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"hummings" poems
Then : Stigmas shredding this rough frame Strips of blood boiling, wanting to explode I feel their anger I hear their shrieks, their war cries I don't listen. These monsters and me are at war.                                                                                                               Now :                                                                    Soft pink caressing this canvas                                                                                                     Calm rivers                                                                              nurturing, bring it to life                                                                                             I feel their peace                                                              I hear their hummings, their odes                                                                                            I sing with them                                                                              my stretch marks and me                                                                                                            are one.
0
Mar 19, 2019
Mar 19, 2019 at 1:45 PM UTC
Time changes us
Then : Stigmas shredding this rough frame Strips of blood boiling, wanting to explode I feel their anger I hear their shrieks, their war cries I don't listen. These monsters and me are at war.                                                                                                               Now :                                                                    Soft pink caressing this canvas                                                                                                     Calm rivers                                                                              nurturing, bring it to life                                                                                             I feel their peace                                                              I hear their hummings, their odes                                                                                            I sing with them                                                                              my stretch marks and me                                                                                                            are one.
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18
The crevices of physicality Sink deeper, Yet the jewells of originality Grow steeper. Erasing the short-comings Of distancing years, Ignoring the elderly’s hummings, And death’s fears. You stand bold and proud; Forever young, Within life’s merry-go-round. For the joy you have created Is endless and ongoing; And the love that you ignite Is forever growing.
0
Nov 22, 2010
Nov 22, 2010 at 2:53 PM UTC
The Elders
basic arithmetic in terms of punctuation, otherwise? simply the arithmetic of punctuation: what does (,) equal? what does (.) equal? what does (:) equal? what does (-) equal? what does (;) equal? come on, quick! quick! give me a number! to think, is to not narrate,                                much of what is regarded as    "thinking", simply becomes as art of narration        that is sofa-bound, i.e. so comfortable that it feels it has no inclination toward the use of hands as ever being idle, it simply replaces   hands with a tongue...                     hence: idle speech,                 hence political speech; so if the "devil" has work for idle hands, then "god" has work for the idle zunge                                        (tongue)... but most people don't think,    because their thinkling is solely about narrating,                   their day-to-day...                and i appreciate this custom, in the cognitive realm...          i really do...               how many jokes ushered into the void of one's silence, neither whisphers, nor hummings, nor whistling...         wiser still, essentially unchanged... but heidegger's aphorism no. 285    really bothers me...             the reader looking into the narrator given the existentialist inverted commas    (iberian inverted questioning    ¿   ?          that's the first step toward    an iberian existentialism)                         said the third person,     with third party sources, the middle man, the second person, and then the reader   of the writer's original testimony?    if northern existentialism (french / german...   the english were too reactionary, and too easily bored by the continental drift)        encompasses the tool that's "      "    then the iberian tool has to be the inverted question mark, i.e.       ¿   ?, sitting comfortably? no? how about a wheelchair... let me just break your legs and your spine.        but aphorism 285: "worldview",      "grounding", "configuring"...        i don't understand this allocation of ambiguity, and an italic stress on da-sein / da-sein...    aren't all the three descriptive elements /    adjectives the purposive sentiments for                    originating the concept of dasein? i had to counter with an iberian existential tool...    after all i said, 'he said', "we said"...                                   it's a third party medium of supposed ambiguity...          if there's a santa claus (satan's clause), then there's pontius pilate's clause,   found in the existential tool of     double-ditto "     "   or as the english like to say: inverted commas;    or the ritual: of washing your hands clean    from passing the judgement...    they're citation marks to be honest, come on, let's be pompous, they donned 19th top-hats      at ascot's horse races! who's fooling who?
