"imply" poems
Gaze on that woman by the train.
With curves like gunpowder
that will shoot fireworks again.
As her and I once were.
Since then, of women, I've abstained.
My chest is a pyre
to the damsel I couldn't retain;
fondness that won’t expire.
You say I could never attain
and imply I'm a liar!?
Or you think either me insane
or least she's miswired?
The evidence on my brain -
melancholy, ire -
the despondent husk that remains,
need you more enquire?
...True, of her, no displays of pain;
eyes that jolt not tire,
poker voice tipping no disdain,
legs that feed desire!
For her, gone love is not a chain
hidden by attire
or flushed down a forgotten drain.
It merely retired.
Love like hers was the wind and rain
to my earth and fire.
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 6:09 PM UTC
even a pencil has fear to
do the posed body luckily made
a pen is dreadfully afraid
of her of this of the smile’s two
eyes….too, since the world’s but
a piece of eminent fragility.
Well and when—Does susceptibility
imply perspicuity,or?
shut
up.
Seeing
seeing her is not
to something or to nothing as much as
being by her seen, which has got
nothing on something as i think
,did you ever hear a jazz
Band?
or unnoise men don’t make soup who drink.
31.3k
I am told that I should love my body,
and I should not be ashamed.
BUT the white, conservative men tell me otherwise, making me feel nothing but shame.
When did it become okay for a male's education to be more important than a woman's rights?
When did it become okay to sexualize a woman just because her shirt does not cover her rear end?
This is apparent in the things my teachers have told me.
"Your shirt must be fingertip length when wearing yoga pants," she said.
"Why?"
"Because the males that sit in the class might be too destracted to listen to my lecture."
We are treated like *** toys.
Us girls are used for nothing more than a mans pleasure, so they imply.
This is MY body, and no one else's.
I may do what I please,
and no one should have a problem with it.
I refuse to be sexualized and treated like we are living in the 1920s.
But I must conform and live in fear of my consequences.
**** culture is real,
and school's are promoting it.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 10:43 PM UTC
I watched my mother *******
Through the toilet keyhole
When I was aged about twelve.
I think I should re-phrase that.
I watched through the keyhole
As my mother ****** into the toilet.
I didn't mean to imply that
I watched whilst my mother
****** through the keyhole.
That would have called for accuracy
Beyond the average female capability.
Sorry for any confusion there.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 11:46 AM UTC
Lead us, Evolution, lead us
Up the future's endless stair;
Chop us, change us, **** us, **** us.
For stagnation is despair:
Groping, guessing, yet progressing,
Lead us nobody knows where.
Wrong or justice, joy or sorrow,
In the present what are they
while there's always jam-tomorrow,
While we tread the onward way?
Never knowing where we're going,
We can never go astray.
To whatever variation
Our posterity may turn
Hairy, squashy, or crustacean,
Bulbous-eyed or square of stern,
Tusked or toothless, mild or ruthless,
Towards that unknown god we yearn.
Ask not if it's god or devil,
Brethren, lest your words imply
Static norms of good and evil
(As in Plato) throned on high;
Such scholastic, inelastic,
Abstract yardsticks we deny.
Far too long have sages vainly
Glossed great Nature's simple text;
He who runs can read it plainly,
'Goodness = what comes next.'
By evolving, Life is solving
All the questions we perplexed.
Oh then! Value means survival-
Value. If our progeny
Spreads and spawns and licks each rival,
That will prove its deity
(Far from pleasant, by our present,
Standards, though it may well be).
10.2k
Come closer,
What do you see?
Look deeper,
There's more of her than what meets the eye
She might spell queen on her tongue
She might blind people with her glance
But don't believe anything you see
Explore further,
There's more to her soul than the physical shape
She might wear fire on her skin
She might imply strong on her wrist
But don't believe anything you touch
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 10:25 AM UTC
What can you say about Pennsylvania
in regard to New England except that
it is slightly less cold, and less rocky,
or rather that the rocks are different?
Redder, and gritty, and piled up here and there,
whether as glacial moraine or collapsed springhouse
is not easy to tell, so quickly
are human efforts bundled back into nature.
In fall, the trees turn yellower-
hard maple, hickory, and oak
give way to tulip poplar, black walnut,
and locust. The woods are overgrown
with wild-grape vines, and with greenbrier
spreading its low net of anxious small claws.
In warm November, the mulching forest floor
smells like a rotting animal.
