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"hugely" poems
1.She seized me with one glad eye, Some cryptic intent lurking behind. The other eye gestures to me, To move closer, I couldn't see why. 2.But her overture my system accepted, Though not fully understood by me. I couldn't even process the proposal, But the verdict was out without the judge. "My system is compromised, no doubt, She has managed to hack it, I did suspect. My legs moving towards her in quick time, Is clearly the evidence for the breach. Her kohl lined eyes, too played some trick" On mind's screen, thoughts flashed. 3.She met me half way through,before It became too evident, the undercurrents That control the whole episode,unferled. The smile she flashed was a command, Didn't I hear a click, somewhere deep inside? 4.Her Kohl lined dark eyes Concealed a suggestion of magic. Dramatically she said what sounded, Like a convoluted password, My transformation was completed. As a green parrot, so exotic! 5.Did I ever in my life Had any hunch, that indeed I was A parrot in disguise, and my sole aim Was to meet her, the siren with distinction, I loved the stupor slowly taking over. To me it was what was badly needed. After such magical change to an avian! That too  without even the wave of wand. 6.Gently she lifted me and put, At a spot on her left shoulder. Then, as if by some prompt, I started telling her, things he liked to hear. This I guess as parrots we learn from nature. A line of eager admirers she walked past, They seemed pleased hugely, no doubt, Because, she is with some one, She seemed specially care. 7.At home, the enchantress was In her elements, on a cage hung high, On a perch, I sat gazing at her. The prince in daring disguise, In a bid to meet the enchantress in person, And lose myself in her radiance. Her face beams a smile that sugests, All of this was a trick , she had perfected In keeping with nature's wish.
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Jul 19, 2021
Jul 19, 2021 at 4:35 PM UTC
Enchantress's parrot
1.She seized me with one glad eye, Some cryptic intent lurking behind. The other eye gestures to me, To move closer, I couldn't see why. 2.But her overture my system accepted, Though not fully understood by me. I couldn't even process the proposal, But the verdict was out without the judge. "My system is compromised, no doubt, She has managed to hack it, I did suspect. My legs moving towards her in quick time, Is clearly the evidence for the breach. Her kohl lined eyes, too played some trick" On mind's screen, thoughts flashed. 3.She met me half way through,before It became too evident, the undercurrents That control the whole episode,unferled. The smile she flashed was a command, Didn't I hear a click, somewhere deep inside? 4.Her Kohl lined dark eyes Concealed a suggestion of magic. Dramatically she said what sounded, Like a convoluted password, My transformation was completed. As a green parrot, so exotic! 5.Did I ever in my life Had any hunch, that indeed I was A parrot in disguise, and my sole aim Was to meet her, the siren with distinction, I loved the stupor slowly taking over. To me it was what was badly needed. After such magical change to an avian! That too  without even the wave of wand. 6.Gently she lifted me and put, At a spot on her left shoulder. Then, as if by some prompt, I started telling her, things he liked to hear. This I guess as parrots we learn from nature. A line of eager admirers she walked past, They seemed pleased hugely, no doubt, Because, she is with some one, She seemed specially care. 7.At home, the enchantress was In her elements, on a cage hung high, On a perch, I sat gazing at her. The prince in daring disguise, In a bid to meet the enchantress in person, And lose myself in her radiance. Her face beams a smile that sugests, All of this was a trick , she had perfected In keeping with nature's wish.
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51
Heavy lavender blossoms, lifted by sudden rushes of night wind. Jacaranda, her scented branches swept into dancing alone under the only streetlight. Hiding further in the dark, bushes of kumquat fruits, ripely orange, tempt me to taste them. In the deep blue air, first stars create orbs of light beyond themselves, glowing hugely in the sultry, silent sky.
