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Words
"inconspicuously" poems
i see the words floating on message boards or perched upon the lips of jocular hypocrites double-standards that demand sensual chastity and virginal sexuality in endless iterations of irony the concussive monosyllabic words slung like stones cast like arrows **** ***** ***** all labels for women possessed of the courage to pursue their own passion once upon a time a Nazarene insisted a ********** had more integrity than a rich statesman throwing self-serving parties so tell me why so many Christian politicians propagate patriarchal notions of depravity in blanket attempts to regulate the bodies of women if being anti-choice was really about preventing abortions why do rich right-wing conservative Republicans spend all their time and money picketing free clinics when the solution lies in comprehensive ****** education universal healthcare complimentary birth control and comprehensive child support don't dare use the reprehensible rhetoric of pro-life unless you're at once anti-war and anti-death penalty riddle me this what pray tell is the difference between a jealous religious misogynist and a secular sexist it's rather simple actually while the former bases his slut-shaming on the edicts of a two thousand year old letter to the Corinthians inconspicuously sandwiched between a celebration of love and a section on speaking in tongues the latter’s learned behavior is birthed by a hyper-masculine culture grounded in dominance either way we await the day when wild women raze these ideologies with torches before rising like phoenixes from the ashes of decimated passages dismissed by intellectuals as archaic and outmoded deaf blind and dumb to the vestiges of modernity that sap unscientific philosophies of their potency and render them utterly obsolete in their wake these proud women erase the hate from words like **** ***** ***** and reclaim equality with a far more comprehensive term feminist
0
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 11:50 PM UTC
pearsonbolt
phoenix
i see the words floating on message boards or perched upon the lips of jocular hypocrites double-standards that demand sensual chastity and virginal sexuality in endless iterations of irony the concussive monosyllabic words slung like stones cast like arrows **** ***** ***** all labels for women possessed of the courage to pursue their own passion once upon a time a Nazarene insisted a ********** had more integrity than a rich statesman throwing self-serving parties so tell me why so many Christian politicians propagate patriarchal notions of depravity in blanket attempts to regulate the bodies of women if being anti-choice was really about preventing abortions why do rich right-wing conservative Republicans spend all their time and money picketing free clinics when the solution lies in comprehensive ****** education universal healthcare complimentary birth control and comprehensive child support don't dare use the reprehensible rhetoric of pro-life unless you're at once anti-war and anti-death penalty riddle me this what pray tell is the difference between a jealous religious misogynist and a secular sexist it's rather simple actually while the former bases his slut-shaming on the edicts of a two thousand year old letter to the Corinthians inconspicuously sandwiched between a celebration of love and a section on speaking in tongues the latter’s learned behavior is birthed by a hyper-masculine culture grounded in dominance either way we await the day when wild women raze these ideologies with torches before rising like phoenixes from the ashes of decimated passages dismissed by intellectuals as archaic and outmoded deaf blind and dumb to the vestiges of modernity that sap unscientific philosophies of their potency and render them utterly obsolete in their wake these proud women erase the hate from words like **** ***** ***** and reclaim equality with a far more comprehensive term feminist
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79
I am awake alive. aware. tired... but, so awake ready. content? drained... but, ready. ready for what's next. soak. soak while enveloped in His cloak of soundness, of serenity inconspicuously emerging from the crossfire come to an understanding a consensus with Yourself stay. stay here... in this fractured moment of freedom, of belonging, of peace A breakthrough. Gasp for Air before descending back into perplexity. know know the Answer Believe in the Answer to all those unanswered, unanswerable questions Love the Answer Thank the Answer Breathe आप पूरी तरह से ठीक हैं आप ठीक हो जाएंगे आप ठीक होना पड़ेगा अच्छा? हाँ.
0
Jan 27, 2019
Jan 27, 2019 at 3:36 PM UTC
shreya-dristi
ज़िन्दा हूँ यार
I am awake alive. aware. tired... but, so awake ready. content? drained... but, ready. ready for what's next. soak. soak while enveloped in His cloak of soundness, of serenity inconspicuously emerging from the crossfire come to an understanding a consensus with Yourself stay. stay here... in this fractured moment of freedom, of belonging, of peace A breakthrough. Gasp for Air before descending back into perplexity. know know the Answer Believe in the Answer to all those unanswered, unanswerable questions Love the Answer Thank the Answer Breathe आप पूरी तरह से ठीक हैं आप ठीक हो जाएंगे आप ठीक होना पड़ेगा अच्छा? हाँ.
