"imbedding" poems - Hello Poetry

Maybe you just can't cope, With another scar, Upon your heart. Maybe you don't want him, To take hold of, Your everything, With his rough and, Clinging hands. Intertwine himself, Though the branches of you, And work his way, Every closer, Imbedding himself, Into your roots. Maybe you don't want, to get caught, In the warm thermal winds, And let them uplift, Your entirety, Dilute your sense, Of gravity. So, If you feel yourself falling, Just close your eyes. Maybe it's better you crash and burn?

0

Sep 14, 2014

Sep 14, 2014 at 5:30 PM UTC

Pushingdaisies

Suicide

Maybe you just can't cope, With another scar, Upon your heart. Maybe you don't want him, To take hold of, Your everything, With his rough and, Clinging hands. Intertwine himself, Though the branches of you, And work his way, Every closer, Imbedding himself, Into your roots. Maybe you don't want, to get caught, In the warm thermal winds, And let them uplift, Your entirety, Dilute your sense, Of gravity. So, If you feel yourself falling, Just close your eyes. Maybe it's better you crash and burn?

24

Crossing my mind like a bitter taste You infiltrate the better workings of my thought process Imbedding a sick idea One that compels me to do things Things no sane person would ever consider Touching my skin like a slimy algae covered stick You tempt me and beguile me With sick twisted fantasies Scenes where terribly gruesome acts accompany mixed feelings Breathing on me like a fat gorilla You disgustingly grasp and ***** my limbs Making my stomach churn with bile But you never see this Your sick ideas Your twisted fantasies Your disgusting groping All build a fire inside Not one borne of passion But born of loathing Your actions have been dealt with Your person thrown in the hell of all hells Yet new ideas form New fantasies form As sick and twisted as ever Each one with you as the center star These have changed You are the star You are the spectacle The spectacle strapped to the chair The ****** beaten spectacle that begs for my mercy As I deliver you blow for blow what you dealt me All I can imagine All I can fantasize The only thing that keeps me alive That keeps this heart beating Is the delicious thought of you dead Six feet below the ground Cold and rotting with no one to miss you

0

Jun 16, 2012

Jun 16, 2012 at 11:44 PM UTC

trixxz

Sick

Crossing my mind like a bitter taste You infiltrate the better workings of my thought process Imbedding a sick idea One that compels me to do things Things no sane person would ever consider Touching my skin like a slimy algae covered stick You tempt me and beguile me With sick twisted fantasies Scenes where terribly gruesome acts accompany mixed feelings Breathing on me like a fat gorilla You disgustingly grasp and ***** my limbs Making my stomach churn with bile But you never see this Your sick ideas Your twisted fantasies Your disgusting groping All build a fire inside Not one borne of passion But born of loathing Your actions have been dealt with Your person thrown in the hell of all hells Yet new ideas form New fantasies form As sick and twisted as ever Each one with you as the center star These have changed You are the star You are the spectacle The spectacle strapped to the chair The ****** beaten spectacle that begs for my mercy As I deliver you blow for blow what you dealt me All I can imagine All I can fantasize The only thing that keeps me alive That keeps this heart beating Is the delicious thought of you dead Six feet below the ground Cold and rotting with no one to miss you

38

my gift to you are these few little things that i have managed to save like moths who fell asleep in my care and who probably will never wake preserved in a yellow clothe, folded and placed in a box beneath my tongue carefully so as not to disturb the dust on their wings in case they should fly again... (the rustic child’s toy) morning as blue as the eyes of god upon the roof entrapped in it’s crisp clutches love and other shining, stupid things teeming below our crunched bodies something like euphoria (or much to much wine) and silence finally watching planes leave their billowing impressions on the flesh of the sky. 2.(the newspaper clipping) we sank into the ground bellow the bridge and pretended we were trolls scaring the goatlings that trampled by you smelt of oranges and wood-chips we grumbled and smiled into one another’s available skin to keep laughter from penetrating the web of fantasy we were spinning 3.(the photograph) naked beneath the togas of wool that our mothers gave to us tears trembling on their eyelashes (before we walked away) there is now fire dividing the space between our salty smiles neil young- a tiny voice tickling the smoky air like little fingers of sound 4.(the letter to yourself) no contact aside from the mingling of breath and other invisible body things like the mutual recognition of comfort when was this but most moments mornings in cold that froze words between ear and mouth, slowing them like insects, caterpillars slugging along a frosted branch imbedding them in the space between our cherry faces.