0
Jun 26, 2017
Jun 26, 2017 at 7:25 AM UTC
iberian existentialism contra northern existentialism (¿qua? vs. "qua")
basic arithmetic in terms of punctuation, otherwise? simply the arithmetic of punctuation: what does (,) equal? what does (.) equal? what does (:) equal? what does (-) equal? what does (;) equal? come on, quick! quick! give me a number! to think, is to not narrate,                                much of what is regarded as    "thinking", simply becomes as art of narration        that is sofa-bound, i.e. so comfortable that it feels it has no inclination toward the use of hands as ever being idle, it simply replaces   hands with a tongue...                     hence: idle speech,                 hence political speech; so if the "devil" has work for idle hands, then "god" has work for the idle zunge                                        (tongue)... but most people don't think,    because their thinkling is solely about narrating,                   their day-to-day...                and i appreciate this custom, in the cognitive realm...          i really do...               how many jokes ushered into the void of one's silence, neither whisphers, nor hummings, nor whistling...         wiser still, essentially unchanged... but heidegger's aphorism no. 285    really bothers me...             the reader looking into the narrator given the existentialist inverted commas    (iberian inverted questioning    ¿   ?          that's the first step toward    an iberian existentialism)                         said the third person,     with third party sources, the middle man, the second person, and then the reader   of the writer's original testimony?    if northern existentialism (french / german...   the english were too reactionary, and too easily bored by the continental drift)        encompasses the tool that's "      "    then the iberian tool has to be the inverted question mark, i.e.       ¿   ?, sitting comfortably? no? how about a wheelchair... let me just break your legs and your spine.        but aphorism 285: "worldview",      "grounding", "configuring"...        i don't understand this allocation of ambiguity, and an italic stress on da-sein / da-sein...    aren't all the three descriptive elements /    adjectives the purposive sentiments for                    originating the concept of dasein? i had to counter with an iberian existential tool...    after all i said, 'he said', "we said"...                                   it's a third party medium of supposed ambiguity...          if there's a santa claus (satan's clause), then there's pontius pilate's clause,   found in the existential tool of     double-ditto "     "   or as the english like to say: inverted commas;    or the ritual: of washing your hands clean    from passing the judgement...    they're citation marks to be honest, come on, let's be pompous, they donned 19th top-hats      at ascot's horse races! who's fooling who?
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65
Just by chance the taxi drove a little too far Merely by impulse I decided to go inside The fluorescent entrance was conveniently right in front on me why not called temptation and my feet obeyed Just in curiosity I strolled down unnecessary aisles Simply by nature I left my soul bare Swarms of negativity and hummings of positivity flew through me so what my faithful reassurance comforted me Just as always I returned insult with compliment Eyes as ever looking deeper than fantasy And then I saw her, shredded clothes and body worn look closer winds whispered from a land unseen Just in loyalty my eyes studied this woman And in love I recognized purity that I strive to wield The evil whisperers are hypocrites in their claiming her ***** and wrong they are too for all I see is light
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Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 12:22 PM UTC
Your palace awaits, homeless queen
Wee little moors, giant over bog, Sparkle in the lilles, loll within a frog, In a flash of dragonflies - fires the sun, All the meadow rising, spirits overcome! Wee bright moors, cropping round a meadow, Songbirds singing dear, hummings in the nettles In minnows of logged pools - reeds set fire to sun All the gold of fens rising, spirits overcome!
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Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 12:44 PM UTC
Little Moors
Wee little moors, giant over bog, Sparkle in the lilles, loll within a frog, In a flash of dragonflies - fires the sun, All the meadow rising, spirits overcome! Wee bright moors, cropping round a meadow, Songbirds singing dear, hummings in the nettles In minnows of logged pools - reeds set fire to sun All the gold of fens rising, spirits overcome!
0
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 10:36 PM UTC
Little Moors
In the hazy syrup of my dreams, I’d wake, To the sighs of a sundown, faintly cold; And hummings from the goldfinch perched on midsummer grass, wet with dew. The sky made me recall the streaks Of Doldrum colored blues; Lingering, Like that sap, along the stiffened Yarrow. Or an oak grove down the yonder field.
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Oct 5, 2024
Oct 5, 2024 at 10:11 PM UTC
Evening Nap.
the hummings you hear is the tune at work at binding my heart to this one true love. the pedal point that holds our song courses through my every node bringing me life like how your words give breath to my smile. this love is true my heart beats for you with the steadiest of rhythms alongside quaver notes deep in song as I have found myself deep in your promising love.
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Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 8:25 AM UTC
this love is a song
The moonlight of the scarlet eclipse, From the chasm of the phantom heart. In the void of the bottomless pit, Wandering in search of attunement within. Abstruse like the nucleus rigid, Fragile like the flower petal. Hummings of the oceans and sky, Quivering will, the fear occupy. In the stones of faith to pray, For the lurking fleshes of past which stays. Rippling through the time frames, Turning to the ashes gray.
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Feb 22, 2020
Feb 22, 2020 at 11:56 AM UTC
Nuclectic Muse