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Adilson Smith Nov 2017
I would say
I love you with all my heart.

But that's not quite right.

For I love you with far much more
Than just that one part.

For instance,
I love you with my lips:
They pucker lovingly like filled balloons
Rising skyward in a knot.

I love you also
With my eyes. Like a ruly clerk,
They sieve your frame with careful affection,
Vitalized by every detail.

My ears, too, are full of love.
I can feel them during the night;
Thumping with blood
As you rise and decline
Asleep in my nook.

There are many others.
My eyebrows, so enlivened,
Agitate my face
And my toes, so excited,
Tense in my shoes
As though afraid of getting wet.

Other parts aren’t so conspicuous.
My arms plot in the dark --
They long to swim around your waist
And link us back to breast.

And my fingers, naughty things,
Scheme to tease your dress
Above your pretty knees
And above your pretty chest.

Would you believe,
Even my ****'s involved!
Though he’s more obvious
With his *****, open smile
And cheeky morning breath.

But chief of all my loving parts
Is my un-run soul
Unkenneled, at last,
Sprinting furiously
Next to yours.
# love #silly

Note -- this is very much a rewrite of Watsky's splendid and original "love poem" (worth checking out on YouTube).
Carter Ginter May 2014
sure she's likeheaven but angels stillfall
sometimes
the risk is worth it all.
perfection or illusion
what an enticing delusion
nonetheless
the question proves a fight
do i potentially complicate her life
further
my thoughts reach oscillation
certain until uncertainty's persuasion
descends
a thought like no other
and soon follows another
quickly
they bounce through my mind
now it's even harder to find
a decision
left between cognitive dissonance
then suddenly in this instance
Nothing.
The (mostly)single word lines an go to both the preceding sentence and the following one. You could read it either way but those lines are intended to be read almost twice, in a way.
*the only reason the first line has words morphed together is because i needed the verse to stay within one line.
Carter Ginter Sep 2018
I can barely stand certain music now
Each song holds a memory locked into it
Multi-Love for instance
It's fitting that I'm burning incense right now
Because this song brings me back to December
You were into hookah at that point
The sweet and smoky scents danced around us
As your sonos speakers
Cascaded those guitar riffs into our ears
I thought you were ecstasy
But you became an addiction
And like that smoke in my lungs
You burned me instead
Smoke Scribe Aug 2018
Imagine that
I could write a salve,
compose an ointment of verbal herbs to heal,
even mere protect the already-torn-so-easy mental flesh,
just to disguise/hide the multi-colored bruising our
fickle mistress-in-common provides when you are down so far
another bruise joining the cast like a  floodplain subsuming one more feeding creek bed into the shapelessness of indistinguishability

imagine that

where atoms hide eternal between creation and destruction,
borrow brief the set exact you require to restore the taken years
from fathers/mothers/brothers/sisters,
children,
return that which went unused by the uninvited, unseemly human whim of war and lies for no gain

imagine that

the deep sinkhole of despair that ***** one in, years in the formation, appearing in instance, and worse does not drowns but leaves helpless, unable to climb out, and all our scratching digs us in deeper until we cannot be, seen or heard or just be

imagine that

a check comes in the mail, payable left open for filling-in,
in the amount of full restoration, with no additional fees of guilt needed for deposit and cashing/caching out: and you wake up
and the stony chest is breathing lungs free

imagine that

and I do; for I am the smoke of return and rest, sky inscribing,
knowing precise needs and the screams and the years unfair taken,
they are screened through the five perceptions, and the word weaver
sets the loom for each peculiar requisition, no imagination needed

imagine that

you lament and anger demand verifiable proofs mathematical,
cursing the knights of false hopes with untethered regret

I do not imagine that; hear it and accept; my task, imagine that, making you imagine that, thus commencement of repair begins
when

we imagine that

for this how new healthy cells  are born

quiet-now,  go, imagine-that, now
if you recognize yourself within, it is no accident!
thank u all for the love and appreciation. one writes many poems in many disguises, so it is hard to believe  that an 8 month old poem, sent to you for safekeeping, is shortly thereafter barely recalled.
and then is rebirthed, and wouldn’t change a word...
imagine that!
Jordan Rowan Feb 2016
There's gods all around that pound you
While the men in high heels surround you
How much longer 'til they've found you?
Suzy, do you know what you've done?