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23
Look at yourself All ***** Blackened with a sour demeanor Rip the top off Take a look inside An endless carousel See the stars And be thrown to the next page Never to come back again The stories for the next chapter Clenching to previous excursions Remnants, recollections of once new beginnings Once you start you can’t stop Can't turn and have second thoughts Once you’re out You’re gone Falling to pieces Smoking, dangling A mental spasm A lapse, relapse Push them away They speak too loud and bright A half baked scheme It’s something to pass the time Hedges of red Busted fence posts Inconspicuously Punctured shell To the roots Vibrations to my brain Purple furlough Roofs fall Pedal till they bleed Bleed dry to the bone Till the bone breaks And the pain grapples me into submission We ignore the fruits in front Of us for the mirages We pretend are real Putting In hope and taking out lies Riding the ignorant air of pride Crawl in desperation to continue It wouldn’t lie Stick to the plan Raise the voice So they hear and believe We won’t stop till it’s found They won’t stop till I’m in the ground Buried, out to pasture Fresh fertilizer here I hear his deceit meshed Deeply in his voice Yet I fool myself to Believe due to my denial of doubts It won’t let me continue Smile for no reason When I think about it Disorientation follows Don’t utter another word The grass is dead on both sides So let’s make them equally green Plant the seed Pack a lunch As we walk, we remember The lesson we were taught to never Tread here
0
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 12:52 PM UTC
tommy-johnson
Self-reconciliation
Look at yourself All ***** Blackened with a sour demeanor Rip the top off Take a look inside An endless carousel See the stars And be thrown to the next page Never to come back again The stories for the next chapter Clenching to previous excursions Remnants, recollections of once new beginnings Once you start you can’t stop Can't turn and have second thoughts Once you’re out You’re gone Falling to pieces Smoking, dangling A mental spasm A lapse, relapse Push them away They speak too loud and bright A half baked scheme It’s something to pass the time Hedges of red Busted fence posts Inconspicuously Punctured shell To the roots Vibrations to my brain Purple furlough Roofs fall Pedal till they bleed Bleed dry to the bone Till the bone breaks And the pain grapples me into submission We ignore the fruits in front Of us for the mirages We pretend are real Putting In hope and taking out lies Riding the ignorant air of pride Crawl in desperation to continue It wouldn’t lie Stick to the plan Raise the voice So they hear and believe We won’t stop till it’s found They won’t stop till I’m in the ground Buried, out to pasture Fresh fertilizer here I hear his deceit meshed Deeply in his voice Yet I fool myself to Believe due to my denial of doubts It won’t let me continue Smile for no reason When I think about it Disorientation follows Don’t utter another word The grass is dead on both sides So let’s make them equally green Plant the seed Pack a lunch As we walk, we remember The lesson we were taught to never Tread here
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66
I wept by your side, But you were much too worried about yourself to take note of it. I didn't want you to notice because I knew you wouldn't care. That made me weep more. You ask if my thoughts are balanced, I reply with a smile that, "I'm doing okay". You're not satisfied with the answer, But yet you move on. When I'm staring at a plaster wall, for moment after moment with no movement, you watch me.  I feel that it's my lost eyes with an empty expression that you're trying to read. I slowly and inconspicuously begin to scroll through my head, for positive emotions to display on my face. I'd love to let you know what I'm chewing over in my head But you wouldn't want that burden. Our taste has always been different. So I'll sit in silence, and when you think I'm tired  Because of my swollen eye lids and blood shot eyes, It's really because I wept by your side.
0
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 2:25 PM UTC
Pedro-munoz
Muffled crying
I wept by your side, But you were much too worried about yourself to take note of it. I didn't want you to notice because I knew you wouldn't care. That made me weep more. You ask if my thoughts are balanced, I reply with a smile that, "I'm doing okay". You're not satisfied with the answer, But yet you move on. When I'm staring at a plaster wall, for moment after moment with no movement, you watch me.  I feel that it's my lost eyes with an empty expression that you're trying to read. I slowly and inconspicuously begin to scroll through my head, for positive emotions to display on my face. I'd love to let you know what I'm chewing over in my head But you wouldn't want that burden. Our taste has always been different. So I'll sit in silence, and when you think I'm tired  Because of my swollen eye lids and blood shot eyes, It's really because I wept by your side.
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18
inappropriate name at it's best--- because they refuse to hold halves together and hammers aren't the best choice of tools and who nails a fingernail? like twilight on icy mountains, although the sky's colors come from flesh and not reddened sunlight, and the snow is empty as air inconspicuously (fashionably) hidden skyline--- by color, but still there, granted half-moons, waiting for dimethyl ketone relief small as they come unappreciated, underlooked--- as common and human as blood.
0
May 22, 2010
May 22, 2010 at 3:58 PM UTC
k-f
ode to a fingernail
inappropriate name at it's best--- because they refuse to hold halves together and hammers aren't the best choice of tools and who nails a fingernail? like twilight on icy mountains, although the sky's colors come from flesh and not reddened sunlight, and the snow is empty as air inconspicuously (fashionably) hidden skyline--- by color, but still there, granted half-moons, waiting for dimethyl ketone relief small as they come unappreciated, underlooked--- as common and human as blood.
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14
If I become blind tomorrow, I'll know every detail of your face-- Your tired eyes, dimples, And your imperfectly perfect smile. I'll still "see" you inconspicuously stealing Affectionate glances my way. But, just as before, I won't need my eyes to find Your slightly pink lips Awaiting mine.
0
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 6:44 PM UTC
jrg123
Braille
If I become blind tomorrow, I'll know every detail of your face-- Your tired eyes, dimples, And your imperfectly perfect smile. I'll still "see" you inconspicuously stealing Affectionate glances my way. But, just as before, I won't need my eyes to find Your slightly pink lips Awaiting mine.