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May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 9:48 PM UTC
Koloa
--To W. A. Was I a Samurai renowned, Two-sworded, fierce, immense of bow? A histrion angular and profound? A priest? a porter?--Child, although I have forgotten clean, I know That in the shade of Fujisan, What time the cherry-orchards blow, I loved you once in old Japan. As here you loiter, flowing-gowned And hugely sashed, with pins a-row Your quaint head as with flamelets crowned, Demure, inviting--even so, When merry maids in Miyako To feel the sweet o' the year began, And green gardens to overflow, I loved you once in old Japan. Clear shine the hills; the rice-fields round Two cranes are circling; sleepy and slow, A blue canal the lake's blue bound Breaks at the bamboo bridge; and lo! Touched with the sundown's spirit and glow, I see you turn, with flirted fan, Against the plum-tree's bloomy snow . . . I loved you once in old Japan! Envoy Dear, 'twas a dozen lives ago; But that I was a lucky man The Toyokuni here will show: I loved you--once--in old Japan.
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2.5k
Ballade Of A Toyokuni Colour-Print
*This poem based on a joke on eggs (!) is dedicated to Timothy, a fellow-poet here at HP….I  was reminded of that joke about eggs  by Timothy’s comment on my recent poem: “Corax versus Tisias”.   Timothy:  “This is great, Raj, another humourous poem with a good meaning, if you are an Egg or a Crow, lol! Keep them coming!!!!~<3<3:):)☺♂♀♥♠♣♦◘☻◙•○.O♫” … Well, here’s another humorous poem, Timothy – and dedicated to you…* Dad, the Kid, and the Girl Next Door (1) “Dad,” says 6-year-old Tim back from the neighbour’s *“Sandra next door and I’ve decided to get married”* Dad laughs…What do these kids know? he thinks… *I’ll humour him, just kid along with this precocious child of mine* (2) “But you’re too young, Tim,” says Dad “That’s OK,” says Tim *“Sandra doesn’t mind I’m a year younger than she”* “Oh,” says Dad *“but marriage is such a huge responsibility”* “Yeah,” says Tim quick and sharp *“Haven’t you seen my school reports? Teacher always says I’m hugely responsible; it’s the same on Sandra’s card”* Dad’s smile weakens *“Well, what will the two of you do for money?”* *“Oh, we’ve worked that one out We get $20 a week in pocket money between us and we reckon we’ll take on extra jobs: I can mow our lawn; and she’ll wash dishes at her home Beside we’ll save a lot of money since we don’t at all eat out and lodging is free - a week here and the next at Sandra’s”* (3) Now Dad has lost his smile These kids have thought of everything, he thinks.  *I’ve got to do better – come up with an objection that’ll  strike fear* “Have you thought, Tim,” says wise old Dad *“about babies? Married people make babies – what you going to do about that?”* “Simple,” says Tim the kid, cool and unperturbed *“We’ve googled all that: Every time Sandra lays an egg I’ll crush it under foot!”* Dad sighs with relief…
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Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 2:15 AM UTC
Dad, the Kid, and the Girl Next Door
*This poem based on a joke on eggs (!) is dedicated to Timothy, a fellow-poet here at HP….I  was reminded of that joke about eggs  by Timothy’s comment on my recent poem: “Corax versus Tisias”.   Timothy:  “This is great, Raj, another humourous poem with a good meaning, if you are an Egg or a Crow, lol! Keep them coming!!!!~<3<3:):)☺♂♀♥♠♣♦◘☻◙•○.O♫” … Well, here’s another humorous poem, Timothy – and dedicated to you…* Dad, the Kid, and the Girl Next Door (1) “Dad,” says 6-year-old Tim back from the neighbour’s *“Sandra next door and I’ve decided to get married”* Dad laughs…What do these kids know? he thinks… *I’ll humour him, just kid along with this precocious child of mine* (2) “But you’re too young, Tim,” says Dad “That’s OK,” says Tim *“Sandra doesn’t mind I’m a year younger than she”* “Oh,” says Dad *“but marriage is such a huge responsibility”* “Yeah,” says Tim quick and sharp *“Haven’t you seen my school reports? Teacher always says I’m hugely responsible; it’s the same on Sandra’s card”* Dad’s smile weakens *“Well, what will the two of you do for money?”* *“Oh, we’ve worked that one out We get $20 a week in pocket money between us and we reckon we’ll take on extra jobs: I can mow our lawn; and she’ll wash dishes at her home Beside we’ll save a lot of money since we don’t at all eat out and lodging is free - a week here and the next at Sandra’s”* (3) Now Dad has lost his smile These kids have thought of everything, he thinks.  *I’ve got to do better – come up with an objection that’ll  strike fear* “Have you thought, Tim,” says wise old Dad *“about babies? Married people make babies – what you going to do about that?”* “Simple,” says Tim the kid, cool and unperturbed *“We’ve googled all that: Every time Sandra lays an egg I’ll crush it under foot!”* Dad sighs with relief…
