"inhabits" poems
she hates me.
she doesn't know me.
she took him away.
her eyes are brown but they're tinted green with the scales of the monster that lurks beneath.
her fingernails are short but they grow sharp into claws and take him away from me because of the green monster that lurks in her fingertips.
her words are sweet but they cut me with the teeth of the green scaled monster that inhabits her tongue.
and he lets her.
and he lets her.
and he lets her.
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 1:09 AM UTC
raw ******* thumbs drawing open the canvas of cavities
hot stink, tangles of pink wrinkles, ground turkey and beef
pulse of the earth in the groan of the springs as the sequence of spirits inhabits a lopsided carpet of blood, cardiovascular, creation, crawling
pineapple sweat, ******* neck licking saliva stains, flesh slapping, teeth jousting, chins grinding
explosions, eruptions, screaming, biting, clutching the rim, apocalypse, APOCALYPSE, the guilty apocalypse
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 12:09 AM UTC
*She dances, possessed by the haughtiness
That inhabits the children of pureness.
She spreads her locks over her heart,
Eglantine and amber, equal in parts.
She cries for herself, in a cruel ******
Her tears, flowing daggers in her soul of wax.
What are these insolent games she plays?
Teaching her shadows irreverent ways
And nurturing a hectic stillness.
What voices haunt her murmured boldness?
Her lullaby, pillowed by destruction
Hummed solely out of her own compassion.
She waves to her cousins, the silver lights,
Painters of the robe of the summer nights.
She burns ,as them, freckling the darkness
With a light, a fragrance, and a caress.
She is passion, a witness, a deity
Existing, not for light, but for beauty.*
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 12:51 PM UTC
By the earth and it's wonderful, wide and unique expanse
A mother to what is living on it and inside of it, may it be small
or great in their posture given to them.
Indeed this place inhabits many creatures, faces and races.
Each striving for their own path, of staying alive.
The soft soil of the Earth, a comfortable living and breathing
ground to walk on, proud and all connected, only to be divided
By the sea which covers most of this planet, comparable to a blanket
From which we gain food and drink, in a clear registered cycle.
Of course this place too holds it's dangers, such as a quake could
end it all in a brutal roughless manner and tear it from the ground
we build our houses on.
Or be it an eruption which casts a rain of ash and embers, suffocating
the sky above, the ceiling which was meant to protect is our very end.
A mighty wave, which sweeps over the cities, drowning them in
it's lethal, cold and brutal, moist and salty embrace.
It is not healthy to be in such a negative spectra of thinking however
For this place holds, more transient, living, artistic beauty than I
could simply express or convey in words.
~ Umi
Feb 5, 2018
Feb 5, 2018 at 3:10 PM UTC
somebody knew Lincoln somebody Xerxes
this man:a narrow thudding timeshaped face
plus innocuous winking hands, carefully
inhabits number 1 on something street
Spring comes
the lean and definite houses
are troubled. A sharp blue day
fills with peacefully leaping air
the minute mind of the world.
The lean and
definite houses are
troubled.in the sunset their chimneys converse
angrily,their
roofs are nervous with the soft furious
light,and while fire-escapes and
roofs and chimneys and while roofs and fire-escapes and
chimeys and while chimneys and fire-escapes
and roofs are talking rapidly all together there happens
Something,and They
cease(and
one by one are turned suddenly and softly
into irresponsible toys.)
when this man with
the brittle legs winces
swiftly out of number 1 someThing
street and trickles carefully into the park
sits
Down. pigeons circle
around and around and around the
irresponsible toys
circle wildly in the slow-ly-in creasing fragility
—. Dogs
bark
children
play
-ing
Are
in the beautiful nonsense of twilight
and somebody Napoleon
6.4k
One step forward, three steps back.
The queue shuffles,
visible breath in the winter blue.
The vendor vends,
fingerless gloves clamp the steaming mug.
Grunts and groans alike,
the warmth fills the withered corpses pale.
A gaze is cast,
into the misty nothing that inhabits the park.
A twitter is heard amongst the frosty masts.
Eyes meet with a rufescent-chested bird.
These same eyes are then met with salt,
a sorrow, a pang of jealousy.
A sheer longing for that same freedom.
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 1:12 PM UTC
from dirt I come
whipped and cracked from the sun
rain flows and heals my wounds
when my fruit grows
I'll forget my troubles soon
still I love, still I rise,
giving blessings
to the the grass
I dry my own tears
and hide in my own fears.
nature is my mother
the moon is my brother
my father inhabits the sky
and he takes pleasure
in his little flower
that is me...
a brown rosebud
a baby from nothing
more than mud.