A genial pulpiness, in short: the sky
is soft with haze and paper-gray
even as the sun shines, and the rain
falls soft on the shoulders of farmers
while the children keep on playing,
their heads of hair beaded like spider webs.
A deep-dyed blur softens the bleak cities
whose people palaver in prolonged vowels.
There is a secret here, some death-defying joke
the eyes, the knuckles, the bellies imply-
a suet of consolation fetched straight
from the slaughterhouse and hung out
for chickadees to peck in the lee of the spruce,
where the husks of sunflower seeds
and the peace-signs of bird feet crowd
the snow that barely masks the still-green grass.
I knew that secret once, and have forgotten.
The death-defying secret-it rises
toward me like a dog's gaze, loving
but bewildered. When winter sits cold and black
slumped between its two polluted rivers,
warmth's shadow leans close to the wall
and gets the cement to deliver a kiss.
5.4k
if you find one happiness
like the barrel on your head
loaded with a pocket of air for you to breathe
then you know that if you sink
to atmospheric tides
you must find fresher barrels
when the novelty declines
and the oxygen gives way
to the oceanic brine
for the last moments of time
you’re chin-up on a water bed
the water cradles your esophagus
and then you find you surely must
find some fresher air to breathe
but to search is to be dissatisfied
to question once is to imply
that everything can be replied
with answers and with truth
that bucket on your head
running out of salty air
to stay is to slip into death
like listening to the ocean in a seashell
till slow blood flows in too few waves
but could you not also swim?
abandon the comfortable end
for the off chance that some underwater shelter
will serve you shots of oxygen?
the funny thing you find
when you let dying pleasure go
and you’re suspended, all alone
the gas trapped beneath
was too stale for you to breathe
but enough to buoy the unburdened barrel
into swiftly surfacing
Dec 13, 2011
Dec 13, 2011 at 6:37 AM UTC
I love you. I love you so much. I love you.. Love you to the moon and back.
Moon and back, what does that mean? Does it mean the amount of time that it would take me to get to the moon and back I would love you? Does it mean that love is a measurement and the moon and back is one love? Does it mean that if love was a form of energy it could take you to the moon and back? Or is simply just a figure of speech to be said meaningfully to a lover to imply great love?
Moon and back, I have heard that many times over and over, never understanding the meaning, and I think I'm not the only one.
Moon and back, if it's a amount of time then it's six days, Apollo 11 did it in six.
Moon and back, if it's a measurement then love equals 477,800 miles.
Moon and back, if it's energy then it's equal to 381,000 gallons of gas.
Moon and back, if it's a figure of speech then it's a extremely poor one.
Moon and back, I love you to the moon and back, it implies restricted love, measured love, to an extent love, timed love, ended love.
To the moon and back I will love you.
Love should not be measured, timed, restricted, ended.
Moon and back, why do we still say it? Because we saw it in the movies? "You want the moon? That's a great idea! I'll lasso the moon for ya what'd ya about that?" "Hmm, I'll take it" - it's a wonderful life. We heard it in the songs? "You want the moon? Girl watch me grab it" - Far East Movement
Why? Because we have no alternative?
Moon and back. Moon and back. To the moon and back.
What? Do we lack the capability to make new phrases? Do we lack the romanticism?
No, we lack the courage to say our thoughts. I love you till, till the sun explodes and we are ****** into darkness and even then when we are nothing, and there is nothing, there will be my love for you.
We have the fear of being laughed at for saying what our heart wants us to say. I need you like birds need wings to fly, like lions need claws to **** like fish need water to live.
The horror, of being completely honest. I didn't love you the first time I told you I loved you, because if I did mean it then, than this must be more then love, but it can't cuz what's after love?
Moon and back, I'm tired of unromantic couples.
Moon and back, moon and back.
Moon and back, maybe we say it because deep down we all know the truth.
The truth of, moon and back, and as much as we hate it, as much as we fight it,
Love does end.