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10
You left me. Dying and afraid Wishing on your tears As if you were my star. You were. I hoped not for your commitment. And I woke up on the bathroom floor that morning. All I wanted to know was, "Where did you go?" Breath like knives, Cutting down the back of my neck. I remember what I want to remember. Maybe that is why I cannot stand commitment. Lust is empty, so vain And yet purer and more honest Than any banal white dress. Is true love this imperfect? I hope I never know, I never will vow to be your commitment. I live for a quick run with you. You make my life ever so exciting. Baby, we have tried, Nearly four years strong and this is all we are. A secret, shattered hearts scattered on the floor. We played so inconspicuously, Just hoping the other would pick up the pieces again. We are anything but committed. I never want to take you to church, All dressed up and teary eyed. I never want to say "I do" I have no desire for commitment. And yet, the stronghold that you have Somewhere deep in the cavity of my chest Will not die. All I want is to **** it off. I want you, more than anything. I hate you, more than anything. Maybe this is a different type of commitment. We are committed to being the drug, the pill, the morphine That keeps the other coming back for more.
0
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 9:16 PM UTC
jfrank0816
Committed
You left me. Dying and afraid Wishing on your tears As if you were my star. You were. I hoped not for your commitment. And I woke up on the bathroom floor that morning. All I wanted to know was, "Where did you go?" Breath like knives, Cutting down the back of my neck. I remember what I want to remember. Maybe that is why I cannot stand commitment. Lust is empty, so vain And yet purer and more honest Than any banal white dress. Is true love this imperfect? I hope I never know, I never will vow to be your commitment. I live for a quick run with you. You make my life ever so exciting. Baby, we have tried, Nearly four years strong and this is all we are. A secret, shattered hearts scattered on the floor. We played so inconspicuously, Just hoping the other would pick up the pieces again. We are anything but committed. I never want to take you to church, All dressed up and teary eyed. I never want to say "I do" I have no desire for commitment. And yet, the stronghold that you have Somewhere deep in the cavity of my chest Will not die. All I want is to **** it off. I want you, more than anything. I hate you, more than anything. Maybe this is a different type of commitment. We are committed to being the drug, the pill, the morphine That keeps the other coming back for more.
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40
i. You sat down next to me and asked me what I was reading. When I looked up, you became just another encounter in my life—a face that I’ll remember as the person who approached me that day. When you left, I didn’t think of you again. ii. I saw you again and you were reading that book. Your face lit up when I approached you this time and you began to excitedly tell me the things I already knew about the characters; love lines were just being introduced and you couldn’t wait to see where they would end up. I already knew the ending, but I couldn’t wait either. iii. Our unplanned encounters began to be planned. We spent hours at the café down the street, talking about music and books and philosophers and life. Cup after cup, we abused the all you can drink coffee option until we were taking turns using the restroom. I never wanted to leave. iv. We moved from the café back to my apartment. You didn’t mind the mess; I didn’t mind showing it to you. Our discussion of the novel you finished turned into a silent discussion of our bodies that traveled on deep into the night. When I woke up the next morning, you were gone. v. I didn’t see you after that night, even when I inconspicuously walked by the bookstore and the café. There were a few times when I walked in and sat down at the table where you had told me that your biggest fear was losing the necklace your deceased mother had left behind. I drank a cup of coffee and couldn’t tell if I had lost you or if you had left me behind. vi. We met again and you didn’t remember me.
0
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 2:44 AM UTC
traycee
six degrees of separation
i. You sat down next to me and asked me what I was reading. When I looked up, you became just another encounter in my life—a face that I’ll remember as the person who approached me that day. When you left, I didn’t think of you again. ii. I saw you again and you were reading that book. Your face lit up when I approached you this time and you began to excitedly tell me the things I already knew about the characters; love lines were just being introduced and you couldn’t wait to see where they would end up. I already knew the ending, but I couldn’t wait either. iii. Our unplanned encounters began to be planned. We spent hours at the café down the street, talking about music and books and philosophers and life. Cup after cup, we abused the all you can drink coffee option until we were taking turns using the restroom. I never wanted to leave. iv. We moved from the café back to my apartment. You didn’t mind the mess; I didn’t mind showing it to you. Our discussion of the novel you finished turned into a silent discussion of our bodies that traveled on deep into the night. When I woke up the next morning, you were gone. v. I didn’t see you after that night, even when I inconspicuously walked by the bookstore and the café. There were a few times when I walked in and sat down at the table where you had told me that your biggest fear was losing the necklace your deceased mother had left behind. I drank a cup of coffee and couldn’t tell if I had lost you or if you had left me behind. vi. We met again and you didn’t remember me.