0

Feb 1, 2010

Feb 1, 2010 at 9:24 PM UTC

gabrielle-f

Some Sort of Present

my gift to you are these few little things that i have managed to save like moths who fell asleep in my care and who probably will never wake preserved in a yellow clothe, folded and placed in a box beneath my tongue carefully so as not to disturb the dust on their wings in case they should fly again... (the rustic child’s toy) morning as blue as the eyes of god upon the roof entrapped in it’s crisp clutches love and other shining, stupid things teeming below our crunched bodies something like euphoria (or much to much wine) and silence finally watching planes leave their billowing impressions on the flesh of the sky. 2.(the newspaper clipping) we sank into the ground bellow the bridge and pretended we were trolls scaring the goatlings that trampled by you smelt of oranges and wood-chips we grumbled and smiled into one another’s available skin to keep laughter from penetrating the web of fantasy we were spinning 3.(the photograph) naked beneath the togas of wool that our mothers gave to us tears trembling on their eyelashes (before we walked away) there is now fire dividing the space between our salty smiles neil young- a tiny voice tickling the smoky air like little fingers of sound 4.(the letter to yourself) no contact aside from the mingling of breath and other invisible body things like the mutual recognition of comfort when was this but most moments mornings in cold that froze words between ear and mouth, slowing them like insects, caterpillars slugging along a frosted branch imbedding them in the space between our cherry faces.

101

and in low times on sad nights black tendrils sliver from the darkness and lick seducingly close at torn skin promising sweet release from razor pain whilst imbedding their poison in vessels to be encompassed by welcoming lips -tdf

0

Jun 10, 2013

Jun 10, 2013 at 8:31 AM UTC

tdf

Episode

and in low times on sad nights black tendrils sliver from the darkness and lick seducingly close at torn skin promising sweet release from razor pain whilst imbedding their poison in vessels to be encompassed by welcoming lips -tdf

7

tenet fingers could ed braille, hard-skinned fingers could read nothing, but morse-braille... and then there's stenography... why o why is the diacritical tilde ( ~ ) used to vacate either m, or the rattle-snake, trilling, rolling implosion of the shape of R? sure, b as 6... p as a copernican north-by-north-west d... P as chiral narcissus 9... A as lambda (Λ) and suma summarum: a return to Phoenician jurisprudence and lament... or rather lamed, subtle variations circa 90°... E, I, K, V... how much of injustice is grounded upon the "logic" of stenography... which could introduce tilde to replace either M, or R... thus said... compared to braille, and the simplified braille via morse encapsulation? stenography is cuneiform by comparison, what's the point of shorthand, when certain cases are delayed, and delayed... and 20 years later on deathrow, enough time to see Johnny Cash die of old age... and still waiting... needless to say, braille combined with morse makes more sense than stenography... almost as if... you're begging to see a man possessing a chronology of 20 years of sight, attempting to discourage braille writers from owning punctuation marks, instead, focusing on spacing... of man's notion of serving justice... culminating in the nonsense of stenography... with either M or R, marked by a tilde... should a blindman write in braille... what the stenographer writes in resurrected Phoenician... as quickly as... a death sentence becomes a liberty, for poor Xavier... than the upper tier of zoology, lodged in a life measured by: x cubed... man has another name for passing law... namely... imbedding itself in delay... once a life, reduced to the frivolity of micro-aggression, culminating in, waiting for a bus, five minutes late... that death that sloth that slouch, that... ******