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51
Every single day is partitioned fairly, I'd  think amongst us denizens of this uncertain universe, that makes no loss ever in its  unceasing transactions, as every end is a new begining and also the reverse. I wonder again on  the complex algorithm at play and demands upon  each moment to accomplish it! With a laugh I just let go the thread of that ***** thought on  processors and servors for a humanguous operation needed for that to go on for ever and aye! What nonsense! the human logic is hugely flawed Cosmos has better manuels of operation never needed to be written down, just like the affairs of heart of men and woemen that jostle in this planet ,driven by urges prompted by mind, body and if you'd believe without any qualms,the  spirit, but I wouldn't insist. Dusk was falling, and I sat smugly on the sugary sands of the bikiny beach, with a vengence on my face (but not with the bitterness of one, just now short changed) And with an adamence to get my fair share of that day's catch, plucked fruits, harvest,hunted gold or whatever! I didn't want anyone notice as my exchange was happening in in silence, on cycles higher without any means tangible, of communication of any meterial sort. Then there was a  on sand behind me, I felt warmth, the dog was snuggling closer and closer to me to comfort! Her liquid eyes said, all that I wanted to hear She was my solace for the day's battle wound, I reckoned exuding warmth, she drained my pain like the bad blood darkly stuck,let out through the cut I just had survived..... Night was long and the moon anointed us with her balm on the sand bed a man and a stray dog slept unstirred.
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Dec 21, 2018
Dec 21, 2018 at 6:09 AM UTC
The fruit of the day
Every single day is partitioned fairly, I'd  think amongst us denizens of this uncertain universe, that makes no loss ever in its  unceasing transactions, as every end is a new begining and also the reverse. I wonder again on  the complex algorithm at play and demands upon  each moment to accomplish it! With a laugh I just let go the thread of that ***** thought on  processors and servors for a humanguous operation needed for that to go on for ever and aye! What nonsense! the human logic is hugely flawed Cosmos has better manuels of operation never needed to be written down, just like the affairs of heart of men and woemen that jostle in this planet ,driven by urges prompted by mind, body and if you'd believe without any qualms,the  spirit, but I wouldn't insist. Dusk was falling, and I sat smugly on the sugary sands of the bikiny beach, with a vengence on my face (but not with the bitterness of one, just now short changed) And with an adamence to get my fair share of that day's catch, plucked fruits, harvest,hunted gold or whatever! I didn't want anyone notice as my exchange was happening in in silence, on cycles higher without any means tangible, of communication of any meterial sort. Then there was a  on sand behind me, I felt warmth, the dog was snuggling closer and closer to me to comfort! Her liquid eyes said, all that I wanted to hear She was my solace for the day's battle wound, I reckoned exuding warmth, she drained my pain like the bad blood darkly stuck,let out through the cut I just had survived..... Night was long and the moon anointed us with her balm on the sand bed a man and a stray dog slept unstirred.
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31
"I always wanted to wander." "To wander? To where?" "From Walla Walla to Uganda." "That's a wide world to wander!" "You wanna?" "Wanna what?" "To wander?" "To where, Uganda?" "Youbetcha!" "I don't want to onomatopoeia anymore!" "Are you refusing me?" "You're confusing me!" "Do I do that usually?" "Yes, and it's abusing me! "I didn't used to be." "But you see it's no use to me, So start talking lucidly! You're coming across abstrusely By talking so loosely. You've got a lot of 'splaining to do Lucy." "It started out grand!" "But quickly got out of hand." "But you fail to understand." "You should have planned." "Is that a reprimand?" "You're like the ampersand." "I don't understand." "It means 'and per se and'; The pronunciation became bland And three Latin words became 'ampersand'." "But, don't you need a vacation?" "What is the relation?" "It's a matter of pronunciation, And sometimes punctuation. Some words deserve elimination. Yes, and some deserve illumination. Thus my original illustration. In the interest of communication, Some things deserve enunciation." "I will accept that explanation." "But, I'm still hugely fond of The two of us going to Uganda; As we internationally wander I'm sure it will make you fonder The more the two of us wander." "But I really don't wanna!" "Don't wanna what?" "Go to Uganda!" "That's what you don't wanna?" "You betcha!" "It's okay. They probably won't letcha."