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6
spinning away from my own reality an out of body experience I am trapped in skin slamming against the walls I suffocate in layers of flesh gnashing, bone against bone crumbling to dust. hair falls down the drain as my tears find themselves inconspicuously riding among the streams of heat. I slide down the cold plastic a scolding reminder of reality grounding myself watching the steam create drops a mind eager to escape confines
0
Oct 25, 2018
Oct 25, 2018 at 2:59 PM UTC
awknight
man creates dew, not god
spinning away from my own reality an out of body experience I am trapped in skin slamming against the walls I suffocate in layers of flesh gnashing, bone against bone crumbling to dust. hair falls down the drain as my tears find themselves inconspicuously riding among the streams of heat. I slide down the cold plastic a scolding reminder of reality grounding myself watching the steam create drops a mind eager to escape confines
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16
This crazy conundrum has been conspicuously contrived quite cordially. Of course, one could concede this cordially contrived conundrum could carelessly conflate the countless quandaries causing quintessential quantities to question the conspicuously questionable conspiracy. Conversely, carelessly questioning conspicuously contrived conspiracies as cordially quantitative quandaries could create considerably confusing claims countering the critically acclaimed crazy conundrum so callously clarified as to continue to count as cordial. Consequently, with careless acquiescence, I must confess that the conceptually contrived conspiracy, so inconspicuously inconsistent, conflated considerably contrary quandaries quite questionably and continues to confuse the crazy quite cordially. To conclude, the crazed conspicuous conundrum confuses the cordially questionable quantities of conceptually countless claims clearly clarified as conflated quandaries continuously contradicting a considerable count of conspiracies. 11/2/16 11:59 p
0
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 11:21 PM UTC
JBMoore
Crazy Conundrums
This crazy conundrum has been conspicuously contrived quite cordially. Of course, one could concede this cordially contrived conundrum could carelessly conflate the countless quandaries causing quintessential quantities to question the conspicuously questionable conspiracy. Conversely, carelessly questioning conspicuously contrived conspiracies as cordially quantitative quandaries could create considerably confusing claims countering the critically acclaimed crazy conundrum so callously clarified as to continue to count as cordial. Consequently, with careless acquiescence, I must confess that the conceptually contrived conspiracy, so inconspicuously inconsistent, conflated considerably contrary quandaries quite questionably and continues to confuse the crazy quite cordially. To conclude, the crazed conspicuous conundrum confuses the cordially questionable quantities of conceptually countless claims clearly clarified as conflated quandaries continuously contradicting a considerable count of conspiracies. 11/2/16 11:59 p
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2
The shape of her necklace Is mirrored in the clouds, A moon like her smile. She looks at his face Glowing in the sun, Then turns to veil her tears. As she inconspicuously wipes her tears, Her necklace Gleams in the sun Though the clouds Partially shadow her face Allowing her to drop the smile He looks at her smile But misses the tears, Seeing her face Framed by the necklace, Ignoring the clouds For the sun. He lifts his face to the sun Baring his smile To the clouds, Comprehending no tears, No meaning to the necklace, Seeing only a beautiful face On her face She feels the sun And reaches up to touch the necklace. His presence creates a real smile Which conceals the tears, But not the brooding clouds. The laden clouds Drop their burden to her face Combining their load with her tears. Chasing the healing spray, the sun Reappears to coax back the smile And dry the dripping necklace One day he’ll see the tears falling from the sun, The clouds hiding in the face, And the importance of a smiling necklace.
0
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 8:10 PM UTC
kayla-kaml
Sestina
The shape of her necklace Is mirrored in the clouds, A moon like her smile. She looks at his face Glowing in the sun, Then turns to veil her tears. As she inconspicuously wipes her tears, Her necklace Gleams in the sun Though the clouds Partially shadow her face Allowing her to drop the smile He looks at her smile But misses the tears, Seeing her face Framed by the necklace, Ignoring the clouds For the sun. He lifts his face to the sun Baring his smile To the clouds, Comprehending no tears, No meaning to the necklace, Seeing only a beautiful face On her face She feels the sun And reaches up to touch the necklace. His presence creates a real smile Which conceals the tears, But not the brooding clouds. The laden clouds Drop their burden to her face Combining their load with her tears. Chasing the healing spray, the sun Reappears to coax back the smile And dry the dripping necklace One day he’ll see the tears falling from the sun, The clouds hiding in the face, And the importance of a smiling necklace.
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39
I had a dream of you But somehow it was mixed with reality You hated me because you loved me still And yet you found someone to replace me I was envious of her, jealous that you chose her Even though I had someone else too She was the woman, married to Hector Whose sister you slept with when I loved you We exchanged our daughter in a parking lot You made no effort to hide her Foreign emotions overwhelmed me Settled resentment returned Her name I always remember from high school She is Blanca, still technically Mrs. Blanca Garcia Somehow you both resemble the devil To remind me of your affair with Hector's sister, Ophelia ¡Diablo vete! You're a past memory, long forgotten You come in the night, inconspicuously Finding any light left to darken.
0
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 8:40 AM UTC
paperclippoems
Diablo
I had a dream of you But somehow it was mixed with reality You hated me because you loved me still And yet you found someone to replace me I was envious of her, jealous that you chose her Even though I had someone else too She was the woman, married to Hector Whose sister you slept with when I loved you We exchanged our daughter in a parking lot You made no effort to hide her Foreign emotions overwhelmed me Settled resentment returned Her name I always remember from high school She is Blanca, still technically Mrs. Blanca Garcia Somehow you both resemble the devil To remind me of your affair with Hector's sister, Ophelia ¡Diablo vete! You're a past memory, long forgotten You come in the night, inconspicuously Finding any light left to darken.
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20
A moment recurring does wash away like a river rock The smooth surface of an eroded stone is just as hard as the abraded silence that  rivers through  loneliness Sometimes terrified of this foolish blue moon heart; of its constant hunger for  whatever it is it wants; the way it stops   and starts ,.. like a revenant whisper fanning smoldering embers of  fallen  stars buried deeply in  the  catacombs of an unrequited heart out  of  reach, just a step away, but close enough to touch the crumbs of some other's love        bestrewn sanguinely ― marking the footprints calling down an unshorn pathway never  found At a deserted crossroads, many a moon tiptoe past inconspicuously; unnoticed fallen stars stagnate lightless in a flash of darkness, moving back in time just  standing  still harlon rivers ... March 2018
0
Mar 30, 2018
Mar 30, 2018 at 12:50 PM UTC
harlon-rivers
Silence rivers through it ...