0

Apr 7, 2018

Apr 7, 2018 at 8:56 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

stenographic conundrum

tenet fingers could ed braille, hard-skinned fingers could read nothing, but morse-braille... and then there's stenography... why o why is the diacritical tilde ( ~ ) used to vacate either m, or the rattle-snake, trilling, rolling implosion of the shape of R? sure, b as 6... p as a copernican north-by-north-west d... P as chiral narcissus 9... A as lambda (Λ) and suma summarum: a return to Phoenician jurisprudence and lament... or rather lamed, subtle variations circa 90°... E, I, K, V... how much of injustice is grounded upon the "logic" of stenography... which could introduce tilde to replace either M, or R... thus said... compared to braille, and the simplified braille via morse encapsulation? stenography is cuneiform by comparison, what's the point of shorthand, when certain cases are delayed, and delayed... and 20 years later on deathrow, enough time to see Johnny Cash die of old age... and still waiting... needless to say, braille combined with morse makes more sense than stenography... almost as if... you're begging to see a man possessing a chronology of 20 years of sight, attempting to discourage braille writers from owning punctuation marks, instead, focusing on spacing... of man's notion of serving justice... culminating in the nonsense of stenography... with either M or R, marked by a tilde... should a blindman write in braille... what the stenographer writes in resurrected Phoenician... as quickly as... a death sentence becomes a liberty, for poor Xavier... than the upper tier of zoology, lodged in a life measured by: x cubed... man has another name for passing law... namely... imbedding itself in delay... once a life, reduced to the frivolity of micro-aggression, culminating in, waiting for a bus, five minutes late... that death that sloth that slouch, that... ******

73

no shortage of familiar metier real (material) aye attest welling up within thy breast merely a predicament how to winnow junk bonded barnacled accretion encrusted amidst gems buried within treasure chest, yet vigilant to sift, viz figurative fine tooth comb uprooting excrescence laired plethora incognito, sans faux couture doggerel habiliment dressed necessitating painstaking poetic rock climbing ala scaling Mount Everest imbedding, hooking, grappling fingered duple crampons aye con fessed to myself, the futility to wrest Shakespearean nuggets, which analogy hyperbole you guessed nor does modesty allow me feeble effort (trite) on par with August bard, who would rank him, the highest allotted value upon assigned (absolute) value of playing card, hence tis the gold standard thee verse a tile scribe based at Stratford on Avon this here wordsmith wields his own literary might always on guard to stave reprehensible tar tarred plaque like encrustation glued hard akin to a geode methodical mother lode extraction jarred by the slightest distraction, thus with bold ness sigh hermetically seal off every cerebral fold vectors against superfluous mind chatter can upend fragile tenuous hold when merest wisp of nearly elusive mental thread escapes, i feign scold ding this paperback bestseller wannabe with told cha so Harris, thus keep dreaming envisioning an green acred Edenic demesne sprawling across wide webbed wold.

0

May 16, 2018

May 16, 2018 at 1:50 PM UTC

matthew-scott-harris2p

Wracked With Ratiocination When Writing

no shortage of familiar metier real (material) aye attest welling up within thy breast merely a predicament how to winnow junk bonded barnacled accretion encrusted amidst gems buried within treasure chest, yet vigilant to sift, viz figurative fine tooth comb uprooting excrescence laired plethora incognito, sans faux couture doggerel habiliment dressed necessitating painstaking poetic rock climbing ala scaling Mount Everest imbedding, hooking, grappling fingered duple crampons aye con fessed to myself, the futility to wrest Shakespearean nuggets, which analogy hyperbole you guessed nor does modesty allow me feeble effort (trite) on par with August bard, who would rank him, the highest allotted value upon assigned (absolute) value of playing card, hence tis the gold standard thee verse a tile scribe based at Stratford on Avon this here wordsmith wields his own literary might always on guard to stave reprehensible tar tarred plaque like encrustation glued hard akin to a geode methodical mother lode extraction jarred by the slightest distraction, thus with bold ness sigh hermetically seal off every cerebral fold vectors against superfluous mind chatter can upend fragile tenuous hold when merest wisp of nearly elusive mental thread escapes, i feign scold ding this paperback bestseller wannabe with told cha so Harris, thus keep dreaming envisioning an green acred Edenic demesne sprawling across wide webbed wold.

