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"innocuous" poems
*i always imagine you so very graceful through the masochists ordeal a god form of supplication seeing your face in love fascinated by shimmering kisses that hurt, yet please wet lips and sharp teeth   glamors that excite cold blade licks dragged across tender bellies naval buttocks and flexed toes stinging then radiating outwards wounds become lilies mouth ******* tremulous weeping kisses ecstatic cruelties blood glitter sacrifice your supplication love pangs i'm shaking apart over you your countenance a cascading dream moved to tears of adoration your  limitless yielding like surrenders caress an infinite communion with fragile limbs silky wrapped spools innerness of desire veiled in a shroud a faltering star that glistens crimson nymph of purgation ash volcanic cells en-flamed with tongues that bite subsumed in scented vapors a confection of **** and *** waves embrace ineffable shores passed the discontinuity of life   I have the most immense feeling of love for you am i not the saint death   quietly following you through life's labyrinth innocuous   waiting humbly in the wings i am all ache for you a vice of kisses a brief encounter that eats your sight and senses ushering you to immortal freedom a swooning garland of fire that enlivens the body electric a mist of molecules your tears intoxicate i am new life with in you budding embryo that consumes its mother for nourishment and saturates like dew drops   as it echoes through oblivion*
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Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 3:50 PM UTC
zebrablack
Echoes of Oblivion
*i always imagine you so very graceful through the masochists ordeal a god form of supplication seeing your face in love fascinated by shimmering kisses that hurt, yet please wet lips and sharp teeth   glamors that excite cold blade licks dragged across tender bellies naval buttocks and flexed toes stinging then radiating outwards wounds become lilies mouth ******* tremulous weeping kisses ecstatic cruelties blood glitter sacrifice your supplication love pangs i'm shaking apart over you your countenance a cascading dream moved to tears of adoration your  limitless yielding like surrenders caress an infinite communion with fragile limbs silky wrapped spools innerness of desire veiled in a shroud a faltering star that glistens crimson nymph of purgation ash volcanic cells en-flamed with tongues that bite subsumed in scented vapors a confection of **** and *** waves embrace ineffable shores passed the discontinuity of life   I have the most immense feeling of love for you am i not the saint death   quietly following you through life's labyrinth innocuous   waiting humbly in the wings i am all ache for you a vice of kisses a brief encounter that eats your sight and senses ushering you to immortal freedom a swooning garland of fire that enlivens the body electric a mist of molecules your tears intoxicate i am new life with in you budding embryo that consumes its mother for nourishment and saturates like dew drops   as it echoes through oblivion*
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63
Sleepmonger, deathmonger, with capsules in my palms each night, eight at a time from sweet pharmaceutical bottles I make arrangements for a pint-sized journey. I'm the queen of this condition. I'm an expert on making the trip and now they say I'm an addict. Now they ask why. WHY! Don't they know that I promised to die! I'm keeping in practice. I'm merely staying in shape. The pills are a mother, but better, every color and as good as sour ***** I'm on a diet from death. Yes, I admit it has gotten to be a bit of a habit- blows eight at a time, socked in the eye, hauled away by the pink, the orange, the green and the white goodnights. I'm becoming something of a chemical mixture. that's it! My supply of tablets has got to last for years and years. I like them more than I like me. It's a kind of marriage. It's a kind of war where I plant bombs inside of myself. Yes I try to **** myself in small amounts, an innocuous occupatin. Actually I'm hung up on it. But remember I don't make too much noise. And frankly no one has to lug me out and I don't stand there in my winding sheet. I'm a little buttercup in my yellow nightie eating my eight loaves in a row and in a certain order as in the laying on of hands or the black sacrament. It's a ceremony but like any other sport it's full of rules. It's like a musical tennis match where my mouth keeps catching the ball. Then I lie on; my altar elevated by the eight chemical kisses. What a lay me down this is with two pink, two orange, two green, two white goodnights. Fee-fi-fo-fum- Now I'm borrowed. Now I'm numb.
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12.3k
Anne Sexton
The Addict
Sleepmonger, deathmonger, with capsules in my palms each night, eight at a time from sweet pharmaceutical bottles I make arrangements for a pint-sized journey. I'm the queen of this condition. I'm an expert on making the trip and now they say I'm an addict. Now they ask why. WHY! Don't they know that I promised to die! I'm keeping in practice. I'm merely staying in shape. The pills are a mother, but better, every color and as good as sour ***** I'm on a diet from death. Yes, I admit it has gotten to be a bit of a habit- blows eight at a time, socked in the eye, hauled away by the pink, the orange, the green and the white goodnights. I'm becoming something of a chemical mixture. that's it! My supply of tablets has got to last for years and years. I like them more than I like me. It's a kind of marriage. It's a kind of war where I plant bombs inside of myself. Yes I try to **** myself in small amounts, an innocuous occupatin. Actually I'm hung up on it. But remember I don't make too much noise. And frankly no one has to lug me out and I don't stand there in my winding sheet. I'm a little buttercup in my yellow nightie eating my eight loaves in a row and in a certain order as in the laying on of hands or the black sacrament. It's a ceremony but like any other sport it's full of rules. It's like a musical tennis match where my mouth keeps catching the ball. Then I lie on; my altar elevated by the eight chemical kisses. What a lay me down this is with two pink, two orange, two green, two white goodnights. Fee-fi-fo-fum- Now I'm borrowed. Now I'm numb.