A moment recurring does wash away like a river rock The smooth surface of an eroded stone is just as hard as the abraded silence that  rivers through  loneliness Sometimes terrified of this foolish blue moon heart; of its constant hunger for  whatever it is it wants; the way it stops   and starts ,.. like a revenant whisper fanning smoldering embers of  fallen  stars buried deeply in  the  catacombs of an unrequited heart out  of  reach, just a step away, but close enough to touch the crumbs of some other's love        bestrewn sanguinely ― marking the footprints calling down an unshorn pathway never  found At a deserted crossroads, many a moon tiptoe past inconspicuously; unnoticed fallen stars stagnate lightless in a flash of darkness, moving back in time just  standing  still harlon rivers ... March 2018
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45
I am a summer child, eyes blazing like the sun when it’s closest to the earth. My heart is the meaning of love stimulated by its left ventricle. The ocean is my home. I dwell in the tides of a life known and unknown to humanity. I am God’s child. With gentle hands he molded me, the summer child. Summer probed me, until she found me in my mother’s womb. And then she met me late July, when I dangled free from her legs. Here I am a bundle of glee. I love the rain in the winter and butterflies that kiss the leaves of trees. I climb mountains that finger the sky. I fall in love at every chance, ravenous for its fruits. I yearn to savor its sweet juices that flow from starved lips. I hate the sun. Why can’t I be the one to give the sky a warm embrace? Why can't I give the ocean a blue blanket? Oh, how wonderful it must be to give the world some light. I say Yes to world peace. We will never have peace, so just give me a piece of sunshine. I love the color blue. It reminds me of the sky that turns her nose up at the world below her. I am peace, joy and the love that touches ones heart. I am the sun, the ocean, the sky and the butterfly that rest inconspicuously on your shoulder. This is who I am!
0
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 8:46 AM UTC
keva-minus-1
This Is Who I Am
I am a summer child, eyes blazing like the sun when it’s closest to the earth. My heart is the meaning of love stimulated by its left ventricle. The ocean is my home. I dwell in the tides of a life known and unknown to humanity. I am God’s child. With gentle hands he molded me, the summer child. Summer probed me, until she found me in my mother’s womb. And then she met me late July, when I dangled free from her legs. Here I am a bundle of glee. I love the rain in the winter and butterflies that kiss the leaves of trees. I climb mountains that finger the sky. I fall in love at every chance, ravenous for its fruits. I yearn to savor its sweet juices that flow from starved lips. I hate the sun. Why can’t I be the one to give the sky a warm embrace? Why can't I give the ocean a blue blanket? Oh, how wonderful it must be to give the world some light. I say Yes to world peace. We will never have peace, so just give me a piece of sunshine. I love the color blue. It reminds me of the sky that turns her nose up at the world below her. I am peace, joy and the love that touches ones heart. I am the sun, the ocean, the sky and the butterfly that rest inconspicuously on your shoulder. This is who I am!
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20
The best part of the school year was sitting behind Sarah. She wrote with the best handwriting, especially as my eyes copied her test. I would rove with my eyes, inconspicuously, at her paper. She was my conspirator with nice big round circles around the letters. It was a rush. It was like fishing up a river and all the fish jumping in the basket. For when she caught a king salmon, I caught one, too. In time I had a crush on her. Not because of fish and compassion. For she had such mystery behind those chocolates that melted my insides, and she was very tall like me. Plus she had heart, especially if I needed paper and pen, which was often. There were times she would watch me put my homework in my back pocket and hold a grin. I like that. Did I say she was cute? A few times we'd talk after class, and like a landed fish, I was biting on her hook. One day the rapids turned and I gathered all my pent up courage and asked her to the bunny hop. It would be fun, I pleaded. She looked back into my peering eyes, her lips a singing. Those black bears on the river standing watch, letting out a huge roar. Logan Robertson 3/10/2019
0
Mar 10, 2019
Mar 10, 2019 at 5:36 PM UTC
logan-robertson
School Time Crush
The best part of the school year was sitting behind Sarah. She wrote with the best handwriting, especially as my eyes copied her test. I would rove with my eyes, inconspicuously, at her paper. She was my conspirator with nice big round circles around the letters. It was a rush. It was like fishing up a river and all the fish jumping in the basket. For when she caught a king salmon, I caught one, too. In time I had a crush on her. Not because of fish and compassion. For she had such mystery behind those chocolates that melted my insides, and she was very tall like me. Plus she had heart, especially if I needed paper and pen, which was often. There were times she would watch me put my homework in my back pocket and hold a grin. I like that. Did I say she was cute? A few times we'd talk after class, and like a landed fish, I was biting on her hook. One day the rapids turned and I gathered all my pent up courage and asked her to the bunny hop. It would be fun, I pleaded. She looked back into my peering eyes, her lips a singing. Those black bears on the river standing watch, letting out a huge roar. Logan Robertson 3/10/2019
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3
We are sitting side-by-side not saying anything just sitting the silence speaks our words for us you had asked a question before Where does all the ****** tension go when you let it out? the silence tells you this answer it sits and sits until a match is lit like fire to gas it's all ignited as one when our guard is down inconspicuously enough every feeling every thought is spoken it's all let out at once no one can stop it now where does it go? is chases back inside us it takes over our bodies it controls our actions we go crazy needing to let out that tension one way or another how to how to? let it consume us both take over us both we will have no memory of what happened only that we wanted it to happen with swollen lips and misty love-struck eyes yet nothing is sore...so you tell me where did all that tension go?