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Jan 17, 2017
Jan 17, 2017 at 1:08 PM UTC
DISCUSSION
Starlings fly in silver sky Bullfinch in the dry grass sings, Emerald teal in tandem fly Explosively on phosphor wings. Miracles are in the air Golden sun in evening glow, Marigolds of orange flair, With lavender, in patchwork grow. Sap is flowing in the wood bursting buds of olive greens, Winter flees as winter should Whilst bubbling brook transform to streams Miracles are in the air Colour rich in reddish hues, Greens of fresh lime , aqua flair Spring arrives in vivid views. Silk striations lace the sky With molten, mackerel clouds of gold, Evening chill for you and I Suggest we snuggle close to hold. Miracles are in the air A Moonrise breaks horizon’s door, Hugely round with craters bare We laugh with joy and seek for more. Tantalizing night upon us Stars ignite the heaven's fire, Black as pitch with jewelled Adonis Hot white pinpoints of desire. Miracles are in the air Passion in the blood doth boil, Moonlight through her silver hair Exquisite as blue fire on oil. Marshalg @thebach 29 August 2011
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Aug 29, 2011
Aug 29, 2011 at 1:38 AM UTC
Miracles are in the Air
If my dear love were but the child of state, It might for Fortune’s ******* be unfathered, As subject to Time’s love or to Time’s hate, Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gathered. No, it was builded far from accident; It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls Under the blow of thralled discontent, Whereto th’ inviting time our fashion calls. It fears not policy, that heretic, Which works on leases of short-numbered hours, But all alone stands hugely politic, That it nor grows with heat, nor drowns with showers. To this I witness call the fools of Time, Which die for goodness, who have lived for crime.
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1.3k
Sonnet 124: If My Dear Love Were But The Child Of State
burning strangled fleece we bump chaotically soft arrogance in morally languid pronation leg burping fossas femoral twain (in which i'm giddy a mustache of bristles coarse fuzz and grumbling prickles hugely onyx( graciously bundled to what about the huddled pulsing of EXPLODING GRIT! in every flush molecule of bashful prim ) we girt or flay the frightened silence scrambling gently on our scalding merriment.:',). . . . . . . . .
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Jan 27, 2011
Jan 27, 2011 at 10:55 AM UTC
burning strangled fleece
Awaking to the noise of innocent birds quivering in the shelter of the falling water. I hear chilly raindrops drumming the surface of the windows, making the satisfaction of my warm bed one of which even poetic imagery cannot define. I relax to a heated glass of milk, in the company of a delicious homemade biscuit. Tranquilising on the sofa which I pleasantly sink into, whilst my lover’s gentle eyes make the room even warmer. The smell of the sizzling bacon, that is succulently frying in the kitchen, allows my mouth to water greater than my tummy rumbles. It was no less than I had expected on a Sunday morning. As I sink my anticipating teeth into the perfect sandwich, I briefly appreciate that countless people would lust for this lifestyle, that I hugely take for granted. I could pretend that I care. But I don’t.
