"horripilation" poems
I am compelled
I do not even obliged to
In my mind I would keep the name as mıh
Eyes grow is growing
I do not know mecburum
You know me the heat.
Preparing trees to fall
Does this city is the old Istanbul
In the dark clouds are parts
One side of the street lamp is
The smell of rain on pavement
I am obliged not you.
Sometimes love is fearful dismally
People are tired all of a sudden one evening later
Prisoners to live in the razor's edge
Sometimes it will break your hands passion
How many lives are removed from a living
What if you knock the door sometimes
Humming in the back of the misery of loneliness
Fatih in a poor playing gramophone
From ancient times to play a Friday
I stop and listen to sound at the beginning of the corner
Should I bring unused gök
Week disaggregated data is available
How do I go What if I keep
I am obliged not you.
Maybe June or mottled blue boy
Ah, you do not know who does not know
Eyes hijack freighter is a desert
Maybe you get on the plane in Yesilkoy
Horripilation is all wet
Maybe you're blind, are in rural precipitancy
Wind will bring bad hair
What a time to live if you think
These wolves have perhaps mess
But without dirtying our hands Ayıpsız
What a time to live if you think
Susan would also start with the name
Order to move inside of the secret sea
No other kind will not be
I am obliged to you never know.
Attila İlhan
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 11:12 AM UTC
Walking alone
In the early morning.
Thoughts clash around;
While the melodies of birds,
Never reach my ears.
I am a cold sunrise
I am a tranquil storm
Staring at my lifeless phone,
The scarred screen sullied;
No one checking up.
I trudge along aimlessly,
Contemplating, calculating.
I am a cold sunrise
I am a tranquil storm
The blinding ball of fire
Climbs higher,
Yet the warmth never reaches.
My bare arms become littered
With heinous horripilation.
I am a cold sunrise
I am a tranquil storm
The grainy sand
Beneath my fumbling feet,
Is course with broken shells
Poking and prodding,
Yet I am numb to the pain.
I am a cold sunrise
I am a tranquil storm
Because a cold sunrise always sets
And a tranquil storm destroys without a sound
Apr 4, 2019
Apr 4, 2019 at 8:00 PM UTC
Touch
A heightening of senses
Touch
Bristling beneath it
Horripilation
Sweeping up bodies -
From the Latin, horrere pilus,
"to bristle" + "hair" -
The most delicious
Can be the most poisonous
Exploding with each
Touch
Anticipation erupts
Touch
At the very thought
Of such delicious fruit
Touch
May 16, 2023
May 16, 2023 at 11:21 AM UTC
So familiar the sparks of inspiration about to bloom
Horripilation and several empty soup cans tip me off
My time has come to be prolific,
under the wise tutelage of my angelic spektor
Accompanied by the wailing hormones of pre-pubescent boys trying to sing into microphones
Teacher please, spare a verb? Where the ivy used to crawl up fragile arms sanguine for all intents and purposes
Dear teacher, nothing electronic works in my room anymore
Dear teacher, your students are all ******
Dear teacher, I retain your lessons as lacerations upside my skull
Sweet teacher, reposing just across the hall and sideways a spell
In a coffin of criticisms and carbon monoxide fumes
The love of a generation, a single blue rose, and a jar full of tea 30 years old.
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 7:34 PM UTC
Dear Harlot
You kept my soul in check.
The loneliness encased was spent.
Wonders of unending flesh.
And yet the scent is fleeting.
The seclusion returns afresh.
The ethereal heart deceiving.
What once brought sweet memories.
Now are void parentheses.
My empty arms are bare.
In addition a cadaverous stare.
Skin cold with horripilation.
Trudging on in desolation.
I long for comfort I confess.
To the skies I do profess.
For on the ground my feet shall stay.
Am I worthy whose to say.
Another harlot.
Anther day.
Not my harlot.
Not my harlot.
Not my harlot.
A glimpse of her visage I pray.
Solitude is how I pay.
Apr 28, 2017
Apr 28, 2017 at 12:52 AM UTC
Horripilation
A quickly pacing heart
Mind orbiting the concept
In circles, a work of abstract art
There is difficulty in executing movement
When all these things appear
Over my shoulder, edge of eyesight
Whispers in my ear
Rip out the claws that hold me in my seat
To walk over and say "Hello"
There would be no greater feat
That day
And then
I feel
That the lonliness would die
When
I
Fall into your eyes
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 2:59 AM UTC
i laid in my white abyss wondering where your touch went.
questioning why the breeze from my window could provide more care in its caress, than you.
call me naive or pusillanimous,
but your absence surprised me.
the breeze so easily comforting turned to a horripilation of dread.
so i arose from my bed, covered my shoulders in my favorite sweater,
and went on my way.
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 5:31 PM UTC
it feels like I've been walking on the same pavement riddled with the same fallen leaves spelling out regret and trap. it's lined with trees that look so barren that everything is starting to sound like the same kind of goodbye though I'm not really sure what they're saying goodbye to.
Reflective surfaces come in the form of my empty palms
and the crunch of leaves and the snapping of twigs just seem to whisper in my mind.
I've been walking on the same pavement and I'm not entirely sure why it is the same kind of brickwork. A little sloppy, if you ask me.
The signposts are broken and rotting and I haven't been able to make out the words that are haunting the seemingly endless bounds of my mind.
Have you seen the sun yet?
I can't seem to make sense of anything from the slight rain and the dense fog. There are stains on my sleeves and my shoulders are weighed down and sagged.
I've been trying to reason with myself that this is what I ought to be doing. I've been trying to reason with myself that this is the path I should be on to find whatever it is I've been looking for. I've been trying to reason with myself that I belong here, on this dark and cobbled pavement while my arms are riddled with horripilation and my chest is sputtering blood from the hollowness of it all.
I've found a weeping willow - it weeps like the heat from my neck and I haven't felt the coldness settle.
There's frost on my fingers but if it is any consolation, I have no idea how to love or deserve to be loved.
Where has the time gone? Can you tell me?
The rabbit holes are empty and there is a void where my heart ought to be. My lungs aren't burning but there's smoke escaping with every breath I let out.
It's been too long, it's been too solitary. I can almost feel the brittleness of the skeletal structure that keeps me collected.
And time has escaped me.
There are no sounds and my ears are deafened.
The cold is settling.
I can still see the pavement.
It's still empty.
Is there no life here?
Can anyone hear me?
I can feel my thoughts echoing.
Hello?
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 7:11 AM UTC