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 11:56 AM UTC
"strange"
is declared
of person
who rationalizes
that matter if
non-human
non-animal
non-living
merits recognition
as being good
on it's own
but really
are we
the ultimate stewards
of absolute purpose?
what confirms our judgement
in deeming what deserves
to exist for it's own
and what belongs
to our means
and ours alone?
is it so fantastic
to suggest
that by some means of
indefiniteness
of intangible
comprehension
all matter
is fundamentally intertwined
in the sense
everything is stardust
created by
the universe's omnipotent hand?
don't you
ever get the feeling
inside of your conscious
too?
doesn't your awareness
ever whisper
as a sentience
you have an obligation
from some unspoken contract
signed before birth
to uphold the integrity
of everything
that inhabits this earth
whether or not
it thinks in the way you do?
for what purpose
we exist assembled into
abrupt profound togetherness
remains undecided
earth's fabrications
will survive
harmoniously
but
will you
do the same?
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 1:55 PM UTC
(Ezekiel, xlviii.35)
As birds their infant brood protect,
And spread their wings to shelter them,
Thus saith the Lord to His elect,
"So will I guard Jerusalem."
And what then is Jerusalem,
This darling object of His cares?
Where is its worth in God's esteem?
Who built it? who inhabits there?
Jehovah founded it in blood,
The blood of His incarnate Son;
There dwell the saints, once foes to God
The sinners whom He calls His own.
There, though besieged on every side,
Yet much beloved and guarded well,
From age to age they have defied
The utmost force of earth and hell.
Let earth repent, and hell despair,
This city has a sure defence;
Her name is call'd, "The Lord is there,"
And who has power to drive him hence?
2.6k
i pick, wash, slice
the orange and
lift a slice towards
my
lips
chewing on the
flesh that is sweet
with great ambition
and pulp, taking
my mind to
hot summer
days
then my teeth
sinks into the
harsh reality
that inhabits
the
rind
fibrous strands hang in my teeth-
so annoying-
so frustrating-
so bitter-
slipping down to my innards
down
down
down
my fingers are together
sticking
but i won't be
disheartened
for i hold the
slice and squeeze
and
after
a
time
my tongue is
kissed by
the last of juice
drops
the best of juice
the of knowledge that I ingest with
drops
age
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 2:52 PM UTC
On a slow train
out of the Savannahs sudden exile,
the sunlight swallows me,
a calligraphy of days, hours, minuets, now
inscribed on my limbs,
syntax gives over to a dry, dry sound,
and parched, the aftertaste of sloe gin
inhabits my ribs, the lay of bones,
a labyrinth of absence,
and this velvet ache
at my wrists, a pure burning,
burning the memory red,
words swell and crumble with a kiss,
what absence, Soul of Winter,
what absence is this, spreading
over roadmaps, soliloquies, nights
stretch into mornings, always mornings,
as my fingertips pull daylight from an orange
in dream alphabets that soon dwindle
to vowels, the word, harbour, bends
the old alder beyond what it can bear,
so many ways, you say, to live like a prisoner,
at home, the rooms
are all windswept, reckless
chairs overturned , abandoned
in this, the evenings parable,
love is no more
than a syllable in a bottle
of shattered blue glass,
a poem written on the underside of a childs teacup,
their jump ropes curl like adders
at our feet, the thread
from where I dangle
in doorways and twilight,
as I bide time, perilous
over train tracks, your fingers
trace tally marks along my vertebrae,
the hollows darkening in a pathos
of blue rheumatism,
and in the carnivorous tremor
of my body breaking
like the spine of a book,
the paper gone pink at the edges,
like azaleas and bruises,
erosion, after all is the altar of the body,
and there are scars beneath my temple,
and this ache, still, in my wrists,
unbearable when it rains,
ghosts inhabit my lungs,
wrung from the silence of shut windows,
eternal clotheslines and linen
span for miles across the Savannah,
and the early frost is at last,
calling me home....
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 5:11 PM UTC
Dancing raindrops carried on the wind.
In plies and pirouettes they danced.
Romancing the winter rain and biting wind.
Two of a violent kind...unkind.
Bouncing on a bungee rope unseen by human eye.
Exploding on the slabs of pave.
One wet freezing rave.
Bungee on the whirling winds.
Crystals crying icy raindrops liken to fiery hell they do descend.
Lashing cold legs with scars of cold.
Marking their mesmerizing chill.
The land no-one inhabits by choice.
Only the wind has wailing voice.
That bitter wind.
So full of awesome force!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 2:19 PM UTC
We live in a society full of insecurity
Red lips
Dark eyes
Fake tan.
Forced smiles
Closed eyes
Clenched fists,
Show no weakness
Show no mercy
Small hands on pale stomachs
Eyes constantly searching for ways to rid that extra pound
That extra curve
**** in
Deep breath
Back straight
Every calorie counts.
Is this really the world that we live in?
Is this the life that we wish to lead?