She had her ways of seduction
A femme fatale if there ever was one
A high class killer and a smart one
But everyone fails once or twice

You spent the night in the hacienda
Curled up on the white veranda
To kingdom come they'd like to send ya
Suzy, do you know you're on your own?

The sun will rise tomorrow
Do you need some time to borrow?
Listen to the morning swallow
You've got to come up with something quick

How does it feel to be a rebel?
To wake up dead next to the devil?
You've got one more deal left to settle
Suzy, I hope your aim is good

Is that smoke in the distance?
Is it a campfire or an instance?
Is there anyone out here to witness,
Whatever Suzy has up her sleeve?

The gun that she carries
Belongs to the man she married
And tonight, along this lonesome prairie
Suzy will meet him once more
Shamans, in an attempt to find a word that all cultures could understand, to represent, universally, the subject; married the languages by root.

Each attribute or thing that the beast is said to do, have or have power to do or over is found as a definition in a language of the individual roots.

Take Sanskrit for instance. "Dra," is "water and combine it with Sumerian, "Gun, Gon," and you get a "water-born," beast who "writhes, twists or wraps around," which is the Ouroboros Serpent as shown in ancient images.

The secret to all ancient myth or religion is in interpretation of language into foreign languages over time.

And, yes, it is very creative, appears complex due to time but is just humans trying to describe observable nature.

None of it is meant to be taken literally unless you literally live six thousand years ago and speak in an ancient tongue.

Addendum

Keltic, "Con, Kon," makes the Dragon, "All-knowing." *

And we know from Plato that Greeks
stole their root words from the Celts.
Plato's own words in,

'The Cratylus.'
All mythology is born from the language of trade and existed as a pre-science.
slr Oct 2018
mov•ie
\ ˈmü-vē \

noun

1.a story represented in motion pictures/motion : noun : mo·tion : \ ˈmō-shən \ : an act, process, or instance of changing place/forward, backward, up, down, pacing, running, crawling/how we flee from our lives, our problems, our responsibilities/instead of focusing on motion we look to pictures/picture : noun : pic·ture :  \ ˈpik-chər \ : a design or representation made by various means/click, zoom, import, export/our lives are on a flash drive, on a snapchat, on an instagram, on a memory card/everywhere but on our own memories/we don’t like pictures either/they show moments never to be regained from our past/our solution?/combine them into something better/movie : verb : mov·ie :  \ ˈmü-vē \ : an escape from reality/we use movies to deflect the pain of our lives/we think that we watch because we are bored/no/we watch to escape/escape : verb :  es·cape : /əˈskāp/ : a recording of moving images that tells a story and that people watch on a screen or television.
I wrote this a while back but I fell in love with dictionary poetry after it
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2017
all poets are human, therefore, all humans are  
poems*

<•>

"In logic, a tautology (from the Greek word ταυτολογία) is a formula that is true in every possible interpretation."

<•>
hardly a tightly taut tautology,
yet true this, in every possible instance

all humans, poems,

as if their portrait painted

from words dipped in a vocabulary palette

which is why,

you my million muses,

are so oft the themes of *who
I write

and when foolish think there is no
inspiration in the air,
your names
each and every,
a title awaiting
finishing
a gift for Jamadhi Verse

Friday, August 25, 2017 6:10 PM,
S. I.
Ken Pepiton Mar 2018
Anom o ly

Non-named, never imagined much less realized

The left hand can't know what the right is doing,
it's a brain matter, grey area, may be a way to
imagine your unique. task, yours, not doable from here

We can do things as us that we never imagine alone.

Is there a need to negate, wait, think,
must one do any act?
Now, I see, emulating Socrates is thought easier than
emulating Jesus. Christ, you know that ain't easy, eh?

Death is the friend of being. Things change from time to time
but, you know knowledge grows in two directions,
the dark part is not evil.
evil is as evil does. The roots that ever live in the earth,
those roots are required, requirements.

