"imogene" poems - Hello Poetry

by Arcassin B & Sweet Pea SP: :::theCry::: :::theCry::: My lover...my prince I feel you dearly through all that angst. No feigning emotion or pretense. It is I...who wants this kiss, to touch each one: of your lips and all those cancerous wounds... I've been quietly forlorn, yes , I've talked to somebody to ease my pain. Our Lullaby made out of Cymbeline's notes& daughter's cry....Imogene tears married, but my heart was yours Betrothed to someone else, in spite ring on the finger- to fool the old King ...look at me, married wife, but moreover most precious lover to you I hoped So, please tell the voices to quiet down...our time will soonly come. Put your cheek to my heart, look at bosoms pink fiber...aspic marble's cradle...marked for death now. My sweet love, i am woman made of emotion...the only alternative plan is to live in harmony, not a commotion I'm letting you go, please make up your mind...do it on your own. I'm no convincer...just listen to the prosthetic heart. It's beat pure, and true is... mounted up high...I'm a twig broken in half; an arrow already dead... How can I defend myself...you've already made up your mind. My only apology is...we've wasted our time myopia and friends...their whispers judged my heart, the head chopped was before our affair even begun... you hit and then run you've said the magical words...I've longed to hear from you. I can't compete with what's preordained...I loved you my sweet, sweet Prince...be well now you are free. AB: Don't pretend you love me in the time of pure pain , I hold my head in shame, I could tell that you've be quiet, And you need somebody to talk to, lullabys in anger, being married is a drag, voices sing in the night and the stars remind me of some things I once had, life would be so much different in every little strand and particle... ...I had a dad, So don't pretend like you care when we both know you have an alternative plan, I don't want anything to do with your existence, now that you could understand, you didnt try.

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Oct 9, 2015

Oct 9, 2015 at 1:26 PM UTC

arcassin-burnham

"Deceiver" (collab w/ Sweet Pea)

by Arcassin B & Sweet Pea SP: :::theCry::: :::theCry::: My lover...my prince I feel you dearly through all that angst. No feigning emotion or pretense. It is I...who wants this kiss, to touch each one: of your lips and all those cancerous wounds... I've been quietly forlorn, yes , I've talked to somebody to ease my pain. Our Lullaby made out of Cymbeline's notes& daughter's cry....Imogene tears married, but my heart was yours Betrothed to someone else, in spite ring on the finger- to fool the old King ...look at me, married wife, but moreover most precious lover to you I hoped So, please tell the voices to quiet down...our time will soonly come. Put your cheek to my heart, look at bosoms pink fiber...aspic marble's cradle...marked for death now. My sweet love, i am woman made of emotion...the only alternative plan is to live in harmony, not a commotion I'm letting you go, please make up your mind...do it on your own. I'm no convincer...just listen to the prosthetic heart. It's beat pure, and true is... mounted up high...I'm a twig broken in half; an arrow already dead... How can I defend myself...you've already made up your mind. My only apology is...we've wasted our time myopia and friends...their whispers judged my heart, the head chopped was before our affair even begun... you hit and then run you've said the magical words...I've longed to hear from you. I can't compete with what's preordained...I loved you my sweet, sweet Prince...be well now you are free. AB: Don't pretend you love me in the time of pure pain , I hold my head in shame, I could tell that you've be quiet, And you need somebody to talk to, lullabys in anger, being married is a drag, voices sing in the night and the stars remind me of some things I once had, life would be so much different in every little strand and particle... ...I had a dad, So don't pretend like you care when we both know you have an alternative plan, I don't want anything to do with your existence, now that you could understand, you didnt try.