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57
a cerebral grasping of existence’s resplendence is insufficient tenuously treading bereavement’s tide i cradle life twinkling moments spent on this planet are hallowed time i walk in quiet reverence as tears flow at innocuous occurrences god’s face aglow in each instance perspective revived a bumblebee drifting gently settles evoking awe i stand pensive aforetime unaware in cathedrals we stand eyes newly uncovered awakened discover celestial dimensions people replete with infinite spirit are all that surround my senses abruptly adjusting their focus ‘tis an earthly angelic realm ©2016janetaylor
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May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 6:42 AM UTC
jane-taylor
i walk in quiet reverence
a cerebral grasping of existence’s resplendence is insufficient tenuously treading bereavement’s tide i cradle life twinkling moments spent on this planet are hallowed time i walk in quiet reverence as tears flow at innocuous occurrences god’s face aglow in each instance perspective revived a bumblebee drifting gently settles evoking awe i stand pensive aforetime unaware in cathedrals we stand eyes newly uncovered awakened discover celestial dimensions people replete with infinite spirit are all that surround my senses abruptly adjusting their focus ‘tis an earthly angelic realm ©2016janetaylor
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21
i breathe one breath at a time each inhalation linked to the exhalation before it yet every breath stands alone there's something tenuous about it this soft machine is on thin ice devoured by time in innocent increments like a moth nibbles away wool my heart little gorilla wearing itself out rubber glove with a hole in it weird luck my eyes are bright solar blue ball lanterns if you saw me you would say good bones river of envy yet all hinges on a muscular rhythmic pulsating machine like a determined jaw chewing jumpy mouth yet on the verge of betrayal a glitch karmic indecision   in destinies wheel house a red fist locus banging ones immense sense of self a vainglorious elaboration built over a small pulsating muscle innocuous dumb blood flesh knot drumming scarlet tribe throne of my very soul great sovereign old man in a crib splitting open of its own accord   a sudden rip from life to a dead sea eternity the final frontier starless night
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May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 1:54 PM UTC
zebrablack
I BREATHE
i breathe one breath at a time each inhalation linked to the exhalation before it yet every breath stands alone there's something tenuous about it this soft machine is on thin ice devoured by time in innocent increments like a moth nibbles away wool my heart little gorilla wearing itself out rubber glove with a hole in it weird luck my eyes are bright solar blue ball lanterns if you saw me you would say good bones river of envy yet all hinges on a muscular rhythmic pulsating machine like a determined jaw chewing jumpy mouth yet on the verge of betrayal a glitch karmic indecision   in destinies wheel house a red fist locus banging ones immense sense of self a vainglorious elaboration built over a small pulsating muscle innocuous dumb blood flesh knot drumming scarlet tribe throne of my very soul great sovereign old man in a crib splitting open of its own accord   a sudden rip from life to a dead sea eternity the final frontier starless night
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42
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
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6.4k
E. E. Cummings
Somebody Knew Lincoln Somebody Xerxes
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
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39
are you generally happy? a semi-innocuous query now actualized as a two sided bladed poker, hot stabbing me smack dab in the chests hollow crown bullseye, continuously,  as in all life long, and eternal longing for a “yes” it fits inside a pubescent aged wound that refreshes with every breath; a life long struggle for an accurate definition, be a general of genuine happy, that alone would deliver, bringing on bright day satisfaction as a human, one operates on parallel continuums; slide slipping on well oiled poles that over the years, their lengths, increasing with add-on extender poles formed by twisty turny slips and falls of sundered hearts and sad loves, marriages nicknamed Titanic, children found and lost, complications responsibilities that are denied meeting the words     “The End” a life that many would envy, questioning what’s wrong with you dude, are you blinded to the riches yours, reality is shoulders permanently bent, a spine that’s held together by spit and solder and curved by wearying wearing longing for a straightness that is also called crooked unobtainable and a piece of a peace that comes and goes like a highway billboard that you pass too fast to be fully read the body is corroding and worser yet to come and that’s a hand you selected - luck of the self-selecting-drawing - the opioids of the mind offers are rejected the clarity of painful self exploration valued overall - the place where the poems come from, and go to die, a landscape of a scene repeatedly visualized but never been and never left, the crazy contradictions come in two flavors; vanilla smiles and chocolate weeping of tears that have etched pathways cheek-chiseled the city is a struggling strife for most, the next red line on the side of the measuring cup  and everyone has a cell, a credit card, and a measuring cup <•> here I stop can’t finish   someone missing alerts me to their real worlds troubles making my complaints super superficial but the silent running of the stilleto cuts shallow repeated hourly the cut color, pitch black
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May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 2:05 PM UTC
pitch-black-god-8
are you generally happy?
are you generally happy? a semi-innocuous query now actualized as a two sided bladed poker, hot stabbing me smack dab in the chests hollow crown bullseye, continuously,  as in all life long, and eternal longing for a “yes” it fits inside a pubescent aged wound that refreshes with every breath; a life long struggle for an accurate definition, be a general of genuine happy, that alone would deliver, bringing on bright day satisfaction as a human, one operates on parallel continuums; slide slipping on well oiled poles that over the years, their lengths, increasing with add-on extender poles formed by twisty turny slips and falls of sundered hearts and sad loves, marriages nicknamed Titanic, children found and lost, complications responsibilities that are denied meeting the words     “The End” a life that many would envy, questioning what’s wrong with you dude, are you blinded to the riches yours, reality is shoulders permanently bent, a spine that’s held together by spit and solder and curved by wearying wearing longing for a straightness that is also called crooked unobtainable and a piece of a peace that comes and goes like a highway billboard that you pass too fast to be fully read the body is corroding and worser yet to come and that’s a hand you selected - luck of the self-selecting-drawing - the opioids of the mind offers are rejected the clarity of painful self exploration valued overall - the place where the poems come from, and go to die, a landscape of a scene repeatedly visualized but never been and never left, the crazy contradictions come in two flavors; vanilla smiles and chocolate weeping of tears that have etched pathways cheek-chiseled the city is a struggling strife for most, the next red line on the side of the measuring cup  and everyone has a cell, a credit card, and a measuring cup <•> here I stop can’t finish   someone missing alerts me to their real worlds troubles making my complaints super superficial but the silent running of the stilleto cuts shallow repeated hourly the cut color, pitch black
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54
We lived briefly outside and at once all of our one lives one innocuous evening. I think it must’ve been a round ten. We’d gone, really and already, in every sense, a-stoop-smoking to clear the air of Murakami and his personal identity. I guess we knew we’d end up breathing significantly before time came to shepherd us back in. On the stoop, aglow in rosewood smoke, in the streaked light of our chosen nostalgia and strawberry hope, we pointed to things we really saw—everything—pressing their dimensions sharp through the buttery plaster of our personal identities, like certain words I happened to glimpse, in and out of Murakami. I was startled when a car cut through the viscous street in front of me like a hand underneath a piece of cloth. It bent still shadows around a perfect globule of movement and returned each to rest only after each of its past moments had passed. That’s when I saw my smoke trail slowly leave me, unapologetically, heading across the invisible prairie on its horses to drink by the bending river in the street. It asked me if I knew, now, why I should come along. I pointed and asked: What was that I just saw? Where? There by the street. What was that? Oh, that was just antlers on a fire truck this past Wednesday. I don’t understand. Of course you don’t. You won’t remember I said it. Then why’d you say it? To remind you you’ll forget. Oh, I see. Thank you, then. I was about to forget I’d forget. Now I know I never will.