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 2:14 PM UTC
i guess it was sort of ironic as it's a place where people to go to be treated that they couldn't properly take care of a plant. it may not have been their fault, but it was odd to see shriveled up leaves on top of the *** full of dirt, and a bamboo stick pointing up to give direction to what was no longer there. the *** itself was colorful, adorned in hues of red and blue to give hints toward the life that was once there, and maybe that's what i do for myself. i adorn myself in hues of purple, green, blue to imply a liveliness that i no longer feel deep within. to cover up an emptiness that once held some form of life, some form of happiness and innocence. it's not like i've had it hard, i mean, things haven't been absolutely bright and sunny but i haven't experienced great loss but somehow i have lost myself. it's an odd feeling, because i know i will be okay and that everything will turn out just fine but i can't believe that in my heart and i just can't feel okay. and maybe that's fine. it's healthier to express an emotion than to cover it up and hide it, because it will build upon itself until you can no longer withstand the weight and oh, god, i know how it feels to tremble and crumble underneath the weight of unfelt emotions.
but is this better?
i look to extremes to cure the numbness in my chest and i can't care if it's good for me or not.
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 9:27 PM UTC
O My Lord, greatly blessed are You!
I’m thankful and trying to express
the growing gratitude within my soul;
however, mere words lack the finesse
to exalt Your full grandeur… properly!
You are my sun and protective shield!
Let your righteousness flood my soul;
unto You alone, will my spirit yield.
Don’t let my ignorance and sad sighing
imply a lack of personal satisfaction;
I’m joyful and pleased from accepting-
Your Son’s, eternal gift of Salvation!
I’m humbled by Your grace and power;
Your wisdom defeats the inner violence
that seeks to isolate me from You;
quiet my thoughts with divine silence,
as I focus on our ongoing relationship.
Permit The Holy Spirit to blow over me
with a portion of Your sacred essence;
reveal the blessings that You foresee,
regarding my humbled heart and life;
make me sensitive to Your touch and will;
teach me to be productive with my time;
allow Your purpose for me- be fulfilled.
.
.
.
Author Notes
Inspired by:
Phil 4:6; Psa 34, 84:10-12; 1 Thes 5:18
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2015, All rights reserved.
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 11:41 AM UTC
Nothingness.
Imagine nothingness.
That nothingness which is nothing of the nothingness we are all familiar with:
Not that nothingness which is nothing but empty space and time
Like when you open an empty room.
No.
That nothingness where nothing truly exists:
Not space,
Not even time.
A singular point.
Imagine a singular point.
The ultimate singular point that contains all possible points
In the development of the universe
Come out and expand
From the birthing of time, the instance of The Big Bang,
(Which by the way is not a large explosion, as the words imply, but a silent rapid expansion)
Pushing the envelope
Where nothingness begins.
Chance.
Imagine chance.
The random occurrence of events:
Of fundamental particles colliding and uniting
Or annihilating each other,
Giving rise to protons, neutrons and electrons;
Giving rise to the periodic table,
To compounds, both organic and inorganic,
To macromolecules.
Billions of years.
Imagine billions of years
Gone by,
And billions of galaxies filling the sky:
Stars and quasars and pulsars
Planets and comets and meteors
***** nilly hurtling through
Dark matter and ever expanding space,
Yet inanimate still
,
A single cell.
Imagine a single cell
Form inexplicably so,
In a staggeringly highly improbable way
As carbon molecules combine,
Start to throb and pulsate:
Chance bringing forth life
In a barren and otherwise
Lifeless universe.
Consciousness
Imagine consciousness
Purposive, willful, deliberate
Feelings
Imagine feelings
Love, compassion, hatred
Imagine all in a universe that came out of itself from nothingness.
It is hard, of course,
For after all, we are creatures of somethingness!
But at this point
You must have seen the Point
Of all the ramblings and turns in the trajectory of my thought
Tracing the evolutionary course of the universe
From nothingness and that singular point
That without God
All things are
After all
Pointless!
.
And so,
Let us not deplore, as a great poet once did,
That this world “so various, so beautiful, so new
Hath no joy, nor love, nor light
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain…”
For what else should we expect
Of a cold, unfeeling universe?
What?
Give us some Novocain?
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 4:36 PM UTC
grow a beard...
buy a jazz double-bass...
start stroking it...
attempt to look
pensive...
and then write some
Cockney
comedy... and?
**** Oxford.
**** 'em good;
can't be,
******* arsed...
where's a *******
jazz double bass
the kind i need to stand up
to play?!
where?!
gone, "nowhere"...
Achilles would sooner
find a tortoise,
you ******* half-whit
bull bullock base catcher...
yummy yummy...
no ******* double whammy
if there ain't
a greasy dough nnnnnnnn
in my mouth oozing a squid's
mating call...
from the Jules Verne estimate
of how...
big the ******* could become...
oh please...