Our lives are no longer determined by the way that we think
They are not dedicated to achieving our dreams
To pursuing our goals
No
The way that we live is based upon the way that we look
And thus, the way that we are treated
We are always going to compare ourselves to another
That is a given
If we don't look good then we aren't happy
Right?
But for others to determine the fates of ourselves depending strictly upon a template of "perfection"?
Perfection is a disease
The very aspect of it plagues your mind
Inhabits your soul
And brings upon an individual an idea of something to achieve
That is nearly impossible to achieve
It is a roller coaster that only goes down
A concoction that only leads to inevitable heartache and pain
A poison that has no known cure
And it hurts
Perfection hurts.
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 11:21 PM UTC
Who is Silvia? What is she?
That all our swains commend her?
Holy, fair, and wise is she;
The heaven such grace did lend her,
That she might admirèd be.
Is she kind as she is fair?
For beauty lives with kindness:
Love doth to her eyes repair,
To help him of his blindness;
And, being help’d, inhabits there.
Then to Silvia let us sing,
That Silvia is excelling;
She excels each mortal thing
Upon the dull earth dwelling:
To her let us garlands bring.
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Eyes popping
in distant stares
I wonder if a soul inhabits the pair
red hair, bombs,guns
and drugged?
The second killer nowhere to be found
but was seen yet disreguarded and most unaware
of the eye witness reporting
Why cover the details?
Something fishy lingers in the air
Something remains unshared
Motives so unclear
but I heard holmes had an obsession
with mind control
The neuroscience student
that spread so much pain and fear
conspiracy surrounds like a think cloud
like Sirhan Sirhan
The scenes shrouded in mystery
yet similiar
Ever heard of the illegal CIA human research program
Rockfeller Commission?
Did you know he had a Neuroscience University?
Fishy indeed
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 11:53 PM UTC
In this palace of madness reside creatures of fury,
of time, of earth, of light and dark.
A callous canvass upon which to paint such
murderous intent, spite and gleeful joy.
Malice hacks at the door.
Black blankets the beckoning mountain.
Maggots putrefy this palace of decay.
Trackless steps lead to the mountain,
worn away by thousands of pounding feet
over thousands of years.
All stepping into the casket of night.
All stepping into chasms of phantoms.
Enchantments abound this un-hallowed ground
memories, anxious to stay locked behind the door.
Madness clawing, devouring sanity step by step.
Turn back, for insanity inhabits this palace, and,
Here be dragons.
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 2:35 PM UTC
The first thing I remember is breathing under water.
And what do you remember, dear and distant friend?
Lifetimes, braided together like blessed challah bread,
are intertwined, one into the next, sometimes glimpsed.
Living so differently, in music, through earthquakes and
tidal waves, we visit from one time into another,
to learn, to see life through one heart, our one unbounded
mind, the one universal soul that inhabits us all.
I have heard it said that after our ten thousandth lifetime
we can go home to our limitless beginnings.
Are we ready, dear, and distant friend?
Are you? Am I?
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 1:26 PM UTC
2AM
I am assaulted with emotion at the notion of closing my eyes
my drunken blackouts are the only peace I seem to find deprived of my liquid therapy I sink into my thoughts
ignoring atrocious reality brings no solace to a villain caught
3AM
paralysed within myself calling out from my empty shell
a stranger inhabits my skeleton but I'm yet to hear alarm bells
my identity's gone missing but all the poles are poster-less
suffocating on small talk I'm lost in exquisite sadness
4AM
do my eyes of infinite tragedy hold the same tone of desperation?
dead detached peepers resemble marbles glossy from sedation
privately frantic for acknowledgment of my internal death
fearful you see my demise but see no value in my breath
5AM
mother dearest placed me on the curb for a foreigners collection unworthy of a garage sale I squat amongst the household rejections
amidst disheveled furniture a crusty mop makes my acquaintance
I suppose the oppression of my despair made it less contagious
6AM
whoever claimed sunrises bring hope never tried stimulants
the ***** smeared sky bears as much nausea as I implement
such is the tacky masochistic cycle of damnation
give me my slice of death and pray I don't awaken
i
grieve
my
whiskey
as
i
grieve
my humanity
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 1:48 PM UTC
I cling to him,
Mascara stains his shirt
Like ink blotches on a left wrist.
Oh, how deeply, deeply
Sweetly –
Completely I feel this pain
Burrowed in the most hidden corner of my soul
Patched like cancer on the walls of my lungs
And Oh, how deeply, deeply
Sweetly –
Complete and utterly
Did we weep and wail through the darkness of that night
Tears cried by dull-ember fireside
This hurts more than we ever thought it could
Crocodile eyes ooze wet and hot
Figures entangle themselves in desperation
Words are few yet heart-wrenching
The strongest among us are bulldozed into flat implacability
Sorrow inhabits the cracks in my soul
Like chalk smeared across concrete.