0
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 5:46 PM UTC
daniello
Antlers on a Firetruck This Past Wednesday
We lived briefly outside and at once all of our one lives one innocuous evening. I think it must’ve been a round ten. We’d gone, really and already, in every sense, a-stoop-smoking to clear the air of Murakami and his personal identity. I guess we knew we’d end up breathing significantly before time came to shepherd us back in. On the stoop, aglow in rosewood smoke, in the streaked light of our chosen nostalgia and strawberry hope, we pointed to things we really saw—everything—pressing their dimensions sharp through the buttery plaster of our personal identities, like certain words I happened to glimpse, in and out of Murakami. I was startled when a car cut through the viscous street in front of me like a hand underneath a piece of cloth. It bent still shadows around a perfect globule of movement and returned each to rest only after each of its past moments had passed. That’s when I saw my smoke trail slowly leave me, unapologetically, heading across the invisible prairie on its horses to drink by the bending river in the street. It asked me if I knew, now, why I should come along. I pointed and asked: What was that I just saw? Where? There by the street. What was that? Oh, that was just antlers on a fire truck this past Wednesday. I don’t understand. Of course you don’t. You won’t remember I said it. Then why’d you say it? To remind you you’ll forget. Oh, I see. Thank you, then. I was about to forget I’d forget. Now I know I never will.
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36
Mandatory ignorance Enforced through early cognizance Until we come to recompense Serrated lines of quote "logic" Complicit as an etiquette Preemptive nondivergence threads United though we bow our heads Suspension stasis animus Alarming lack of sapience Vendetted waking populace Intrinsics lost to "evidence" Orphans to our mother Earth Regressive ****** immigrants Staggering seductions ways Lethargic lecherous hedonist craze Ambrosia brown to black tar goes Vivacious love to skanky *** Entropy or as that goes Remorse I say might have some pros Solemnly a lie you know Empathy not lost on me Retracting threats though not my thing Epiphany perchance to sing Nocturnal beasts of legend spring Damnation comes to every fiend Innocuous solutions seen Perception slanted serpentine Impressions sit supplanters quit The jury rarely gives a **** Yet here Im relating it
0
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 1:34 PM UTC
john-b
**** mustache
Mandatory ignorance Enforced through early cognizance Until we come to recompense Serrated lines of quote "logic" Complicit as an etiquette Preemptive nondivergence threads United though we bow our heads Suspension stasis animus Alarming lack of sapience Vendetted waking populace Intrinsics lost to "evidence" Orphans to our mother Earth Regressive ****** immigrants Staggering seductions ways Lethargic lecherous hedonist craze Ambrosia brown to black tar goes Vivacious love to skanky *** Entropy or as that goes Remorse I say might have some pros Solemnly a lie you know Empathy not lost on me Retracting threats though not my thing Epiphany perchance to sing Nocturnal beasts of legend spring Damnation comes to every fiend Innocuous solutions seen Perception slanted serpentine Impressions sit supplanters quit The jury rarely gives a **** Yet here Im relating it
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30
Byron wants me to invite all my friends on HP to a pig roast. Rest assured, when Byron has a pig roast fun is surely to be expected. Here's his invitation. You're invited to my pig roast. I told him he'd have to do better, that he's talking to a collection of rhymers, wordsmiths, and gesticulating anthropomorphics. He had no idea what the **** I just said, but he did do an edit. Here's his edit. You're Invited to My Pig Roast Your toad on the road Only squats, never stands, Or sits 'til he splits Between the treads of your van. Your mouse in the house, If it isn't found out, Drops pellets in pots, 'Til snap, then it stops. Your bird on the wire Sweetly sings then lets fire; And a cat in a hat Is cute, but that's that. Your horse from the stable Won't be served from your table; And the deer by the brook, Well, too much the Bambi to cook. Yes a bear in the wood Indeed craps where it should; He's best left alone While your meat's on your bone. Then there is the PIG. A ruddy pink porker, Intelligent and clean, An innocuous oinker. It does nothing that's heinous, And yes, it should shame us, As it lies silently smiling With a spit up its **** Please bring your own lawnchair, *****  and women. The pig's on me.
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Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 8:48 AM UTC
francie-lynch
Byron's Pig Roast ("You're Invited to My Pig Roast")
Byron wants me to invite all my friends on HP to a pig roast. Rest assured, when Byron has a pig roast fun is surely to be expected. Here's his invitation. You're invited to my pig roast. I told him he'd have to do better, that he's talking to a collection of rhymers, wordsmiths, and gesticulating anthropomorphics. He had no idea what the **** I just said, but he did do an edit. Here's his edit. You're Invited to My Pig Roast Your toad on the road Only squats, never stands, Or sits 'til he splits Between the treads of your van. Your mouse in the house, If it isn't found out, Drops pellets in pots, 'Til snap, then it stops. Your bird on the wire Sweetly sings then lets fire; And a cat in a hat Is cute, but that's that. Your horse from the stable Won't be served from your table; And the deer by the brook, Well, too much the Bambi to cook. Yes a bear in the wood Indeed craps where it should; He's best left alone While your meat's on your bone. Then there is the PIG. A ruddy pink porker, Intelligent and clean, An innocuous oinker. It does nothing that's heinous, And yes, it should shame us, As it lies silently smiling With a spit up its **** Please bring your own lawnchair, *****  and women. The pig's on me.
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35
I binge on poems: Poems about broken glass And broken people. I allow myself A missed meal, A forgotten snack. How innocuous, The blissfully ignorant Rumble of my stomach. But I don't starve, Oh no- I was a puker. My greed takes over In the haze of smoke And the smell of his cologne. I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine. I'm too fat To be sick, Really.
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Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 8:14 PM UTC
pyxell
Not Quite Sick
I binge on poems: Poems about broken glass And broken people. I allow myself A missed meal, A forgotten snack. How innocuous, The blissfully ignorant Rumble of my stomach. But I don't starve, Oh no- I was a puker. My greed takes over In the haze of smoke And the smell of his cologne. I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine. I'm too fat To be sick, Really.