**** is a conjunction
word...
akin to and...
spew effect,
regurgitation, founded upon...
so...
so... farting in a public place
is less offensive than
uttering a word of oath?!
**** me...
more ****
less ***** images...
i guess that's how you
habitually attack Christian
h'america...
**** **** **** and impose
a curb of a ***** show me the puppies
kitchen ***** Kentucky style
****
******* wankers...
dreaming up some ****
in long lost Cockney rhyming
slang for some:
willkommen zu verirrt amstetten...
....................
...................................
..............
................
SCHMILE...
boorish ******* gnomes dancing
the leprechaun gamblers' dance...
skivvy *************
sure...
censor the words...
but god forbid you censor
showing all the *******
because... if you do?
guess what...
i might forget my farming impulse...
of imagining a
a cleavage to also imply
a pork buttocks...
funny...
how a show of cleavage is synonymous
with a show of pork
buttocks...
and then i begin thinking of
milking...
which throws a ***** **** out
with the baby and the bathwater
and... i'm shinging...
what's that name of the place?!
New Orleans!
yeah...
like some minstrel in that
part of the world that
part of the world that's
a ********
what?!
you spew on me...
i spew on you...
we can at least exchange...
what we "love" about each other...
but i implore!
i implore!
visit Warsaw!
alone... no, not with other people...
ah-loan - a-l-o-n-e....
i'll be your companion,
when you peer at your shadow,
and attempt, to pretend,
to disappear.
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 8:48 PM UTC
People say they want to try
to fix the World's problems,
yet few do more than simply imply
that the Symptoms are the problem;
We need to stop simply treating Symptoms
and begin again to seek the Source;
only then can we begin to progress
and begin again to Harmonize.
But they don't really want that;
you see, they like the World's problems:
Perhaps they see it as Vindication
for propagating their vitriolic Dogmas.
Perhaps they seek to seize control
of Earth and her Inhabitants,
or perhaps they seek to establish
lucrative business contracts.
In any case, it seems to me to be the case
that they'd have stopped some problems, just in case;
that is, if the case was that they truly and earnestly sought to:
The World's Problems ensure future Business
for the Military-Industrial Complex.
The World's Problems enure future Business
for the Pharmaceutical-Industrial Complex.
The World's Problems ensure future Business
for the Disedification-Industrial Complex.
The World's Problems ensure future Business
for Banks, Demagogues, Tyrants, Corporations and Thieves
(sometimes all are one in the same!)
-
We need to stop dwelling upon the Symptoms
and do something about the ******* Source;
It's about time we, as Humans, stood up to this; our Wretched System,
for precisely the same ideals it so facetiously claims:
Justice, Equality,
Freedom, Liberty,
Tranquility, Solidarity,
Opportunity, Prosperity;
We have strayed.
We have been betrayed.
We are being played:
We should be ******* irate.
Irate, and yet Calm.
Non-violent, yet resisting:
Civil Disobedience is a Virtue
in a World such as This.
Civil Disobedience is a Symptom
of a World such as This.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 10:01 PM UTC
I am a puppet,
Here are my strings.
This one's for my mouth,
And this one's for my wings.
You can make me fly,
Fly,
O so high, in the sky,
Till I die.
You are in control,
Just the way you like it I'm sure.
Making me do tricks,
Getting all of your sick kicks.
You stand above me,
With your fidgeting fingers.
Making me dance around,
To your favorite singers.
Make me jump,
Make me fly,
Make me happy,
Make me cry,
Make me crazy,
Make me high,
Control where I look,
With my eyes.
I do your biding,
Like it or not.
I'm addicted to your control,
Like some are to ***
I feel like,
It'll be this way till I die.
Yet you drop some scissors,
What are you trying to imply?
But now I found the scissors,
And you know what I'm going to do?
Snip,
Snip,
Cut,
Cut,
And,
TADA.
I'M FREE FROM YOU.
Although,
I didn't really think this through...
Because before I knew,
It I fell to the floor.
Like an overdosed,
Ritalin *****
Lifelessly alone laying,
On the ground.
The only thing I hear,
Is your fake laughing sound.
So there I lay limb over limb,
Not knowing where to go.
Then to my dismay,
You mange to cause me even more woe.
For beside me,
A new puppet takes my place.
And your once gentle hand,
Comes down on me, and I am erased.