52

There are things to worry See in a hurry or a blurry Move or push in a scurry Yes even thoughts to bury But a false premise builder Often strikes match flash light Whoa oh how bright oh bright Let shine and blind bewilder Imbedding their charges against others to come Looking at the world in black or white smothers to some Whispering character assassinations Then twist and turn and speaking bass drum Punches, scream oh no accept reply Dive swim down deep pressure diving Breaststroke splash splash accusation conniving Slow blow mean demean, all to be sight unseen Hide hide, what you? Hey say, are often the hiders themselves A skew, how shrew, the essence, yes the crux  Full one side story oh there is never Force grab oh don’t push neither left nor right lever Oh middle lever free is never to be oh unfree decree Everyone forever on the mend Though never even a soft only a hardened bend Why oh why, why not to me now unfriend? Try I to comprehend! I trip tripness darkness spread So must free flow words here this letterhead Mind fever drugging underflow No not no not yes knot oh complete knot tightening blow   Cheers, punch gut to me inner character assassination My heart covered by trepidation Fast forward roundabout rewind harsh lamentation One sided black or white, out of spite and protection might Middle ground oh of constant unbound Oh why middle never to be truly found To the mirror is the appearer And yes all humanity can be vanity So seek sanity says *** to kettle Oh what, is there nothing to settle?   As member of humanity I am Realize hurt I may have caused Though not mal-intended Yes not so intended to those befriended Though deep down result is same I neither disclaim my blame nor take crooked aim

0

Aug 27, 2016

Aug 27, 2016 at 10:17 PM UTC

john-garrity

False Premise Eyes

There are things to worry See in a hurry or a blurry Move or push in a scurry Yes even thoughts to bury But a false premise builder Often strikes match flash light Whoa oh how bright oh bright Let shine and blind bewilder Imbedding their charges against others to come Looking at the world in black or white smothers to some Whispering character assassinations Then twist and turn and speaking bass drum Punches, scream oh no accept reply Dive swim down deep pressure diving Breaststroke splash splash accusation conniving Slow blow mean demean, all to be sight unseen Hide hide, what you? Hey say, are often the hiders themselves A skew, how shrew, the essence, yes the crux  Full one side story oh there is never Force grab oh don’t push neither left nor right lever Oh middle lever free is never to be oh unfree decree Everyone forever on the mend Though never even a soft only a hardened bend Why oh why, why not to me now unfriend? Try I to comprehend! I trip tripness darkness spread So must free flow words here this letterhead Mind fever drugging underflow No not no not yes knot oh complete knot tightening blow   Cheers, punch gut to me inner character assassination My heart covered by trepidation Fast forward roundabout rewind harsh lamentation One sided black or white, out of spite and protection might Middle ground oh of constant unbound Oh why middle never to be truly found To the mirror is the appearer And yes all humanity can be vanity So seek sanity says *** to kettle Oh what, is there nothing to settle?   As member of humanity I am Realize hurt I may have caused Though not mal-intended Yes not so intended to those befriended Though deep down result is same I neither disclaim my blame nor take crooked aim

46

no shortage of familiar metier real (material) aye attest welling up within thy breast merely a predicament how to winnow junk bonded barnacled accretion encrusted amidst gems buried within treasure chest, yet vigilant to sift, viz figurative fine tooth comb uprooting excrescence laired plethora incognito, sans faux couture doggerel habiliment dressed necessitating painstaking poetic rock climbing ala scaling Mount Everest imbedding, hooking, grappling fingered duple crampons aye con fessed to myself, the futility to wrest Shakespearean nuggets, which analogy hyperbole you guessed nor does modesty allow me feeble effort (trite) on par with August bard, who would rank him, the highest allotted value upon assigned (absolute) value of playing card, hence tis the gold standard thee verse a tile scribe based at Stratford on Avon this here wordsmith wields his own literary might always on guard to stave reprehensible tar tarred plaque like encrustation glued hard akin to a geode methodical mother lode extraction jarred by the slightest distraction, thus with bold ness sigh hermetically seal off every cerebral fold vectors against superfluous mind chatter can upend fragile tenuous hold when merest wisp of nearly elusive mental thread escapes, i feign scold ding this paperback bestseller wannabe with told cha so Harris, thus keep dreaming envisioning an green acred Edenic demesne sprawling across wide webbed wold.