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Nov 14, 2010
Nov 14, 2010 at 7:32 AM UTC
The Satisfaction of A Rich Man, On A Rainy Day.
slips from nothing hugely poem of light creating light by leggy moon over whole earth palely tousled in maimed and drizzled in silver curving a point is risen amongst (man) and time earth away sprawl echoes of finite sleep.but though it moon over(in a little naked comely heap of pert and blazing tinder calmly foisted between sabled ******* of aching stupid darkness)burns how and fiercely eloquent o moon though small and nothing hugely poem shall i (man) a poem slip by mortal wiggling fumbles; and O moon!quiet sleeping curves away silverly(into pimpled quavering neatness)i muscle leanly dispute the soil and up to you gallop sloppy gallons of kiss (for you are most pleasant.UR round and fit nearly in my lips (who shall pluck you from between ******* and fill me burning )Lust
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Oct 2, 2012
Oct 2, 2012 at 3:09 AM UTC
Untitled
I admit it, I'm a little bit scared, Because I can think ahead Because I can imagine Imagine what might happen. There's a message in my notifications and it fills me with a thrill, it's only been about a month but I miss you still. We were so weirdly inseparable. I press, depress the key and wait, await my fate. Here's a possibility: *I slept with someone else, it's over, I'll miss you.* I'll admit, if it happens, I'll feel a little mad, and more than hugely sad, because You'd do it because you'd think it'd do me good to lose you. If this happens I'll lose more than just you. You yourself are more than 'you'. So for now, I'm a little bit scared to blink or think, because each moment seems too *god **** fleeting
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Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 4:25 PM UTC
I'm a little bit scared
From childhood to adulthood there are changes ... numerous too numerous to count, to remember yet a few are etched in the memory, even in the subconscious lasting a lifetime through all the decades of my life most are hugely positive very little sadness is remembered mourning over a three day old baby girl, a miscarriage nine months to the day nine months later, the death of my beloved husband after fifty years. I happily remember the joy of our wedding day, the uncomplicated births of my five living children, funny ... I always wanted five, even before our marriage and there are five, still living good and happy lives. I've even met someone new who is going through the same, too; life can be good, as good as you expect, hope is the key ... I prayed to God ... He graced me with a lovely friend one with whom I can share and he can share as well in this ... we are making new memories in time's changes
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Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 12:22 PM UTC
Time's changes
Little is known and less is appreciated about the geographic, strategic and political significance of the Spratley and Paracel Islands situated midway across the South China Sea. Disputed historically for ownership by Malaysia, Vietnam the Phillipines and China, amongst others, the islands are situated strategically across the major commercial sea lanes of the region and atop an ocean of vast, submarine deposits of untapped fossil oil. China has used her muscle to occupy and claim these islands, together with unspecified, adjacent sea way area. She has claimed them as sovereign territory of the People’s Republic of China. Until this occupation the islands have been largely unpopulated and have had little or no military significance. Recently, however, Chinese constructors have been ruthlessly dredging the surrounding coral reef and building a 3000m long concrete runway for military purposes on the hugely expanded artificial island area created. Chinese troops, in divisional strength, occupy and defend the new territory. It is significant that all parties in the region are watching China and gauging her intentions. None less so than the United States Navy who have an aircraft carrier and supporting military vessels, stationed permanently nearby and conduct over flights of the island airspace testing sovereignty and Chinese reaction. To date reaction has been muted….but this will definitely change. China is frantically building to be the world’s next superpower, economically, industrially, politically and militarily. ...And, as this development comes to fruition in the very near future, it is inevitable that this distant, remote set of  South China Sea islands shall become the next global hot point of international confrontation. China and the United States of America will go eyeball to eyeball, bristling with hostility, resolute and immovable, each waiting for the other to blink! …..and we, the rest of the world, shall, again, tremble in our boots, breathlessly awaiting the outcome. Marshalg 22 May 2015 AUCKLAND.