Left brain uses the right hand. Don't tell the left-hand
that nearly all it's skill in serving
and being used right,
is used up by the other side.
Right or wrong, is not a chiral question,  nor is good or bad. ******* Phillips's head screws with a butter knife is wrong.
It can be done right, but not if you turn it the wrong way.
Drawing on the right side of my brain has always symbolized a crossroads experience, in my mind.
I mean I draw, realistically, with my right hand, left brain.
Maybe, brains are no easier to analyze than time in an immaterial medium of messaging.

I am certain life wins.
Meaning everything you think life means.
Do you think evil is required as an activity for life to actively be?
I doubt that.
Death fixes everything. Fret not. Wait.

First make room, what was the Bronte word? Penetrium, no, cut n paste
[A]t once it struck me what quality went to form a Man of Achievement, especially in Literature, and which Shakespeare possessed so enormously - I mean Negative Capability, that is, when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason - Coleridge, for instance, would let go by a fine isolated verisimilitude caught from the Penetralium of mystery, from being incapable of remaining content with half-knowledge.

From <https://www.etymonline.com/columns/post/cloud-of-uknowing>

Happiness demands an agreement
Joy is in process, I agree, I am happy, haps happen and I notice

Note: Bronte was one to tweak fine puns with the word Penetralia: 1. The innermost parts of a building, especially the sanctuary of a temple. 2. The most private or secret parts; recesses: the penetralia of the soul. See Chapter one, Wuthering Heights.
----- From
bronteblog.blogspot.com/2006/03/emilys-penetralium_03.html
I checked 13 months later:Before passing the threshold, I paused to admire a quantity of grotesque carving lavished over the front, and especially about the principal door; above which, among a wilderness of crumbling griffins and shameless little boys, I detected the date ‘1500,’ and the name ‘Hareton Earnshaw.’  I would have made a few comments, and requested a short history of the place from the surly owner; but his attitude at the door appeared to demand my speedy entrance, or complete departure, and I had no desire to aggravate his impatience previous to inspecting the penetralium.
Cunning Linguist Nov 2013
Hella business
Got hella *******
Poppin double bottles
With a couple of mistresses
Stellar mistreatment
Here's the key
Lock em in the cellar
Forever their memory lies
But a troubling mystery

Hysteria erupting
Like waves gushing
From the tip of my *****
My genius is better
I'm the King here's my scepter
Now watch the teeth
You worthless Queen
Or I'll stifle them screams

I **** ******* on trampolines
Motion sickness?
Overdose on Dramamine

Slave to the magnitude
Of my impressive **** munching
Exploring deplorable nether-regions galore;
Can't touch me you got nothing
Broke *******
Grind your brain like morning coffee beans

Shame is a word just outside the boundaries
of my fabulous vocabulary

Oh, am I contrite?
How trifling
Check my charm I'm enlightening
Enigmatic and igniting sporadically like lightning
Magically radical voyaging down
                                                           down
                                                  down the rabbit's hole
Inciting excited riots to light fires spark fuses and chew on live wires
You do not frighten me.
Delivering excruciating asphyxiation to every pwn'd n00b
Is my modus operandi
And this is my magnum opus

I have Tourette's

Conceive these merriments of abhorrent mental abortions
Precisely concise and incisive concocting incoherent comatose monstrosities to flatten your lifelines
Conduct these ensembles of debauchery and narcotics -
I'm fascinating;
Crippling your mind like a lobotomy and tripping the light fantastic through bombarding planes of consciousness
I'm on acid thraxXx'd the **** OUT and faded
Levitating fading and oscillating in time while inflating my ego

But lets be realistic
the caliber of my linguistics is intrinsically aesthetic
but none too altruistic
Untrue!
Be reasonable lest I demand be-headings on grounds of treason
Its not hard for me -
It's profound, the sound of suffering;
I'll swallow your soul
'Tis the season!