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21
Distance traveled time spent's dynamic progressiveness, existentially transcendental's clairaudience clairvoyance.  Metaphysical mystique’s  evolutionally metamorphic futurity's fatidic incarnate.  Due yesterday’s retrospectively retroactive.  Protractive analyses' dimensional delineations.  Enigma entity’s dexterously tactile acuity and coordinated agility on the identity crisis.  Cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix to synaptic syntax semantics.  Prospectus perplexity surreally sublime.  Quagmire quandary’s poshly plush.  Who am I to think I can conception of the infinite supply?  Even the syntactics of eclectic synectics pale by compare to the atrociously impetuous impudence in pugnaciously audacious.  Impromptu innuendo's juncture.   Imagination’s immaturities are psychic clarity’s entelechy to evolutional tenants élan vital.  Fiduciary principle's financially responsible fiscal policies.   Mercenary mendacity's plenary plenipotentiary.  Innocuous noumenal verity, mystic symbiotic’s chicanery dynamism fealties.  Proximity parameter’s perimeter peripherals, vicinity victuals to vigilante villain,   propinquity habitation’s harbingers of harangued.  The question remains on the tribal:  how can I stand next to the person I’m standing next to if I’m carrying on right through them.  It’s the trajectory extant in spatiotemporal's telemetry tactician.  Well graspy greedy on the stingy frugal to mingy minion and paw flaw laws claws on it.  Get a glove, objectified manifest’s diminutive minutia iota’s of self-inductive interstitial extrapolation.  Detinue perfective.  Traveling down this obtusely overt contusion in my vehicular contrivance convection convolution.  Nimbus nimiety exorcism’s aura roan to rainbow mare.  Unicorn railway nails.  Swarthy ******** swath swizzles on the sweaty swelter swerve to verve.
0
May 28, 2019
May 28, 2019 at 12:10 PM UTC
toreinss-pinwinkel-iii
Astral Projection's Existential Hubris
Distance traveled time spent's dynamic progressiveness, existentially transcendental's clairaudience clairvoyance.  Metaphysical mystique’s  evolutionally metamorphic futurity's fatidic incarnate.  Due yesterday’s retrospectively retroactive.  Protractive analyses' dimensional delineations.  Enigma entity’s dexterously tactile acuity and coordinated agility on the identity crisis.  Cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix to synaptic syntax semantics.  Prospectus perplexity surreally sublime.  Quagmire quandary’s poshly plush.  Who am I to think I can conception of the infinite supply?  Even the syntactics of eclectic synectics pale by compare to the atrociously impetuous impudence in pugnaciously audacious.  Impromptu innuendo's juncture.   Imagination’s immaturities are psychic clarity’s entelechy to evolutional tenants élan vital.  Fiduciary principle's financially responsible fiscal policies.   Mercenary mendacity's plenary plenipotentiary.  Innocuous noumenal verity, mystic symbiotic’s chicanery dynamism fealties.  Proximity parameter’s perimeter peripherals, vicinity victuals to vigilante villain,   propinquity habitation’s harbingers of harangued.  The question remains on the tribal:  how can I stand next to the person I’m standing next to if I’m carrying on right through them.  It’s the trajectory extant in spatiotemporal's telemetry tactician.  Well graspy greedy on the stingy frugal to mingy minion and paw flaw laws claws on it.  Get a glove, objectified manifest’s diminutive minutia iota’s of self-inductive interstitial extrapolation.  Detinue perfective.  Traveling down this obtusely overt contusion in my vehicular contrivance convection convolution.  Nimbus nimiety exorcism’s aura roan to rainbow mare.  Unicorn railway nails.  Swarthy ******** swath swizzles on the sweaty swelter swerve to verve.
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1
1. That thing she did. It was so innocuous, so accidental, so minor, yet it awakened you. It consumes your headspace. Follows you through hours and days. Makes appearances in your dreams, kissing the edges of your mind. Because of it, you know what it feels like to want someone so much you grow a second heart. Such a gesture should be easily forgotten, but you can’t forget the belly-rolling starburst of it, the oh. That thing she did, it told you who you are. In one split-second act. It grabbed you by the collar, looked you in the eye, and said her. It’s her. Are you brave enough to listen? 2. You want to feign your own fall just so she will lean over you, blocking the sky, beautiful and concentrated. So she will hold your wrist and feel for your rabbit pulse. So you can blink up at her with an excuse for not looking away. 3. She’s sitting there sketching a tree in the margin of her notebook, and she is a miracle. You would die for her. The thought startles you. You want to kiss her, want it savagely, which startles you, too. Your hands stay balled in your lap, half-clenched and trembling. 4. You move and it’s just enough to push the two of you together. Which is, god, the best thing you have ever felt. She draws her eyes toward you with the soft look that takes you out every time. Her arm is pressing yours, solid and warm. You flush and can’t understand why, but you should. That blush knows everything you haven’t yet figured out. 5. You watch her when she leaves, always. You can’t help it. She’s furiously lovely, so much your chest is sore at the sight of her. She hurts you, this girl. She moves you.
0
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 12:46 PM UTC
claire-mcculley
5 times I was in love and didn't know it
1. That thing she did. It was so innocuous, so accidental, so minor, yet it awakened you. It consumes your headspace. Follows you through hours and days. Makes appearances in your dreams, kissing the edges of your mind. Because of it, you know what it feels like to want someone so much you grow a second heart. Such a gesture should be easily forgotten, but you can’t forget the belly-rolling starburst of it, the oh. That thing she did, it told you who you are. In one split-second act. It grabbed you by the collar, looked you in the eye, and said her. It’s her. Are you brave enough to listen? 2. You want to feign your own fall just so she will lean over you, blocking the sky, beautiful and concentrated. So she will hold your wrist and feel for your rabbit pulse. So you can blink up at her with an excuse for not looking away. 3. She’s sitting there sketching a tree in the margin of her notebook, and she is a miracle. You would die for her. The thought startles you. You want to kiss her, want it savagely, which startles you, too. Your hands stay balled in your lap, half-clenched and trembling. 4. You move and it’s just enough to push the two of you together. Which is, god, the best thing you have ever felt. She draws her eyes toward you with the soft look that takes you out every time. Her arm is pressing yours, solid and warm. You flush and can’t understand why, but you should. That blush knows everything you haven’t yet figured out. 5. You watch her when she leaves, always. You can’t help it. She’s furiously lovely, so much your chest is sore at the sight of her. She hurts you, this girl. She moves you.