79

The old days, the old ways, those are in the winds of been; with all the worries worth worrying lost with the reasons why today was to have been impossible. Self-evident, right, the prophets were right and the liars are with us, as sure as the poor. Today, we live and die, planning to do it again, after a nap, making clear this peace past understanding, so you can see through it to the glimpse of a happiness you know, it's right, no evil dripping acidic lies into hopes, we held locked in catechismical caves. So long ago. The old days were not good. Only the stories with happy ever after this ---- You see it done, old son, you take the role. No missed takes, no second guess, single-mind me, my self, I say may the game begin en joy, they say, as if verbishment en into en trance muted nothing to this, in our own life's history, verified, examined and, be hold, not found wanting anything. Off the scale, onto the state or stage of becoming, not there, not here, be coming soon, always soon, soon, now big bang, right. be hell, you lie, and you know it, but why? Liars prosper. That's the key, if you give a buck. I'm a pro, you don't get where reality is this slippery and threatening, guided by me, y'follow? you don't get here, and blame me. Blame me, shame me, oughta take rope, 'n' hang me. What if, still, in effect. Reality at gut level, synaptic axion dents, right, waves of peristalsis moving shichewswallowed, minus that action, you are dead, but your biome, the raw info, ideas that moved you, through the years, we adapt, we modify our center of gravity, we ellipsilate our sphere of influence into fratical fractal real ification practices prospering in 2019. Nonshite. Dear reader, we must pause, please, hold this thought... The cultivator must be first, no lie. Seedtime gap harvest. Eat me. sign on the bottle, it was a clue, don't you want somebody to love? You better, find somebody to love, oh yeah, that left a mark. Funny, It's okeh to smile, I said to Imogene Coca. She stared into my eye, no Bette Davis eye, Imogene Coca eye, no smile, no word mime meme bent to a pixelation degree, you pretend to see, AI can see the thread you trust the legend, scarlet thread or golden? Which do we cut? She is silent

0

May 28, 2019

May 28, 2019 at 5:43 PM UTC

kenpepiton

May as well say that's past

The old days, the old ways, those are in the winds of been; with all the worries worth worrying lost with the reasons why today was to have been impossible. Self-evident, right, the prophets were right and the liars are with us, as sure as the poor. Today, we live and die, planning to do it again, after a nap, making clear this peace past understanding, so you can see through it to the glimpse of a happiness you know, it's right, no evil dripping acidic lies into hopes, we held locked in catechismical caves. So long ago. The old days were not good. Only the stories with happy ever after this ---- You see it done, old son, you take the role. No missed takes, no second guess, single-mind me, my self, I say may the game begin en joy, they say, as if verbishment en into en trance muted nothing to this, in our own life's history, verified, examined and, be hold, not found wanting anything. Off the scale, onto the state or stage of becoming, not there, not here, be coming soon, always soon, soon, now big bang, right. be hell, you lie, and you know it, but why? Liars prosper. That's the key, if you give a buck. I'm a pro, you don't get where reality is this slippery and threatening, guided by me, y'follow? you don't get here, and blame me. Blame me, shame me, oughta take rope, 'n' hang me. What if, still, in effect. Reality at gut level, synaptic axion dents, right, waves of peristalsis moving shichewswallowed, minus that action, you are dead, but your biome, the raw info, ideas that moved you, through the years, we adapt, we modify our center of gravity, we ellipsilate our sphere of influence into fratical fractal real ification practices prospering in 2019. Nonshite. Dear reader, we must pause, please, hold this thought... The cultivator must be first, no lie. Seedtime gap harvest. Eat me. sign on the bottle, it was a clue, don't you want somebody to love? You better, find somebody to love, oh yeah, that left a mark. Funny, It's okeh to smile, I said to Imogene Coca. She stared into my eye, no Bette Davis eye, Imogene Coca eye, no smile, no word mime meme bent to a pixelation degree, you pretend to see, AI can see the thread you trust the legend, scarlet thread or golden? Which do we cut? She is silent

63

we speak with a face of resolute absurdity spit bullets of futile calumny hushed in silence bereft of theater alluringly fresh when a newness is nearer a rash of a tumbled tinkered mind just having left her square body behind a **** and a pat, lips pursed no longer painted ignored by the night so readily tainted but you ask how can that be for you, for me it was meant to surrender like an ebb tide sea surely adrift her romp will soon flush back like a swan song riddle or gold filled sack Imogene, Rita, Ellen or Jane bouncy full bloomed bosoms, in a ***** rain more sorrows and spindles and silky skin less time to make sturdy the morning's din songs and sweet nectars to drink a splash humming moans and heaving sash eyes closed filled with a roaring constellation memories ablaze filled with deep elation what face we just talked about here writ in previous verse not subject to theory or wit just a mind's plainness as usual as can be a moment casual as tweedily dah and tweedily dee