Inference for instance -
****-hand upturned to oceans of incessant peasants
Pestering to ****** and fluster your festering ****-hole
Exact my revenge; begin phase mayhem
initiating total brain annihilation
interring bodies posthaste with skilled persistence
And sporting in poor taste
RESISTANCE IS FUTILE

You who peers through eye of the pyramid-
Would you be so kind as to interpret my footprint at face-value?
Do you take me for a fool yet seek prophets reaping profits?
Listen to them sleep, baaah-ing away like flocks of little sheep
My hearts not on my sleeve but I have a trick or two up there;

Now bow before my marvelous flow
As I behold my throne whilst throwing bows and exposing hoes.
jane taylor May 2016
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
BoringBoy Sep 15
"We've got this"

"Yeah, we're all going to get through this"

"I'm not even scared, just don't forget to remember me on your way out"

They all glanced forward...and in an instance, they all felt the same painful explosion of emotions.

"I won't forget you guys"

"Shh, you're going to make me cry. Don't talk like that"

"Shut up, you heard me, just remember me when you get back"


Before them, lied the door into their next journey. Had they known what was in stored, maybe they would've reacted differently...

"Remember...when we used to come here, and couldn't wait to do this..."

"Yeah. And we used to say that Taylor wasn't coming"

"Those were good times"

...


"Is this...really it"

"I don't want to go anymore"

"Let's just stay here"


...

"We can't"

"Even if we wanted to."

...

"If I don't see you guys after this...i just want you to know...how much i love all of you."

"Yeah, me too. Especially you, Johnny. I'm going to miss hearing your weird laughs"

"***, and Tamera"
"Tamera"
"Tamera"

"Her voice is everything"
"I know right, please keep singing"

"Guys, now i'm going to cry"


Staring forward, into the endless abyss behind the door...hesitation began to build like tension.

"I wish we could stay forever"

"Yeah, never look back..."

"But now we're here"



...

"Yeah...we're here now"

"And we can't go back"

And like that, one by one, the pool of memories gradually declined in size as they gradually disappeared into the abyss.

"No more goodbyes"

"No more tears and fears"


"And in an instance"

"All of that disappears"



FIN
Inspired by the tune of this sound: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pp1R03gMBMw
To find true meaning
you must first lose everything.
Even yourself.
Then you will understand
the gravity of things.

Hanging on the wind
like a plastic bag,
Dancing in the rain
like a white flag.
Relinquish your pain,
Then the world is yours to gain.
Change the game. Give it a name.

I value my privacy if you must know,
Because occasionally I need to be lost or alone.
Forgive me if I should seem so forlorn,
My mind likes time to recover on it's own.
For where my thoughts reside is where I often go,
To be revived
and rejuvenate the soul.

Hanging on the wind
like a plastic bag,
Dancing in the rain
like a white flag.
The instance when you realize
that anything is yours to have;
Born again.

If I don't survive, at least I lived.
Reborn in the fire
of the trials that I stood.

"Apply yourself",
Strive to live.
Quote:
Line Twenty-Seven spoken by Walter White/Heisenberg from Breaking Bad
Christian Ek Aug 2014
The infinite movement of the universe expanding.
Time, the guiding phoenix.
Is it circular? Is it linear ?
Why is time endless but yet can vanish in an instance ?
Time, you hurry me with your impatience.
Why do we waste you time without caution in mind.
Will I continue to live once my time runs out?
Am I living right now?
Give me more Time.
K Balachandran May 2014
Her cunning eyes
he spied, slyly write
the usual evaluation note
any guy is familiar:
"His eyes are right there
where the difference lies
grazing my curves
as if it is all his;
on the edge he is, I am sure
his eyes are heavily laden
with lust".His eyes,
are they any less?
"She has decided
in an instance to extract
a big price, need to conceal well
emotions like an unfinished sculpture,
till the exact time to unveil"
he gets his report, immediately acts,
her face falls with a thud.
Steven Jun 27
Her look - the purest instance.
Magic performed for children.
The photograph - hydrangea pastured distance.
Sketches
You are the love of my life
You are my angel sent from up above
You are my living compass
Leads me to the right direction
Safer when you’re holding my hand
I am yours and for that instance you’re mine.

Now that you are gone,
All I can do is to say farewell
Your memories my heart is still holding
I am lost
I feel so lonely
I am alone
I lost the treasure that once I have.

