too much when I am walking in the park this afternoon, for tomorrow is not waiting for me at all. It will be there even if I am again dancing with stardust. More likely, I will be here, on the same rolling rock, eating the flesh of a fallen gobbler and making new memories I will recall only hazily in fifty hours. And if I were promised another fifty marching years, I might lament their passing before they arrived, knowing full well they too would be filled with forgetting.

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Dec 25, 2013

Dec 25, 2013 at 4:41 PM UTC

Fifty years ago today

Fifty years ago today A half century. Yes--seems like a long time when we say it that way, sublimely forgetting time is a dimension we chop cheaply for convenience. In earth time, in galaxy time, the vast blue stretch since the cosmos’ first coding coughing of carbon, that five decades has been but a clipped comma in a thousand page tome, with a single stout capital letter being the history of a country, and a verbose sentence or two being the tale of our two legged species. For me, the 50 years since that day has been most of my book--nearly all that has been written since the dawn of light. I was on the Kanto plains of Japan, so it was already Christmas--though I guess my world has always spun faster than most. During the night, my father had assembled my new black three speed 26 inch Raleigh English racer, a serious upgrade from my red 24 inch Schwinn, my first bike, long lost to spinning memory, and likely the property of some dump in the heartland. The new bike stood beside the table in our large combination kitchen/dining room of our temporary officer quarters. I can’t recall if it was too cold to ride that day, but I probably ventured out, either in the real rays of the sun or in the land of imagination, the two being of equal measure in the realm of memory. A month before, my father woke me with the news of Kennedy’s assassination. Like others who were old enough to remember, the events of that November day have much crisper edges than any other, including the Raleigh racer Christmas or any Christmas I can recollect. Tomorrow is another Christmas. I won’t look at that day too much when I am walking in the park this afternoon, for tomorrow is not waiting for me at all. It will be there even if I am again dancing with stardust. More likely, I will be here, on the same rolling rock, eating the flesh of a fallen gobbler and making new memories I will recall only hazily in fifty hours. And if I were promised another fifty marching years, I might lament their passing before they arrived, knowing full well they too would be filled with forgetting.

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Dusk Winter fog slips Silently Trees rise as dark Sentinels The road is Shortened The intersection seems Too hazy Notice the dead Gray rabbit ***** paws up on the Curb Pass this silent Symbol Cross over to the Houses Amber lanterns glow Hazily That familiar dusk Has fallen The amber dusk of Long ago Warm memories of amber lights In fogs damp chill You have to shiver while Strangers peek out of their Windows Snug warm people They didn't see the Rabbit You must go back Yesterdays memories Warm to the bone The rabbit needs to be Buried Somewhere in the deep dark Woods

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Dec 13, 2010

Dec 13, 2010 at 3:10 PM UTC

kathleen-myra-colby

Winter Dusk In Amber

Dusk Winter fog slips Silently Trees rise as dark Sentinels The road is Shortened The intersection seems Too hazy Notice the dead Gray rabbit ***** paws up on the Curb Pass this silent Symbol Cross over to the Houses Amber lanterns glow Hazily That familiar dusk Has fallen The amber dusk of Long ago Warm memories of amber lights In fogs damp chill You have to shiver while Strangers peek out of their Windows Snug warm people They didn't see the Rabbit You must go back Yesterdays memories Warm to the bone The rabbit needs to be Buried Somewhere in the deep dark Woods

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I was aware that we were seventeen and how on earth could it all be so hazily perfect, but also how couldn’t it? I wanted to raise chickens with you. I wanted to drive a poemmobile cross-country just because. In these early moments: *We’re Shakespeare’s lovers standing up on Bambi’s legs, and always will be.* I knew we'd met too early, sometimes. If we were twenty-something and living in Bohemia when we collided at a jazz-bar drinking dusky whiskey. Then life would follow. I was scared that because we both needed something to latch onto so badly, there was delusion and we were too caught up in ourselves to see it; that my first love would flit away like everyone else’s. We were sitting cross-legged on the precipice of youth, you whispering in my ear that you hate haikus, when I decided that my first love was realer than any image of white washed sheets and yellow sunlit apartments that this fresh faced heart could concoct. Eight months later when you broke it I realized I was right about everything because the thing about Shakespeare’s lovers is that they die young and Bambi’s legs collapse with knobby knees but the things they held up while they could were so ******* beautiful that nobody really cared. And we were so ******* beautiful, how could I possibly have expected that to last.

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Mar 20, 2013

Mar 20, 2013 at 10:20 PM UTC

I was aware that we were seventeen and how on earth could it all be so hazily perfect, but also how couldn’t it? I wanted to raise chickens with you. I wanted to drive a poemmobile cross-country just because. In these early moments: *We’re Shakespeare’s lovers standing up on Bambi’s legs, and always will be.* I knew we'd met too early, sometimes. If we were twenty-something and living in Bohemia when we collided at a jazz-bar drinking dusky whiskey. Then life would follow. I was scared that because we both needed something to latch onto so badly, there was delusion and we were too caught up in ourselves to see it; that my first love would flit away like everyone else’s. We were sitting cross-legged on the precipice of youth, you whispering in my ear that you hate haikus, when I decided that my first love was realer than any image of white washed sheets and yellow sunlit apartments that this fresh faced heart could concoct. Eight months later when you broke it I realized I was right about everything because the thing about Shakespeare’s lovers is that they die young and Bambi’s legs collapse with knobby knees but the things they held up while they could were so ******* beautiful that nobody really cared. And we were so ******* beautiful, how could I possibly have expected that to last.

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Beyond the bleeding horizon lies a yellow star, much like the glow above one's head when three eyes open. Within that star is an open space where dew-dropped webs twinkle like fractals of crystal quartz. Streams of thought glide down silken strands of consciousness. The yellow star sings to me; "Seek further than you're told, patience radiates like gold. Your eyes have known this sacred home for many moons, that laughing lune. The wind may tell 'you know us well' And we know you, little blue" Perhaps a song for familiar souls, that have journeyed through a multitude of existences. With my eyelids kissed by that yellow star's lullaby, I hazily gaze beyond the sleepy hills, willow trees, and melting clouds to see the eyes of my own soul smile crisp like a poison apple in my hand, cradled cautiously in the crevices of my palm. The star contently fell behind the mountains, humming to the melody of the rolling breeze, fading into the twilight only to become an echo in my mind. I gave my soul to the sun that day only to roam the black of night as an empty void and see my true self once more at the break of day.

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Jul 21, 2017

Jul 21, 2017 at 12:54 AM UTC

Yellow Star Lullabye

Beyond the bleeding horizon lies a yellow star, much like the glow above one's head when three eyes open. Within that star is an open space where dew-dropped webs twinkle like fractals of crystal quartz. Streams of thought glide down silken strands of consciousness. The yellow star sings to me; "Seek further than you're told, patience radiates like gold. Your eyes have known this sacred home for many moons, that laughing lune. The wind may tell 'you know us well' And we know you, little blue" Perhaps a song for familiar souls, that have journeyed through a multitude of existences. With my eyelids kissed by that yellow star's lullaby, I hazily gaze beyond the sleepy hills, willow trees, and melting clouds to see the eyes of my own soul smile crisp like a poison apple in my hand, cradled cautiously in the crevices of my palm. The star contently fell behind the mountains, humming to the melody of the rolling breeze, fading into the twilight only to become an echo in my mind. I gave my soul to the sun that day only to roam the black of night as an empty void and see my true self once more at the break of day.

Continue reading...