Now I think,
I miss your strings.
And all of your,
Cute little things.
I might have been a puppet,
But I loved my master.
Until she got bored,
And caused this disaster.
I loved a disaster,
Which was my master.
But what should I know?
I am just a puppet.
Oct 2, 2011
Oct 2, 2011 at 7:54 PM UTC
Let me imply
that if I'm to die,
it will be on my own terms.
I insist,
need be even with my fist,
that I tie the noose myself.
My foot
will give its input
to the bucket.
And for a single moment
I will be buoyant
among atoms of air.
In the next I will fall,
with my shadow against the wall.
My feet will never again touch the floor.
The rope whispers one last twang
as I hang.
Eyes loose luster.
My life has burnt like Magnesium.
Fast and bright,
like the speed of light.
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 7:44 PM UTC
I don’t believe in goodbyes
I believe in hellos, smiles, and questioning whys
Goodbyes are an end, a final, a limit
Goodbyes are terminus
An eradication
I believe there is no proper end
We are cemented within a cycle
A continuum
A never-ending relationship with the world
A flowing river out of your control
Goodbyes imply permanence
A life that never changes
A dormancy
But Reality has it
You cannot fully control your goodbyes
A person can reenter your life and leave
Over and over and over
Then maybe goodbyes don’t even exist
People can exist in our memories
A perpetual reminder
A video stuck on replay
A beautiful hazy dream
I don’t believe in goodbyes
I believe in hellos, smiles, and questioning whys
If people continue to touch our lives
Leaving a lasting impact
A reason why
Then maybe goodbyes don’t even really exist
Because there is no such thing as a goodbye
Because there is no end to relationships
Because there is no end to memories
Because there is no end to love
Because there is no end to the feeling you have
We are cemented within a cycle
A continuum
And this is why I don’t believe in goodbyes
I believe in hellos, smiles, and questioning whys
Let’s embrace the idea
Yet see its amusing foolishness
Because maybe goodbyes don’t even exist
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 4:12 PM UTC
I'm a fan of Vontaze Burfict
Though he may not be perfect
For he gives players concussions
To continue the daily discussions
Of the power of his percussion
To receive a hall of fame induction
That is where his value is derived
So what do these penalties imply?
That the referees have a preconceived notion of him
And are preemptively looking to treat him grim
Which gives his team a lesser chance to win
Which makes the biased referees grin
We are a country that idolizes quarterbacks
Every other position we're quick to attack
We only care about who has the ball
And laughing at others when they fall
We worship that which is shiny
And view everything else as grimy
Quarterbacks become celebrities incredulously
While everyone else is treated impetuously
The NFL is like America
Politics makes it harder to watch
The Patriots are boring and plain
They win constantly
The Bengals are entertaining and rough around the edges
They show promise and potential that is never realized
In a nation
Of provocation
I'd rather proudly call myself a bengal
I know that seems an idealistic angle
But Cincinnati provides no coziness or protection
You must always avoid discriminate detection
Of those that call themselves patriots
That drive blue and white chariots
And penalize players unnecessarily
For African Americanning
We really fumbled the ball
Because of the ref's call
That treats us unequally
How they have fun evilly
They can arbitrarily treat whoever however
But a concussion will make them less clever
Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 5:31 PM UTC
So, yeah.
This would all have been a lot easier
If I didn't have the heart of a
Poet.
But I'll say this: Please love to learn,
So we can have *** with
Semicolons in as suggestive a
********* as they would imply. I know
I lost my innocence to an
Adjective, but didn't we all?
There's no room for jealousy in
Poetry,
We just rhyme and give the rhyme
Time to define, and aline with the
Rhythm to create a devine
Relaxationary artpiece to be consumed
By any reader who would find the
Time to entwine with a sentence
Or line, and use'em to maybe just
Describe the feeling of a hand
On the face of a man as myself, who
Has written so much of the things one
Can touch, that he looks at the world
As a man that a girl
Can tell: *Look at me, and say all
You can see is the face of Eternity.*
I am that man, with a pen in his hand,
And you could say it, but I surely
Know it: My body's a worker's.
My soul is a poet's.
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 8:59 PM UTC
You're a tornado-
You spin madly around and sometimes carry things off with you. People and objects fall into your vortex and spin around madly with you.
You spin yourself dizzy, to the point where standing still sometimes isn't possible because you might have forgotten how.