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May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 7:50 PM UTC
Confrontation in the Offing
Little is known and less is appreciated about the geographic, strategic and political significance of the Spratley and Paracel Islands situated midway across the South China Sea. Disputed historically for ownership by Malaysia, Vietnam the Phillipines and China, amongst others, the islands are situated strategically across the major commercial sea lanes of the region and atop an ocean of vast, submarine deposits of untapped fossil oil. China has used her muscle to occupy and claim these islands, together with unspecified, adjacent sea way area. She has claimed them as sovereign territory of the People’s Republic of China. Until this occupation the islands have been largely unpopulated and have had little or no military significance. Recently, however, Chinese constructors have been ruthlessly dredging the surrounding coral reef and building a 3000m long concrete runway for military purposes on the hugely expanded artificial island area created. Chinese troops, in divisional strength, occupy and defend the new territory. It is significant that all parties in the region are watching China and gauging her intentions. None less so than the United States Navy who have an aircraft carrier and supporting military vessels, stationed permanently nearby and conduct over flights of the island airspace testing sovereignty and Chinese reaction. To date reaction has been muted….but this will definitely change. China is frantically building to be the world’s next superpower, economically, industrially, politically and militarily. ...And, as this development comes to fruition in the very near future, it is inevitable that this distant, remote set of  South China Sea islands shall become the next global hot point of international confrontation. China and the United States of America will go eyeball to eyeball, bristling with hostility, resolute and immovable, each waiting for the other to blink! …..and we, the rest of the world, shall, again, tremble in our boots, breathlessly awaiting the outcome. Marshalg 22 May 2015 AUCKLAND.
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13
Sometimes I picture myself in a red prom dress, with converse under the tulle, and glitter covering my eyes as I nervously glance away from your face, inches from mine, trying not to stare at your crooked bow-tie. Sometimes we’re jumping over the tide’s foam, under the moonlight, licking the salt from our lips— my saddle shoes on the dunes, your jeans rolled above the ankle, but my curls falling loose around my face. Sometimes we’re moving black and white photographs, 1920’s with fringe and silver canes, and sometimes we’re like this. Naked on your mattress, with the ceiling fan at a standstill, sipping stale beer from old bottles you left lonely on the windowsill. And sometimes I know better, but tonight I answered your call and I came over to your lazy bones on the sunken couch, watching the lava lamp’s goo stick to the bottom, yet still lighting the entire room with a neon glow. By now, you think I would know that I can never count on you unless it’s cheap, and convenient, and broken, and me. It’s only ever me, but I can’t just haphazardly stay in the spaces of your life that need filling. I picture us, hugely, with a white house, blue shutters, little kids building towers on the porch just to knock them down. The whole bit, picture it! But all you ever see me as is figure that you can reach if you squint hard enough— a mirage that you like to believe only you will ever hold.
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Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 11:38 PM UTC
Daydreams Vol. XXIV
For Berlinski <X> it's so true, can't believe it though, this fact so well known, my cells fibers denied it asylum, mocking me with a berating ****** single-cell-syllable of shut-up my runted eyes never spake this confess out loud but here it is, a silent truth rutting onto the **** mirror paper-white screen where the pixels do my screaming pleasing easy and the goldie oldie ***** stains, asking "you again?" silence reverberates, like a tree falling in the forest, the screen where I live, holy matrimony 90% of everyday for better or worse, still crazy, the years get longer and the the poems stretch out, ******* sag, and pseudo-crazy making me lazy tired no shy guy me, but the word waste of pointless, sends me silently screaming to the bedroom where under covers   I count threads. herding words, making pleasure gutter noises, that can only be heard by the audio surgically implanted in a human chest, and the dust mites *but the blunt i smoke stimulates the nervous brain system and the gibberish comes furiously fast, trying not to burn the sheets that just were laboriously added up to soft and silky when served with a side of naked girl and discovered that I talk hugely stupid when stupid and ****** oh so common, and the s-words cut bluntly and satrap sharp where there and when the plain sentences become bread knife sharp and the poems gestate in 9 minutes because nothing is blurred and all use Exit 74  on the interspatial, intracellular inter-pet fully formed, in finery, winery celebrated, spilling wine on those sheets and now I am cursed cause words are the master, leaving me just the mature, shy crazy boy, the muted tool; oh god, dear god - Oh GAWD!!! please let me be still crazy till long after my bleached bones rumble, "boy, it is time to be in that in that valley"*
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Nov 17, 2017
Nov 17, 2017 at 4:21 PM UTC
(for berlinski) I write many more words than I speak