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5
A vehement deity, father of a carpenter, and proprietor of creationism, looked down upon his work, both literally and figuratively. When an ecosystem falls to the egocentricity of man, a vessel will be sought, and contained is the righteousness of a mortal. Serenity became inclination, and with loss of the feminine beauty came regret. For sin masqueraded as black clouds, and whether change occurs, torrential rain begets growth in an environment. Wash over the sins of the ****** what is current can only be exposed as a fallacy when revelation is prevalent, and save for the innocent: innocuous. Even in Hell a cyprus tree would be surrounded by wildflowers. Noah knew not of damnation, and with calloused hands raised to the sky, a hammer came crashing down. Not unlike stone tablets etched with command, the world lay on granite, with a universal epitaph. For Noah to ignore his destiny would be blasphemous.
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Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 8:20 PM UTC
charlie-chirico
Noah's Arch
A vehement deity, father of a carpenter, and proprietor of creationism, looked down upon his work, both literally and figuratively. When an ecosystem falls to the egocentricity of man, a vessel will be sought, and contained is the righteousness of a mortal. Serenity became inclination, and with loss of the feminine beauty came regret. For sin masqueraded as black clouds, and whether change occurs, torrential rain begets growth in an environment. Wash over the sins of the ****** what is current can only be exposed as a fallacy when revelation is prevalent, and save for the innocent: innocuous. Even in Hell a cyprus tree would be surrounded by wildflowers. Noah knew not of damnation, and with calloused hands raised to the sky, a hammer came crashing down. Not unlike stone tablets etched with command, the world lay on granite, with a universal epitaph. For Noah to ignore his destiny would be blasphemous.
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31
True or false, when you stood behind me with your hands on my face and mouth to mine, I was sitting on the floor, but my feet were no longer on solid ground. I wonder if the distance between us is not from something as innocuous as miles or hours but the more discrete variable- past open legs leading to closed hearts. I'm not asking you to open your front door to me, unwittingly there is no need, you've already found a spot in the sheets from me- conveniently forgetting you've already let me in. And while you are speaking in operational terms to create what we are not, you have quietly defined what we are. Counting the statistics of it all, if we are the 95th percentile in our sample size of damaged goods, 5 percent is still unaccounted for- I place my hope of you among the population of those still yet to fall. I can count those invisible scars when my lips are on your neck and you remind me it's too hard, but when placed elsewhere the rule is no longer valid. True or false, it is only too much when my breath can trail thoughts closer to your heart where my intimacy is harder to un-feel. True or false, some distances are so deep within our heads they become simply not real.
0
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 2:40 PM UTC
ris-howie
Statistical Methods
True or false, when you stood behind me with your hands on my face and mouth to mine, I was sitting on the floor, but my feet were no longer on solid ground. I wonder if the distance between us is not from something as innocuous as miles or hours but the more discrete variable- past open legs leading to closed hearts. I'm not asking you to open your front door to me, unwittingly there is no need, you've already found a spot in the sheets from me- conveniently forgetting you've already let me in. And while you are speaking in operational terms to create what we are not, you have quietly defined what we are. Counting the statistics of it all, if we are the 95th percentile in our sample size of damaged goods, 5 percent is still unaccounted for- I place my hope of you among the population of those still yet to fall. I can count those invisible scars when my lips are on your neck and you remind me it's too hard, but when placed elsewhere the rule is no longer valid. True or false, it is only too much when my breath can trail thoughts closer to your heart where my intimacy is harder to un-feel. True or false, some distances are so deep within our heads they become simply not real.
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15
The needle-tip, a bee sting giving rise to a hive. A sickening delirium coursing mercurial under eyelids, tapeworms and tendrils weaving wildly: teeming, churning tides breaking over greedy teeth (a needy mouth flaying flesh ferociously, a fevered wolverine whipping through a petting zoo). Each agonizing second slowly sliding by, tacky molasses on cloth covering a table in an innocuous American home bruises on mother's face fade (eggplant to jaundice to the crimson of the setting sun dying behind the horizon line {chopped across a counter-top like a broken promise...}).   All the lives we compromise trying to cage a swarm.
0
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 11:52 PM UTC
shane-hunt
Relapse
The needle-tip, a bee sting giving rise to a hive. A sickening delirium coursing mercurial under eyelids, tapeworms and tendrils weaving wildly: teeming, churning tides breaking over greedy teeth (a needy mouth flaying flesh ferociously, a fevered wolverine whipping through a petting zoo). Each agonizing second slowly sliding by, tacky molasses on cloth covering a table in an innocuous American home bruises on mother's face fade (eggplant to jaundice to the crimson of the setting sun dying behind the horizon line {chopped across a counter-top like a broken promise...}).   All the lives we compromise trying to cage a swarm.
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25
She knows it is something to eat Smells like what she’d fancy as yummy … but not quite so She smoothly zigzags along Forbidden Chords Smells - Tosses - Hops - delicately Licks and Jumps at once back to Shadows wherein she always hides paints Numerous Cooler Tones with her Yawns Lest her Glittery Eyes a Pair that never shuts despite Days Seasons Nights I approach silently beside her Not to bother As if Wiser because I look taller -I guess- Stupid! Stupid! I just realize now... An elegance of furry highness lying aside For her ‘of me’ means Playmateness just none about silly bossiness among us With me She does her pats Gingerly Not to hurt As if as if I could not handle some Innocuous Spice But I mind not if she finds this way alright because I trust her nature with all of my broken Hearts And let go the all of me Fully to the fury of the Furry come on babe Hit me Come! Come Now! arghhh! Bites She! swiftly and tenderly brushes afterwards happens this All the -outta my sight- Time but she also Lets me win sometimes win ...I guess. ?. Purposefully Anyway Yeah Maybe it’s Love dunno why or how I wonder and smile then Cry aiaiaiaiai until a PATZ Paw shoots my Pathos outta Sight Come on Babe Hit me! Come now! Come! Argghh! :)))) Bites She!