0

May 16, 2018

May 16, 2018 at 1:49 PM UTC

matthew-scott-harris2p

Wracked With Ratiocination When Writing

no shortage of familiar metier real (material) aye attest welling up within thy breast merely a predicament how to winnow junk bonded barnacled accretion encrusted amidst gems buried within treasure chest, yet vigilant to sift, viz figurative fine tooth comb uprooting excrescence laired plethora incognito, sans faux couture doggerel habiliment dressed necessitating painstaking poetic rock climbing ala scaling Mount Everest imbedding, hooking, grappling fingered duple crampons aye con fessed to myself, the futility to wrest Shakespearean nuggets, which analogy hyperbole you guessed nor does modesty allow me feeble effort (trite) on par with August bard, who would rank him, the highest allotted value upon assigned (absolute) value of playing card, hence tis the gold standard thee verse a tile scribe based at Stratford on Avon this here wordsmith wields his own literary might always on guard to stave reprehensible tar tarred plaque like encrustation glued hard akin to a geode methodical mother lode extraction jarred by the slightest distraction, thus with bold ness sigh hermetically seal off every cerebral fold vectors against superfluous mind chatter can upend fragile tenuous hold when merest wisp of nearly elusive mental thread escapes, i feign scold ding this paperback bestseller wannabe with told cha so Harris, thus keep dreaming envisioning an green acred Edenic demesne sprawling across wide webbed wold.

52

she holds you like it’s the first and the last time. her arms are wrapped around you like she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she lets go for even a second. you feel her heartbeat thump, your head pressed against her chest as her pulse races. a sigh escapes as you push closer, imbedding your body into hers like it’s the first and the last time. “i’ll never let you go,” you say. she breathes deeply, as if she knew you were going to say that. she cups your face and her fingers glide along your jaw. her hands are shaking as the tips of her fingers dance across your cheek, like it’s the first and the last time. she looks so solemn, her eyes filled with a gentle sadness. but still, her hands caress your face and she whispers quietly. so quietly. like it’s the first and the last time. “you already have.”

0

Jun 26, 2019

Jun 26, 2019 at 3:33 AM UTC

marino

the first and the last time

she holds you like it’s the first and the last time. her arms are wrapped around you like she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she lets go for even a second. you feel her heartbeat thump, your head pressed against her chest as her pulse races. a sigh escapes as you push closer, imbedding your body into hers like it’s the first and the last time. “i’ll never let you go,” you say. she breathes deeply, as if she knew you were going to say that. she cups your face and her fingers glide along your jaw. her hands are shaking as the tips of her fingers dance across your cheek, like it’s the first and the last time. she looks so solemn, her eyes filled with a gentle sadness. but still, her hands caress your face and she whispers quietly. so quietly. like it’s the first and the last time. “you already have.”

13

The nail of my thumb brushes a scab, The raw skin stinging. My fingers clench, nails imbedding themselves in my palms. Was chewing the side of my cheek. Could taste the metalic in my spit. Could clearly hear my thoughts. Or what I thought where my thoughts. Couldn’t tell them between. Murmur and word, Couldn't Lower my voice To a point Where she wouldn't flinch When only my lips would tremble. Wanted to take back what she didn’t know.

0

Aug 19, 2025

Aug 19, 2025 at 6:05 PM UTC

kesa

Can't I forget you now?

The nail of my thumb brushes a scab, The raw skin stinging. My fingers clench, nails imbedding themselves in my palms. Was chewing the side of my cheek. Could taste the metalic in my spit. Could clearly hear my thoughts. Or what I thought where my thoughts. Couldn’t tell them between. Murmur and word, Couldn't Lower my voice To a point Where she wouldn't flinch When only my lips would tremble. Wanted to take back what she didn’t know.

15