0
Feb 6, 2012
Feb 6, 2012 at 6:44 PM UTC
selena-naomi
Where did all the Tension go?
We are sitting side-by-side not saying anything just sitting the silence speaks our words for us you had asked a question before Where does all the ****** tension go when you let it out? the silence tells you this answer it sits and sits until a match is lit like fire to gas it's all ignited as one when our guard is down inconspicuously enough every feeling every thought is spoken it's all let out at once no one can stop it now where does it go? is chases back inside us it takes over our bodies it controls our actions we go crazy needing to let out that tension one way or another how to how to? let it consume us both take over us both we will have no memory of what happened only that we wanted it to happen with swollen lips and misty love-struck eyes yet nothing is sore...so you tell me where did all that tension go?
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36
of late the word sources has featured in an American President's lexicon and on the subject of sources he does like to ramble on and on and on .... who are the sources the unnamed gang what is the purpose in the sources wretched clang-a-lang when will the sources show the song sheet which they sang where do these sources all inconspicuously hang why oh why are they sources without any real twang and how can we believe sources who've become estranged from a reliable fang
0
Feb 26, 2017
Feb 26, 2017 at 4:54 PM UTC
ElizabethSquires
Sources: Who, What, When, Where, Why and How?
of late the word sources has featured in an American President's lexicon and on the subject of sources he does like to ramble on and on and on .... who are the sources the unnamed gang what is the purpose in the sources wretched clang-a-lang when will the sources show the song sheet which they sang where do these sources all inconspicuously hang why oh why are they sources without any real twang and how can we believe sources who've become estranged from a reliable fang
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20
When the air around us becomes still, I begin the hunt for guarantees. Perhaps they are hiding, terrified, within the glimmer of promise that always seems to catch me moments before the fall. Maybe they are written somewhere inconspicuously, in the spaces between the fingers that hold me together better than gravity ever did. Savor this, I repeat to myself, a broken record that only remembers how to play the same tune over and over, over and over; but for some reason, I keep it running. Savor this. Savor this. Savor this. But when your lips greet the apples of my cheeks with a fire that cannot be extinguished, time is all that crosses my mind. You whisper the volumes of reasons why you love me and I am only thinking of the moment you will tire of it. You shelter my joy in a canopy of trust, but I am far too busy counting seconds until the minute I become just another pretty story for you to tell when I have been set aside to collect dust. I have discovered art in the curvature of your temples and the way you shook my father's hand with honor that night you kissed me under the illuminated blanket of God's great masterpiece. I have discovered it in the way you hold me close on the days I feel light years away from myself, the days when my body feels more like an abandoned orphanage than something that is meant to be alive. You promise me forevers decorated in contentment and I am waiting for the day you regret it. We are youthful and electrified, juggling candles at the tips of our fingertips and expecting not to burn. I tell you that I want a yellow house with light blue shutters and a swing on our porch that rocks gently in the breezes of April. I tell you that I have visions of us warming our feet by the fireplace in December snowfall, consuming peace within the melodious laughter of the children we will have. I tell you that when it storms, we will build forts out of quilts and hold competitions of brightness between the lightning and the glow of our own love. I almost tell you that I need this, but I only find fear in my disappointment when I realize that there are no guarantees, and until tomorrow comes, we are holding our breath in limbo. Instead, I tell you that I love you presently, and while we slow dance in our backyard a thousand eternities away, I am losing track of days spent grieving a dream that has not yet, or never will, come true.
0
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 10:47 PM UTC
mooopsy
Foreshadow
When the air around us becomes still, I begin the hunt for guarantees. Perhaps they are hiding, terrified, within the glimmer of promise that always seems to catch me moments before the fall. Maybe they are written somewhere inconspicuously, in the spaces between the fingers that hold me together better than gravity ever did. Savor this, I repeat to myself, a broken record that only remembers how to play the same tune over and over, over and over; but for some reason, I keep it running. Savor this. Savor this. Savor this. But when your lips greet the apples of my cheeks with a fire that cannot be extinguished, time is all that crosses my mind. You whisper the volumes of reasons why you love me and I am only thinking of the moment you will tire of it. You shelter my joy in a canopy of trust, but I am far too busy counting seconds until the minute I become just another pretty story for you to tell when I have been set aside to collect dust. I have discovered art in the curvature of your temples and the way you shook my father's hand with honor that night you kissed me under the illuminated blanket of God's great masterpiece. I have discovered it in the way you hold me close on the days I feel light years away from myself, the days when my body feels more like an abandoned orphanage than something that is meant to be alive. You promise me forevers decorated in contentment and I am waiting for the day you regret it. We are youthful and electrified, juggling candles at the tips of our fingertips and expecting not to burn. I tell you that I want a yellow house with light blue shutters and a swing on our porch that rocks gently in the breezes of April. I tell you that I have visions of us warming our feet by the fireplace in December snowfall, consuming peace within the melodious laughter of the children we will have. I tell you that when it storms, we will build forts out of quilts and hold competitions of brightness between the lightning and the glow of our own love. I almost tell you that I need this, but I only find fear in my disappointment when I realize that there are no guarantees, and until tomorrow comes, we are holding our breath in limbo. Instead, I tell you that I love you presently, and while we slow dance in our backyard a thousand eternities away, I am losing track of days spent grieving a dream that has not yet, or never will, come true.