0

Aug 28, 2016

Aug 28, 2016 at 4:14 PM UTC

robert-gretczko

red lips...who cares

we speak with a face of resolute absurdity spit bullets of futile calumny hushed in silence bereft of theater alluringly fresh when a newness is nearer a rash of a tumbled tinkered mind just having left her square body behind a **** and a pat, lips pursed no longer painted ignored by the night so readily tainted but you ask how can that be for you, for me it was meant to surrender like an ebb tide sea surely adrift her romp will soon flush back like a swan song riddle or gold filled sack Imogene, Rita, Ellen or Jane bouncy full bloomed bosoms, in a ***** rain more sorrows and spindles and silky skin less time to make sturdy the morning's din songs and sweet nectars to drink a splash humming moans and heaving sash eyes closed filled with a roaring constellation memories ablaze filled with deep elation what face we just talked about here writ in previous verse not subject to theory or wit just a mind's plainness as usual as can be a moment casual as tweedily dah and tweedily dee

24

Tall tales, memories inerradicated, other worlds other ways other times, no other truth, all possible things are; all impossible things never were, no matter all reroes religate the religious use of truth, in impossible situations, the truth frees, but this is the beginning, is it not? This is the first time your mind found a way into a common legend of times when all minds spoke one language, languages are difficult to perfect but first need known is patience, fear, known sooner than patience, is wise-being, the result of the author seeing how a lie could get out of hand and imagine an impossible thing for too long a time. Madness is the first word I learned for this state. Imogene, who smote her hubby with a hammer, ha,ha, ha. that real already was written in another lie I lived through to now. We sold them, they bought us. We owe nothing. We earned our keep, and may I say, with professorial non-chalance, this is the price one pays when the script calls for attention, you were about to mention the state we abide in, when in default mode mind wandering, not at all mindlessly, very mindifly, I flee the pun ish ment no harm, tis the charm of that wheezing old chump, d'ja tell'em one, did they survive. It seems most don't. Most of youse used to gititon gititup gitiover on the other side, flip the coin time and chance, one day up, one day down, depends on do darkness count as day or not time being related to states of stop, stop states, as sleep states, to the fractal degree of hypernation of indignation, kanyedigit, digial assistence national notions did you jump in we be we be we be whoa, selah, balancing factor, at your service. Where we wish we was...

0

Jul 19, 2020

Jul 19, 2020 at 5:16 PM UTC

kenpepiton

Good news at the basement level of life

Tall tales, memories inerradicated, other worlds other ways other times, no other truth, all possible things are; all impossible things never were, no matter all reroes religate the religious use of truth, in impossible situations, the truth frees, but this is the beginning, is it not? This is the first time your mind found a way into a common legend of times when all minds spoke one language, languages are difficult to perfect but first need known is patience, fear, known sooner than patience, is wise-being, the result of the author seeing how a lie could get out of hand and imagine an impossible thing for too long a time. Madness is the first word I learned for this state. Imogene, who smote her hubby with a hammer, ha,ha, ha. that real already was written in another lie I lived through to now. We sold them, they bought us. We owe nothing. We earned our keep, and may I say, with professorial non-chalance, this is the price one pays when the script calls for attention, you were about to mention the state we abide in, when in default mode mind wandering, not at all mindlessly, very mindifly, I flee the pun ish ment no harm, tis the charm of that wheezing old chump, d'ja tell'em one, did they survive. It seems most don't. Most of youse used to gititon gititup gitiover on the other side, flip the coin time and chance, one day up, one day down, depends on do darkness count as day or not time being related to states of stop, stop states, as sleep states, to the fractal degree of hypernation of indignation, kanyedigit, digial assistence national notions did you jump in we be we be we be whoa, selah, balancing factor, at your service. Where we wish we was...

47