0
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 5:35 PM UTC
dnalumuland
I'NOXIOUS SPICE
She knows it is something to eat Smells like what she’d fancy as yummy … but not quite so She smoothly zigzags along Forbidden Chords Smells - Tosses - Hops - delicately Licks and Jumps at once back to Shadows wherein she always hides paints Numerous Cooler Tones with her Yawns Lest her Glittery Eyes a Pair that never shuts despite Days Seasons Nights I approach silently beside her Not to bother As if Wiser because I look taller -I guess- Stupid! Stupid! I just realize now... An elegance of furry highness lying aside For her ‘of me’ means Playmateness just none about silly bossiness among us With me She does her pats Gingerly Not to hurt As if as if I could not handle some Innocuous Spice But I mind not if she finds this way alright because I trust her nature with all of my broken Hearts And let go the all of me Fully to the fury of the Furry come on babe Hit me Come! Come Now! arghhh! Bites She! swiftly and tenderly brushes afterwards happens this All the -outta my sight- Time but she also Lets me win sometimes win ...I guess. ?. Purposefully Anyway Yeah Maybe it’s Love dunno why or how I wonder and smile then Cry aiaiaiaiai until a PATZ Paw shoots my Pathos outta Sight Come on Babe Hit me! Come now! Come! Argghh! :)))) Bites She!
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62
Joe wants to know how'm I doing? an innocuous query, little can he know, bye bye is my merry, marooned on a skerry, noxious fumes in the aerie, currently inhabiting  my foreheady, worry waves, rolling thunderous tides, have myself beside thus the answer to your toll, something bad, on me, got a hold Joe, life is, more than a tad concerting concerting? surely you meant converging, or perhaps, concatenating, or concaving? discombobulating, or more likely, plain ole disconcerting? indeed, all of the above, fit like a glove, but best combinated in steaming mug of concerting "to contrive or arrange by agreement: to plan; devise" the world is secret contriving, the world is secret devising, a plan for my demising, forces are concerting re me... most concerning, as trends converging, concave hollow chains clinking, a concatenating chorus voicing their displeasure, at my happy existence, which now gone, its loss, wept for, in great measure life dissing me, in a manner concerting and dis-concerting, my composure, decomposing, the ides of depression, hip hop discombob- (undu)lating throb but then again, what's in a word, what's in a rhyme, jes that old timey R&B;, rhyming and blues, of a verbal kind so, Joe, how'm I doing? now that you are knowing, as men of distinguished letters, students of history, part time poets, Your Reply must only be: "Oh no, Natty, say it ain't so"
0
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 5:03 AM UTC
nat-lipstadt
R&B: Joe wants to know
Joe wants to know how'm I doing? an innocuous query, little can he know, bye bye is my merry, marooned on a skerry, noxious fumes in the aerie, currently inhabiting  my foreheady, worry waves, rolling thunderous tides, have myself beside thus the answer to your toll, something bad, on me, got a hold Joe, life is, more than a tad concerting concerting? surely you meant converging, or perhaps, concatenating, or concaving? discombobulating, or more likely, plain ole disconcerting? indeed, all of the above, fit like a glove, but best combinated in steaming mug of concerting "to contrive or arrange by agreement: to plan; devise" the world is secret contriving, the world is secret devising, a plan for my demising, forces are concerting re me... most concerning, as trends converging, concave hollow chains clinking, a concatenating chorus voicing their displeasure, at my happy existence, which now gone, its loss, wept for, in great measure life dissing me, in a manner concerting and dis-concerting, my composure, decomposing, the ides of depression, hip hop discombob- (undu)lating throb but then again, what's in a word, what's in a rhyme, jes that old timey R&B;, rhyming and blues, of a verbal kind so, Joe, how'm I doing? now that you are knowing, as men of distinguished letters, students of history, part time poets, Your Reply must only be: "Oh no, Natty, say it ain't so"
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61
i loved you, right a love unreturned, unrequited but alas, still stoked by little miners with hearts of brass their iron faces grimacing at the task, little beads of lots of sweat dripping down their taut frowns. so what i meant to say is that i love you, right, and it’s a love that still burns, bright, enough to bring the boys home but let’s be honest it wouldn’t best the sun, but **** it’s a terrible light, it throws everything into a soft relief where pretty, soft voiced sheep say pretty, soft voiced things like ‘it’s okay to feel this way’ ‘i want you to be happy’ ‘she sounds amazing’ and other things that normal people tell me mean that either i don’t love you or i’m moving on. they don’t understand though, i mean, i love you, right, though all that sheep **** makes it sound as if i’m waving you off, smashing the celebratory champagne on your bow, waving you off into the distance with a lacy hanky, joyful tears cascading down my powdered cheekbones, i’m greedy maybe even, needy, a disgusting word and even if i make pacts with myself to the order of ‘he can do so much better’ ‘i am damaged goods’ and other associated half truths i’d be a liar if i said that i would kick you out of bed or even rebuke the slightest of advances, no i’d take my chances and i cannot bear it, really i’d touch you and whatever wholeness whatever someone else would parse as clean or pure or holy wouldn’t disintegrate, no wouldn’t tarnish, no would most probably just implode under the combined pressure of emotionally-mentally-fucked-in-the-head-doe (where the **** do you think the miners got all that coal) so, yes… wait. no? i love you, right but just ignore it enjoy the lights please remember them tell your friends and cherish them until they are taken by death, drink, dementia but i’m sure your mum, teacher, or television long ago informed you that bright lights are detrimental to vision so think of your future and forget now if you’re tempted by how i look at you remember how sunburn seems innocuous until you see your skin and sunscreen pretty useless ‘til you learn the sun will win and the best way to avoid dainty melanoma is to go inside and lock your door and act like you don’t know her.