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8
[Author's Note: These are song lyrics.] When I'm pining for the power to yield Breaking all the branches I seize Acres for the taking in a forest of mistakes I can't see for the trees I level With the shallow playing field Dreaming up a blueprint to floor you Delicately drafting Inconspicuously crafting The grand facade before you Where my art lies The best is underwhelming When it comes to helping How I promised I woul... So I'm peeking past the pitch of my prime Modeling the modern stage Perforating patience with a paradox In place of where the sophist meets the sage I level With the hallowed bottom line Hopeful like the point of a nail Architecture fractures In apocalyptic rapture Where false frameworks prevail There my heart lies The beat is overwhelming When it comes to helping How I swore I could I guess I'm knocking on wood Knock knock knocking on wood Excess Will not lead to progress Will not let me access What I learned I should Rid me of Termites Crawling into airtight Trademarks of my disguise Make me decide I'm good When I'm just knocking on wood Knock knock knocking on wood Knock knock knocking on wood © Michal Czechak 2016
0
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 1:56 PM UTC
michal-czechak
the carpenter
[Author's Note: These are song lyrics.] When I'm pining for the power to yield Breaking all the branches I seize Acres for the taking in a forest of mistakes I can't see for the trees I level With the shallow playing field Dreaming up a blueprint to floor you Delicately drafting Inconspicuously crafting The grand facade before you Where my art lies The best is underwhelming When it comes to helping How I promised I woul... So I'm peeking past the pitch of my prime Modeling the modern stage Perforating patience with a paradox In place of where the sophist meets the sage I level With the hallowed bottom line Hopeful like the point of a nail Architecture fractures In apocalyptic rapture Where false frameworks prevail There my heart lies The beat is overwhelming When it comes to helping How I swore I could I guess I'm knocking on wood Knock knock knocking on wood Excess Will not lead to progress Will not let me access What I learned I should Rid me of Termites Crawling into airtight Trademarks of my disguise Make me decide I'm good When I'm just knocking on wood Knock knock knocking on wood Knock knock knocking on wood © Michal Czechak 2016
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44
a glass tripod menagerie set inconspicuously against the room's only blue wall: i reached out to touch the carnival mirror in the east, splintering its unbaked ceramic surface, raining shards of pseudo-sunlight across my back, in my eyes, in my side betwixt my ribs; (scene shift) lying among the poppies of my younger years, collecting their dew; i was fed pungent sage cakes baked by a strange man named Mordecai, who rants about gardening techniques, espousing the spiritual value of tearing the treacherous heart out while it still beats, as he prepares more cakes for the remaining guests; (scene shift) in the bleachers, watching old friends watch a beautiful female athlete play raquetball with my treacherous rubber heart, silently glad that at least she had not eaten my oatmeal or broken my fingers off with a car door; the roar of the cheering crowd made my ears ring out loud vertigo gripping hollow chest aching AWAKE! bolted upright, clawing in search of the wound, gaspingfranticdiscombobulatedandsuddenly... calm... the memory of my eaten heart, and the look in your eyes when you did it.
0
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 7:18 PM UTC
derek-yohn
(dream(s))
a glass tripod menagerie set inconspicuously against the room's only blue wall: i reached out to touch the carnival mirror in the east, splintering its unbaked ceramic surface, raining shards of pseudo-sunlight across my back, in my eyes, in my side betwixt my ribs; (scene shift) lying among the poppies of my younger years, collecting their dew; i was fed pungent sage cakes baked by a strange man named Mordecai, who rants about gardening techniques, espousing the spiritual value of tearing the treacherous heart out while it still beats, as he prepares more cakes for the remaining guests; (scene shift) in the bleachers, watching old friends watch a beautiful female athlete play raquetball with my treacherous rubber heart, silently glad that at least she had not eaten my oatmeal or broken my fingers off with a car door; the roar of the cheering crowd made my ears ring out loud vertigo gripping hollow chest aching AWAKE! bolted upright, clawing in search of the wound, gaspingfranticdiscombobulatedandsuddenly... calm... the memory of my eaten heart, and the look in your eyes when you did it.
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37
Quietly, quickly, inconspicuously, daringly, cautiously, knowingly, doubtingly, forcefully, confusedly, consciously, uncontrollably, thoughtfully, dumbly, numerously, abusively, blatantly, spontaneously, thinking of the blank, black, silence that engulfs my being every nocturnal moment I remain frozen in the banks of reality waiting for the hypothetical trigger of the hypothetical gun to be ripped behind its epicenter to allow me the will to be woken from a death that had been disrupted by a millimeter of flame from a centimeter of a stars everlasting life within a never lasting cycle of momentary aliveness in a stillness that ceases to be as such.