You hit the earth below you and blaze a trail ahead, leaving your mark wherever you go.
You rustle leaves 100 miles away and send some flying just as far.
Sometimes you feel like a tornado-
You jumble things up and feel like when things hit your path, you run through them and scatter them around.
You spin so fast that no one can slow you down, that you're always spinning on your own and finding someone that could adjust to your spin is one in a million.
You never stop spinning because that how your mind works; it spins day and night, endlessly. You're always spinning new scenarios and thoughts in your turbulent mind.
You feel like you may destroy people you run through, and sometimes they try to tell you to spin a different way or cease to spin at all, and that hurts. They don't understand that if you don't stop spinning, you may just cease to be who you are all together.
When I say you are a tornado, I mean well-
Not everyone looks at a tornado and sees what I see.
People see chaos, destruction, instability.
Sometimes I know you see that in yourself.
Sometimes I see it in you too.
But as a tornado, you have what others don't-
Someday, someone will step into your storm and be your calm.
They won't be afraid of who you are, like you are sometimes of yourself.
They'll see what the luckiest people in your life see in your storm;
Absolute beauty, uniqueness, individuality, empathy.
Not everyone can see the beauty in a storm-
It takes a special eye, and a special kind of person to love you.
Not because you're undeserving, but because you're different than the rest.
You're one of a kind, that's why no storm has the same name.
It's why no storm hits the same ground. Every storm differs, but there are only so many.
So when I say you're a tornado, this is what I imply-
You're scary to some people you're powerful and provoking and interesting.
You will sweep someone away someday.
Someone will look at you like you're the best thing to have hit his life, literally.
Someday, a man will be able to see the beauty in your storm and spin with you, always by your side.
You're a tornado-
You're one hell of a sight,
Unmistakably one of a kind,
Wild, crazy, enticing and beautiful all in your own,
With a storm inside of you that someone is going to find someday, and that person will be dizzy with how different you are, and will ultimately get swept away by you.
I promise.
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 2:33 PM UTC
A brilliant blaze high in the sky
banishing the shy clouds away
revealing the purest of hues, a bright blue.
A single magpie flies nearby
I wish it didn't stay
as one for sorrow is very true
I suspected the sky to suddenly cry
for nature to obey, ruining my day
receiving the misery due
Instead the sun refused to comply
the single magpie it did disobey
And a second magpie came, as if on cue
With two magpie it did imply
what a joy will be today
Two are rarely a rue
To quick was I to jump to the negative
presuming the worst, my fatal imperative
Because when they go to fly
My happiness won't die
I don't need to anchor my well being on what I see
Cause all I need to enjoy life is me
I watch the two magpies now with amusement
soaking in this wondrous moment
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 11:51 AM UTC
I am gazing at an evening sky,
So fascinating! That these words are deprived to imply
It seems like a huge canvas,
That nature has painted so brilliantly taking its own time.
And with all its instinct & power that made it a bit divine.
It is certainly an incomparable art piece,
With fringes of scattered clouds amidst reflecting the rambling rays of setting sun
Best illustrating the sapient strokes of most blended colours that an artist can learn.
And that soothing cold breeze that flows through my fingers strengthening the happiness of being here.
And the whole scenery so elegant,
Stealing my contemplation so well,
That I feel unable to move my eyes from there.
I kept on staring it till the last emitted ray of the drowning sun dove into the deep darkened horizon
and the twinkling stars came, indicating the advent of another night of this beautiful autumn season.
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 1:02 PM UTC
I never cared much for car talk,
But when he speaks, I'm intrigued,
And I don't know why.
Most men speak in tones that imply
I don't know anything,
Can't understand simple machines,
Have never seen an engine block,
And just want to watch as they talk.
But he is genuinely fascinated
With systems and forces,
And wants to share.
His passion consumes me,
And I listen, hoping to learn.
On switchbacking forest roads,
Over potholed washboard,
By steep cliff dropoffs,
My head swims with emergency "what ifs"
But not with him.
He flies over loose gravel
And I squeal with euphoric trust and delight.
He drives twice the posted speed,
And I find myself shamelessly sunk
Into a wet seat.
He pumps the brakes
And I'm bowing to the king,
Brazenly hoping that someday
He'll flip a carnal handbrake turn,
Wondering if he cares enough to show off,
Seduced like so many before me
By oil, rubber, and gasoline.
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 1:33 PM UTC