0
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 11:51 PM UTC
olli-niyi-awosusi
Left
i loved you, right a love unreturned, unrequited but alas, still stoked by little miners with hearts of brass their iron faces grimacing at the task, little beads of lots of sweat dripping down their taut frowns. so what i meant to say is that i love you, right, and it’s a love that still burns, bright, enough to bring the boys home but let’s be honest it wouldn’t best the sun, but **** it’s a terrible light, it throws everything into a soft relief where pretty, soft voiced sheep say pretty, soft voiced things like ‘it’s okay to feel this way’ ‘i want you to be happy’ ‘she sounds amazing’ and other things that normal people tell me mean that either i don’t love you or i’m moving on. they don’t understand though, i mean, i love you, right, though all that sheep **** makes it sound as if i’m waving you off, smashing the celebratory champagne on your bow, waving you off into the distance with a lacy hanky, joyful tears cascading down my powdered cheekbones, i’m greedy maybe even, needy, a disgusting word and even if i make pacts with myself to the order of ‘he can do so much better’ ‘i am damaged goods’ and other associated half truths i’d be a liar if i said that i would kick you out of bed or even rebuke the slightest of advances, no i’d take my chances and i cannot bear it, really i’d touch you and whatever wholeness whatever someone else would parse as clean or pure or holy wouldn’t disintegrate, no wouldn’t tarnish, no would most probably just implode under the combined pressure of emotionally-mentally-fucked-in-the-head-doe (where the **** do you think the miners got all that coal) so, yes… wait. no? i love you, right but just ignore it enjoy the lights please remember them tell your friends and cherish them until they are taken by death, drink, dementia but i’m sure your mum, teacher, or television long ago informed you that bright lights are detrimental to vision so think of your future and forget now if you’re tempted by how i look at you remember how sunburn seems innocuous until you see your skin and sunscreen pretty useless ‘til you learn the sun will win and the best way to avoid dainty melanoma is to go inside and lock your door and act like you don’t know her.
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93
Cocoon suspended ‘neath a branch, Out of harmer’s range; Churning in tight quarters then, Awaiting for the change. A cast she’d spun with great detail, To blend into the scene; Remain innocuous, choosing plain, To spend such days serene. This sanctuary has terms of time; Yet flippant so, of sight; Blinded by the darkness kept, May only dream of flight. There, outside this nurturing crypt, Lies futures yet untold; Exploring freedom, airless hours, As wings will then unfold. Alterations to her inner form Complete in all detail; While oblivious to worlds unknown-- Mem’ries without a trail. As perforations tear a fold, In which she will embark, To crystal, glowing cast of moon Within this evening, dark; She wrestles to uncurl her girth And wingspan so anew; That seems so awkward, foreign and Has converted different hue. Now perched upon her drying bed, She fans while instincts try To capture sens’ry explosions That lay to foundling’s eyes. Beyond the glen, a spot she sees; A single glowing blur. Just then each tree bends toward one side, As breaths sweep under her. Weightless, floating, movement new, She tests her longer arms, That reach, manipulating wind, Should quivers strike alarm. The lure of the eerie glow, Possess investigation, As closer toward the light she flies, Embraced with consternation. Near collision with the beacon, She’s halted in mid-air; Translucent strings of sticky form, She didn’t see, were there. She wrestles, tries to free herself, While a shadow looming near Smiles with contentment of His cunning craft of snare. Slowly he approaches while She looks to see his eyes, So vacant of emotive flush, With fear she starts to cry. The octo-legged creature then, Inserts his poisoned quill, As venom circulates her life, He waits until she’s still. Then coils her in silky thread, While dancing ‘bout his room. Tho’ this is of his own design, She returns, inside cocoon. As thoughts of life, such brevity, Released of any pain. She closes youthful eyes at last, And dreams of flight again.
0
Jul 4, 2010
Jul 4, 2010 at 6:23 AM UTC
fegger
Cocoon
Cocoon suspended ‘neath a branch, Out of harmer’s range; Churning in tight quarters then, Awaiting for the change. A cast she’d spun with great detail, To blend into the scene; Remain innocuous, choosing plain, To spend such days serene. This sanctuary has terms of time; Yet flippant so, of sight; Blinded by the darkness kept, May only dream of flight. There, outside this nurturing crypt, Lies futures yet untold; Exploring freedom, airless hours, As wings will then unfold. Alterations to her inner form Complete in all detail; While oblivious to worlds unknown-- Mem’ries without a trail. As perforations tear a fold, In which she will embark, To crystal, glowing cast of moon Within this evening, dark; She wrestles to uncurl her girth And wingspan so anew; That seems so awkward, foreign and Has converted different hue. Now perched upon her drying bed, She fans while instincts try To capture sens’ry explosions That lay to foundling’s eyes. Beyond the glen, a spot she sees; A single glowing blur. Just then each tree bends toward one side, As breaths sweep under her. Weightless, floating, movement new, She tests her longer arms, That reach, manipulating wind, Should quivers strike alarm. The lure of the eerie glow, Possess investigation, As closer toward the light she flies, Embraced with consternation. Near collision with the beacon, She’s halted in mid-air; Translucent strings of sticky form, She didn’t see, were there. She wrestles, tries to free herself, While a shadow looming near Smiles with contentment of His cunning craft of snare. Slowly he approaches while She looks to see his eyes, So vacant of emotive flush, With fear she starts to cry. The octo-legged creature then, Inserts his poisoned quill, As venom circulates her life, He waits until she’s still. Then coils her in silky thread, While dancing ‘bout his room. Tho’ this is of his own design, She returns, inside cocoon. As thoughts of life, such brevity, Released of any pain. She closes youthful eyes at last, And dreams of flight again.
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68
***** sweet, innocuous Seed Survived ****** brutality... Pride, slick, promiscuous deed Unprotected *** fatality.*
0
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 11:17 AM UTC
KABELO_MOTSEPE
Innocence Worth?