Weep dear children,
Not ready to grow up
Weep dear friends,
For the depth of your love
Weep dear graduates
When morning comes you’ll have to leave
Weep for this country, that stained you and changed you
Weep for the institution, that burned you and bettered you
Weep for the people, who loved and supported you
Weep for your childhood, that carried you from birth to here
Weep, sweet alumni for all that you’re losing
For all the departure
For all the uncertainty
For all the promises that will be broken
And friendships that will not be kept up
Weep over the map
And curse the dividing waters
Weep my beloveds,
Deny yourselves no tears
Weep deeply
Weep deeply
Weep sweetly
Weep completely
Weep utterly and totally and whole-heartedly
Weep because this matters more than anything ever has
Weep because this has been the most beautiful and devine gift
Weep because you’ve been pierced to the core,
Debilitated by the most far-reaching love imaginable
And weep because
The world is expansive,
The oceans are deep and the lands are wide
The people are numerous and the cultures are diverse
The opportunities are endless
The combinations are infinite
Your life is long
And your future is full of immense possibility
But you will never have this again,
So weep.
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 8:10 AM UTC
Having these thoughts
we do not stand by
They shoot into consciousness
and simply ride by
They have a life of their own
we are just an observing agent
Living the life that they form.
Oh, i wish we could hold on to each one
like a deck of cards
Sort through the old annoying ones
keep living with just the good and pleasant ones
We could play them with perfect control and authority
Make the best decisions -
Life would follow accordingly.
Sadly it's not at all that simple
as i’m sure we all know
If you think that it’s different
well, we can have a go
Though
It's true! We are more than passive pieces of debris
Even plankton make micro adjustments in the current it inhabits
Unfortunately, this does not necessarily mean there is meaning in the movements
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 5:40 AM UTC
Your kisses fall upon my lips like
Wind fluctuating against grass blades,
Changing in intensity as a response to the
Affected's desire to fade.
Firm when I want to cease life
And gentle like water when joy inhabits me,
Because you understand what exactly
It is that I need.
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 11:10 PM UTC
There is strength here.
Built in glaciers older than countries
Known only to cold seas
And the animals that thrive in the face of difficulty.
There is beauty here.
Reflected in water droplets that tear the light apart
We gaze upon the scattered remains and declare it a rainbow.
We're not wrong.
There is anger here.
You only have to watch the way the volcanoes erupt in fury
Or the water-bound tsunami who reaches for land but is banished to sea.
There is pain here.
Watch the way the Earth shudders, and the ground tries to hold itself together
And oil runs from water.
We call them immiscible.
There is violence here.
It inhabits the living and the still,
Tornadoes chase and throw and break
And guns scream
And the prey cry
And comrades become competitors
There is sorrow here.
You can hear it in the breaking of a voice from topic not age
And the way the rain cries down windows,
In the whimper of a sleeping child.
There is joy here.
You see it in the songs of whales and the chatter of dolphins
And the way the stars twinkle contentedly,
Find it in the breathy huff of a baby's first laugh.
Look for it in the secret smile that wasn't meant to be seen.
There is coldness here.
Not just the kind that makes exhibits of mammoths
But there is something in the look of a bigot,
The indifference of an eagle,
Something in the way ash falls slow and steady as it watches lava desolate a city.
There is life here.
In this world we do not limit living to survival
And we have a way of finding new ways to look at our world.
And though the mountain does not breathe it moves constantly.
Though leaves that left their trees are not green, they dance on the wind.
And even when we are gone we remain in memories and dreams
And artefacts, or speeches, or actions.
There are many problems here.
But we're trying to fix them.
This is a planet worth fixing.
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 1:46 PM UTC
I'm forever circling over the tree tops
I don't have to flap my wings, I just glide non stop
Just trying to find some place to land
For your clock was stoped, you've ran out of sand
Don't worry no pain I bring
You won't feel a thing
I will feast upon your rotting flesh
It is my very favorite dish
I will gobble it all down even the wiggling maggots
And whatever else there inhabits
I do my circling dance in the sky
Just to let others know that near by
Something must have died, and lays baking in the sun
And I will soon be having fun
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 5:17 PM UTC
My relation with her
inhabits a silent space,
you don't need to talk much
below the ocean's surface,
it's like a rest after your work is done
an earned breather after a long run.
Now it's holding hands and swimming together
having seen all the weather.
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 5:57 AM UTC
I would like to give you that air that inhabits you for just one moment.
I would like to take your hand, and have that certain touch that is sincerely marked.
I would like to be a luscious moment, even if it may slip right by.
I would like to be that fire, so that something beautiful can touch me.
I would like to slip into that moment, unnoticed.
I would like to be a part of that distant memory, that may be unnecessary.
I would like to be that unnoticed.
Sep 26, 2011
Sep 26, 2011 at 11:29 PM UTC