For Berlinski <X> it's so true, can't believe it though, this fact so well known, my cells fibers denied it asylum, mocking me with a berating ****** single-cell-syllable of shut-up my runted eyes never spake this confess out loud but here it is, a silent truth rutting onto the **** mirror paper-white screen where the pixels do my screaming pleasing easy and the goldie oldie ***** stains, asking "you again?" silence reverberates, like a tree falling in the forest, the screen where I live, holy matrimony 90% of everyday for better or worse, still crazy, the years get longer and the the poems stretch out, ******* sag, and pseudo-crazy making me lazy tired no shy guy me, but the word waste of pointless, sends me silently screaming to the bedroom where under covers   I count threads. herding words, making pleasure gutter noises, that can only be heard by the audio surgically implanted in a human chest, and the dust mites *but the blunt i smoke stimulates the nervous brain system and the gibberish comes furiously fast, trying not to burn the sheets that just were laboriously added up to soft and silky when served with a side of naked girl and discovered that I talk hugely stupid when stupid and ****** oh so common, and the s-words cut bluntly and satrap sharp where there and when the plain sentences become bread knife sharp and the poems gestate in 9 minutes because nothing is blurred and all use Exit 74  on the interspatial, intracellular inter-pet fully formed, in finery, winery celebrated, spilling wine on those sheets and now I am cursed cause words are the master, leaving me just the mature, shy crazy boy, the muted tool; oh god, dear god - Oh GAWD!!! please let me be still crazy till long after my bleached bones rumble, "boy, it is time to be in that in that valley"*
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31
I stopped mid-sidewalk at 11p.m. tonight with my hat on backwards just to match my heart and my sweatpants tucked into my boots with green acrylic-splatter on the left toe from when I was ****** and painting you as hard as I could into the paper. I stopped and attempted to fit myself into the splits the clouds would make in the skies. I tried to make a tiny infinity out of the two-pack Oreo wrapper in my jacket pocket, but all I got was a crumble that sort of looked like your face sitting in my palm when I pull your cheek to the side and drag one last goodnight kiss out of you. So, I threw it on the ground, and I know that’s littering, but come on you treat me like trash anyway. I pictured myself making one of those sled-ride snow angels right in the middle of the grass, and in my haphazard mind I figured it would be cinematic and lively, but it was just ******* freezing and I was soaked the rest of the way home. But I did it. At least I did something, while you lie in your bed with tomorrow’s practice clothes laid out just dissolving social media pixels in your head. And you could be calling some other girl, how would I know? She could be lying next to you with her yoga pants tossed neatly on the bedpost, you ********* her while your roommate is asleep. How would I know? The most you ever tell me is how much beer is in the fridge or how you just won’t have enough time to **** me quick before you gotta be somewhere so I should just come back next week like I’m a shopper waiting for the ripe strawberries to come in. So I stopped in the snow and I cried a little because I’ve let myself get so stupid over your sometimes. And I hoped, hugely, that you would for once see me slide into your dreams and make it into your mornings like a gentle reminder that screams please, don’t forget about me and hugs you like the sun, but how would I know, anyway.
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Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 12:00 AM UTC
I Thought About You This Thursday
I stopped mid-sidewalk at 11p.m. tonight with my hat on backwards just to match my heart and my sweatpants tucked into my boots with green acrylic-splatter on the left toe from when I was ****** and painting you as hard as I could into the paper. I stopped and attempted to fit myself into the splits the clouds would make in the skies. I tried to make a tiny infinity out of the two-pack Oreo wrapper in my jacket pocket, but all I got was a crumble that sort of looked like your face sitting in my palm when I pull your cheek to the side and drag one last goodnight kiss out of you. So, I threw it on the ground, and I know that’s littering, but come on you treat me like trash anyway. I pictured myself making one of those sled-ride snow angels right in the middle of the grass, and in my haphazard mind I figured it would be cinematic and lively, but it was just ******* freezing and I was soaked the rest of the way home. But I did it. At least I did something, while you lie in your bed with tomorrow’s practice clothes laid out just dissolving social media pixels in your head. And you could be calling some other girl, how would I know? She could be lying next to you with her yoga pants tossed neatly on the bedpost, you ********* her while your roommate is asleep. How would I know? The most you ever tell me is how much beer is in the fridge or how you just won’t have enough time to **** me quick before you gotta be somewhere so I should just come back next week like I’m a shopper waiting for the ripe strawberries to come in. So I stopped in the snow and I cried a little because I’ve let myself get so stupid over your sometimes. And I hoped, hugely, that you would for once see me slide into your dreams and make it into your mornings like a gentle reminder that screams please, don’t forget about me and hugs you like the sun, but how would I know, anyway.