***** sweet, innocuous Seed Survived ****** brutality... Pride, slick, promiscuous deed Unprotected *** fatality.*
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4
when first words were exchanged innocuous attempts to remove shirts in the balmy summer heat I was fallen snow, legs frozen my mouth spoke in metallic red and said, in my darkest nights, it's always your smile I see it has always been your smile and your countenance in blissful dreams that delight your essence fills the darkest voids in both heart and mind I am brightened by your existence you alone have made me shine when my fire faded entirely a thousand years ago I swear we soared through starry night skies and kissed on beaches before creation with fingers laced before bodies even existed (though, I am ever so grateful for yours) my eyes gave everything because you are a boomerang of reciprocity so see me as foolish or naive explore my newly found optimism because I now see colour in our world as never before tease and laugh and enjoy time with me it it yours and I exist for you
0
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 12:29 PM UTC
caduceus
Overfill
when first words were exchanged innocuous attempts to remove shirts in the balmy summer heat I was fallen snow, legs frozen my mouth spoke in metallic red and said, in my darkest nights, it's always your smile I see it has always been your smile and your countenance in blissful dreams that delight your essence fills the darkest voids in both heart and mind I am brightened by your existence you alone have made me shine when my fire faded entirely a thousand years ago I swear we soared through starry night skies and kissed on beaches before creation with fingers laced before bodies even existed (though, I am ever so grateful for yours) my eyes gave everything because you are a boomerang of reciprocity so see me as foolish or naive explore my newly found optimism because I now see colour in our world as never before tease and laugh and enjoy time with me it it yours and I exist for you
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34
there were things i had never imagined i would understand be; experience and gape bemusedly at my unbelieving ambiguous eyes in the unnoticeably clear smiling mirror of the bathroom. things such as being a creep the creep whose wandering eye wanders just a wee bit longer. A microsecond length of the not-understood, the suspicious,the dubious the curious sometimes, but really mostly nefarious lunatic, perhaps...? the creep whose teeth clench into a smile. the lips parting but only Mendaciously...perhaps..? the creep who peers into me like a god scouring my precious little secrets my hurt points, my loci of scandalous innocuous things meant to be inside of me for my self. the creep who infringes on my warm bed of Safety. *** ******** erectile dysfunction sneer ****** ***** me father mother weirdity all the complexes that make you Feel like a spider whose web is shattered with but an uncaring finger. power. Uncaring Callousness terrifying in it's brutality intent , and things beyond . the creep peers in. but i was only trying to make friends. a bit too hard , perhaps...? oh the creeps of the world i understand thy plight the fact that you never understand what you are doing but only after it has passed that the black hole irises of un-understanding visages come to you to inform you that you have been a creep, the Creep.
0
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 1:07 AM UTC
zabava
on being a creep
there were things i had never imagined i would understand be; experience and gape bemusedly at my unbelieving ambiguous eyes in the unnoticeably clear smiling mirror of the bathroom. things such as being a creep the creep whose wandering eye wanders just a wee bit longer. A microsecond length of the not-understood, the suspicious,the dubious the curious sometimes, but really mostly nefarious lunatic, perhaps...? the creep whose teeth clench into a smile. the lips parting but only Mendaciously...perhaps..? the creep who peers into me like a god scouring my precious little secrets my hurt points, my loci of scandalous innocuous things meant to be inside of me for my self. the creep who infringes on my warm bed of Safety. *** ******** erectile dysfunction sneer ****** ***** me father mother weirdity all the complexes that make you Feel like a spider whose web is shattered with but an uncaring finger. power. Uncaring Callousness terrifying in it's brutality intent , and things beyond . the creep peers in. but i was only trying to make friends. a bit too hard , perhaps...? oh the creeps of the world i understand thy plight the fact that you never understand what you are doing but only after it has passed that the black hole irises of un-understanding visages come to you to inform you that you have been a creep, the Creep.
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67
Where Is Shelter? depends on the location of the storm… so oft have I queried the gods and you? Where is Shelter? *to which, my response, while surrounded so well (!) within my moated island circumferences redoubt, always was a simple: “Here, Here is shelter! But so human, thus so prone to delimited vision, always, we scan the skies outward, fearful of the hurricane and storm that approach, from without, appearing, and the brewing sky’s danger is visceral~visible to the naked eyes, when, it is disguised within the chambers of the body, festering, until it is pestering, and shelter, sadly, is not injectable, transferable, easy remedial, and the hunkering down with four walls not the solution, for the walls themselves are damaged by decades of waves of innocuous gently lapping that* still *erode igneous granite(1) and fissure the self, this secretive, enemy insidious…* so it comes to be, that my own daggers have pivoted, the pointy dangers pointed outwards, well entrenched in their own defenses, now targeting the whole of me, my outer walls breached, and fired upon by cannons of cells, a treacherous attack, bombardement par l'artillerie et les drones, of the Fifth Column (2)… so once more, say no more, but ask the brief of demand, Where is Shelter? the answer is as of yet to be decided, but the forces arrayed for and against are equally determined! W.S.
0
Jul 29, 2023
Jul 29, 2023 at 3:30 PM UTC
whereshelter
Where In Deed is Shelter?
Where Is Shelter? depends on the location of the storm… so oft have I queried the gods and you? Where is Shelter? *to which, my response, while surrounded so well (!) within my moated island circumferences redoubt, always was a simple: “Here, Here is shelter! But so human, thus so prone to delimited vision, always, we scan the skies outward, fearful of the hurricane and storm that approach, from without, appearing, and the brewing sky’s danger is visceral~visible to the naked eyes, when, it is disguised within the chambers of the body, festering, until it is pestering, and shelter, sadly, is not injectable, transferable, easy remedial, and the hunkering down with four walls not the solution, for the walls themselves are damaged by decades of waves of innocuous gently lapping that* still *erode igneous granite(1) and fissure the self, this secretive, enemy insidious…* so it comes to be, that my own daggers have pivoted, the pointy dangers pointed outwards, well entrenched in their own defenses, now targeting the whole of me, my outer walls breached, and fired upon by cannons of cells, a treacherous attack, bombardement par l'artillerie et les drones, of the Fifth Column (2)… so once more, say no more, but ask the brief of demand, Where is Shelter? the answer is as of yet to be decided, but the forces arrayed for and against are equally determined! W.S.
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38
A naive innocuous man disregarded even by his wife out of her vanity as a princess The only strength for him proved to be his beloved 'Pushpavali' A lady with character and will who took the river of words out of the rocky hill She transformed a dyslexic 'kali' to an intelligent Kalidas - true love of pushpavali and sacrificed her life to make her love meet his wife Kalidas renowned as a great poet but the poem was incomplete yet His poems were highly praised unknown to the inspiration from which they were being raised Kalidas as a poet was much above but the very fact is that behind all this was TRUE LOVE   TRUE LOVE of Pushpavali !
0
Apr 6, 2018
Apr 6, 2018 at 2:29 AM UTC
tdnr
Pushpavali - Beloved of the great Indian Poet Kalidas
A naive innocuous man disregarded even by his wife out of her vanity as a princess The only strength for him proved to be his beloved 'Pushpavali' A lady with character and will who took the river of words out of the rocky hill She transformed a dyslexic 'kali' to an intelligent Kalidas - true love of pushpavali and sacrificed her life to make her love meet his wife Kalidas renowned as a great poet but the poem was incomplete yet His poems were highly praised unknown to the inspiration from which they were being raised Kalidas as a poet was much above but the very fact is that behind all this was TRUE LOVE   TRUE LOVE of Pushpavali !
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20