0
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 1:02 AM UTC
undetermined
The Silence is Optional
Quietly, quickly, inconspicuously, daringly, cautiously, knowingly, doubtingly, forcefully, confusedly, consciously, uncontrollably, thoughtfully, dumbly, numerously, abusively, blatantly, spontaneously, thinking of the blank, black, silence that engulfs my being every nocturnal moment I remain frozen in the banks of reality waiting for the hypothetical trigger of the hypothetical gun to be ripped behind its epicenter to allow me the will to be woken from a death that had been disrupted by a millimeter of flame from a centimeter of a stars everlasting life within a never lasting cycle of momentary aliveness in a stillness that ceases to be as such.
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1
Its unbelievably unsettling to try and digest Every word from your mouth that comes straight from your chest, Your heart on your sleeve, while mine tries to take a breath. If you could see past the pretty things that drew you near, Our flawless connection that preceded your dismissal of fear. If you could see the ugly parts I keep so inconspicuously stored, Would you still think the world? Could I still be adored in your optics, would I still hold some sort of light? I’m not over thinking this, right? I mean, with an exterior this thick it conceals my inner light I’m essentially a walking disease with a mind of its own, I’m lethal to you, I should let you go But you’ve ignited a war between my head and my heart And I haven’t known who to side with from the start. I just need you to understand this terrible nightmare I fear Don’t take this the wrong way, I’ll try and make myself clear, I won't forgive myself if you end up getting ****** down here. But I can tell you this much without a shadow of doubt You’re the only human with potential to help pull me out And I hope the day you finally decipher exactly what I’m about You’ll be able to keep your eye on that dull light beam Shining through the cracks of my shell to remind you of what’s underneath
0
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 4:27 AM UTC
wolfbiter
run.
Its unbelievably unsettling to try and digest Every word from your mouth that comes straight from your chest, Your heart on your sleeve, while mine tries to take a breath. If you could see past the pretty things that drew you near, Our flawless connection that preceded your dismissal of fear. If you could see the ugly parts I keep so inconspicuously stored, Would you still think the world? Could I still be adored in your optics, would I still hold some sort of light? I’m not over thinking this, right? I mean, with an exterior this thick it conceals my inner light I’m essentially a walking disease with a mind of its own, I’m lethal to you, I should let you go But you’ve ignited a war between my head and my heart And I haven’t known who to side with from the start. I just need you to understand this terrible nightmare I fear Don’t take this the wrong way, I’ll try and make myself clear, I won't forgive myself if you end up getting ****** down here. But I can tell you this much without a shadow of doubt You’re the only human with potential to help pull me out And I hope the day you finally decipher exactly what I’m about You’ll be able to keep your eye on that dull light beam Shining through the cracks of my shell to remind you of what’s underneath
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22
They dwell somewhere underneath, hidden, as they patiently tread, in measured crawls...or flights, when starting to work. i've seen them before in their other journeys, these often despised creators of hardened, paths...straight, sometimes crooked lines inconspicuously appearing on ashen, concrete and creviced walls, especially on wooden furniture and on live heartwood trees. they've been working continuously for months now....these reddish lines, rising from the huge base of the Narra tree, are tendril-like tunnels...spreading wider for all their purposes. yet...these silent destroyers, could not even penetrate the tree, all they could do was move upwards, and patch the trunk with their muddy creations to make things worse, ants from a nearby towering  tree, crossed over their tunnels and ate them alive. the impenetrable Narra tree, stands unaffected by its "invaders"...swelling even more with golden yellow flowers falling on our heads, falling on the ground. Sally Copyright April 29, 2017 Rosalia Rosario A. Bay
0
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 3:53 AM UTC
sally-a-bayan
Silent Destroyers
They dwell somewhere underneath, hidden, as they patiently tread, in measured crawls...or flights, when starting to work. i've seen them before in their other journeys, these often despised creators of hardened, paths...straight, sometimes crooked lines inconspicuously appearing on ashen, concrete and creviced walls, especially on wooden furniture and on live heartwood trees. they've been working continuously for months now....these reddish lines, rising from the huge base of the Narra tree, are tendril-like tunnels...spreading wider for all their purposes. yet...these silent destroyers, could not even penetrate the tree, all they could do was move upwards, and patch the trunk with their muddy creations to make things worse, ants from a nearby towering  tree, crossed over their tunnels and ate them alive. the impenetrable Narra tree, stands unaffected by its "invaders"...swelling even more with golden yellow flowers falling on our heads, falling on the ground. Sally Copyright April 29, 2017 Rosalia Rosario A. Bay
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32
Her sweetness-laden face, beckoned with a grace, A wishful ray of hopes, inconspicuously morose. He read it with an ease, The Pinings cached in crease, Swaying like a tremor, Agog for a breather. Whilst unfurling the crease, He feared his irrational leash, Careened before her eyes, And pulled his hands back inside. He thought he had better, Leave intact the wrapper, For a sudden quietude hurts more, Than a phlegmatic uproar.
0
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 10:56 AM UTC
akshay-dashore
Unrequited pinnings
Her sweetness-laden face, beckoned with a grace, A wishful ray of hopes, inconspicuously morose. He read it with an ease, The Pinings cached in crease, Swaying like a tremor, Agog for a breather. Whilst unfurling the crease, He feared his irrational leash, Careened before her eyes, And pulled his hands back inside. He thought he had better, Leave intact the wrapper, For a sudden quietude hurts more, Than a phlegmatic uproar.
Continue reading...
16