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Micah The Mouse was a rat; At least that’s how he behaved. If he didn’t get his way every time He’d holler and he’d rant and rave. He got to be such a big mouse That his head swelled up too. He became so hugely obnoxious Other mice didn’t know what to do. They held a spontaneous election. They needed to elect a top mouse. Micah bribed the weaker leaders So, Micah got the run of the house. He kept up his pattern of bribery And threatening those in his way. Without anything like scruples He’s still on the throne to this day Micah The Mouse takes with both hands And it’s too bad if anyone disagrees. Those who think he cares about complaints Will spend a lot of time on their knees. In Micah got horrendously fat By overeating just a tiny smidge. He got to be so much like a big rat He grew too heavy to cross the bridge. So he roared and ranted and raved. And blamed everybody around him. That he was the cause of his problems Seemed to completely astound him. The wonder in all of this sad story Is why the other mice could not see That Micah was only in it for himself And not for members of the citizenry. Micah got to eat while others starved. He got what he wanted, moved on Yet somehow those that elected him Never quite seemed to catch on. Micah The Mouse takes with both hands And it’s too bad if anyone disagrees. Those who think he cares about complaints Will spend a lot of time on their knees. (Image from www.sharktacos.com)
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Jun 20, 2015
Jun 20, 2015 at 12:27 AM UTC
MICAH THE MOUSE
Giving up on desire Doesn't mean anything negative But the fact that this has moved From there to excitement To fanatical activity Return to the basic elements From working out my approach My message, my feelings, my love It's hugely powerful This emotive movement within This cry for fulfilment For manic soothing, showing Just doing it and not wasting this impetus To create and make marks The result is immaterial The process all.
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Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 6:50 AM UTC
Inspiration
Behold! My sorrow storms straight through daylight. And not on the last stroke of midnight, when demons sleep. To entangle me with its invisible ropes, ropes tugging me tight. Twisted, Swooned, crushed, haemorrhaging deep. Labyrinth of shame, heralding my doom, looming ever close. Earning waste with each second more, till sudden salvation. That scarce shall cast upon my dim verse hugely verbose. Inside this too stagnant a mind flows nothing but indignation. Malaise made manifest with the profusrness of a poet's pain, Entitled as imbalanced brain, a fresh sign of insanity. Idle hours thrown away like confetti and time spent in vain Narrow words written by young hands but a spirit of mundanity. Morbid fascinations of mine with this lack of hope. End so soon as I leave this world, unable to cope.
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Jul 5, 2017
Jul 5, 2017 at 6:24 PM UTC
Battle Time In Me
Aidan, There are a few things I wish you had known And in lesson from which you'd have grown A lot sooner - The twist of time left your path entwined In more vice than virtue, I really need you to see that. Altruistic aims, aren't always mutual gains Only act on impulse if your intentions are true - And only for those who'd do the same for you. Unbridled fury does not buy you respect, Or victory - things can always be approached better. Remain yourself, but keep logic intact. You needn't be afraid of vulnerable thoughts. Collect yourself outwardly. The battle you have fought Is not one that others can see. Caution -  it may feel like You're battling me. As you traverse the plane of your mind, You may find that what you once basked in Is now a question of What could have been Choose your memories carefully in which Your creativity is hugely dependent on Don't create what you can't feel - Delve, But don't drown in the ethereal. Try not to lose yourself to What others think of you Or your writing, your music, your views I know this stuff's hard, but I hope that you try. Anyways. Take care of  yourself. Tell mom I said hi. - Aidan
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Jun 9, 2017
Jun 9, 2017 at 5:12 PM UTC
Had I Known Earlier
Look up - The blue of sky Can stretch a question out, Unravelled hugely there, held up In air.
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Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 1:28 PM UTC
Cinquain II