I’m in pain!
Emptiness I feel, no one can ever explain.
Oh! How I miss you my dearest mother.

If I could turn back time,
I will stay in your arms forever
Cherish every single moment we're together.
Tyler Matthew Nov 2018
I've been told that
if I see something beautiful
(a flower, for instance),
I should leave it alone,
let it grow and bloom.
But, I'm only human,
and I've spent a long time
holding on to nothing.
So I say pick the flower,
hold it, smell it, love it,
and stop wasting your life
wanting something that is
right before your eyes.
Personally, I think the title is better than the poem, but I posted it anyway.
As I close my eyes to sleep at night
It's you whom I'm thinking
It's haunting
My heart shivers
My body quivers
I wished for a day
A day that I can rest from your memories.

As I wake up every morning
It's you I am thinking still
How could I desert you
In fact, it's you I longed for
My mind says I hate you
yet it'll be unfair
for each day I love you more.

I closed my eyes and shake my head
for that instance I can forget
Things that we did
places that we've been
that are easy to be seen.

This world is too narrow for a heart
that in a big sorrow
Slowly mending
yet in beseech for your love
Oh! I'm in pain
foolish heart is in vain.

And its all so confusing
It drives me crazy
I should know better
for it's not new
I loved once
twice
trice and maybe a hundred times
yet it will be the same
over and over again.
Caitlin Ellis Dec 2018
It is both a beautiful instance when;
the sound of rains' beginning patters
softly on the roof
and the silence afterwards
in rains' demise
Edward Coles Feb 2017
The distant park
Was a graveyard of dead stars.
Each streetlight a system of worlds,
So many lives between each mote of light,
Indistinguishable in their unique love,
Bespoke hate, and the drama of the modern age.

Drunk laughter behind transparent
Double doors. Another hotel balcony,
Another cloud behind the canopy
Of marijuana eyes
To unsettle me from the crowd.

She points out, when you look closely
You can see the disorder
Amongst all constellations
Of life and love and litter;
Of discarded Coke cans
And temporary highs.

She says this is not a scene
To imbue the ****** of a present mind,
More to baulk at the incompletion
Of one thousand to-do lists;
A million reasons why
You should just stay inside.

She says you can see the human swell
Of ignorance, our city lights
Blotting out the stars
In a black ocean of broken politic
And irretrievable fault lines-
Divisions between us all.
Lives twisted with professional smiles
And eyes lit with stunning indifference.

Still, I have felt charity and warmth
On the doorstep of lunatics and fascists.
I have read the love of life
In faces of those who gave up.
I have recounted countless artists
Who saw beauty
In moments that precisely lacked it.

I have spent too many nights
In anaesthesia,
Fleeing each instance of feeling
And terror; all the tremors
That tell me I am still alive.

Continued to stare at the lights
Long after her voice
And the laughter inside had gone.

Heard waves in the traffic.
A world so large, so expansive,
It can never truly sleep.
Every broken heart,
Every war-torn land,
Every promotion,
Every one-night stand.

I wonder what would happen
If we all stood still.
If we all took one moment
To observe the motion
That unfolds beneath
Our static windowsill.

If we all took one moment
To recover our loss.
The wars that we won,
The feelings, forgot.
The hell we retain;
Our paradise, lost.
C
Izzy Apr 2017
I don't think in linear paths
I think in images, not words.
I think through what I see
                       what I hear
                       what I feel

For instance, that night,
I found my sisters body
I saw her lifeless body hanging there
I saw my mother fall to the ground, a strangled mix between a scream and a gasp escaping her lips
I saw the red eyes of my father
I had never seen them before and I've seen them too many times since
I saw the strongest people I've ever known fall to their knees in the rubble of my family
I saw my family fragment, break and stumble under the weight of our grief
But I also saw my family stand up, rise, fight and pull the ripping seams together with our knuckles turning white

I heard my father's panic
I heard my mother's cries
I heard my own disconnected voice as my body and brain worked separately
I heard the voice of the 911 operator in my ear
I heard the sirens
      the ones that now echo in my ears
I hear an unknown voice say "I'm sorry, we couldn't revive her. She's gone," as my mother crumpled into my father.


I felt my blood racing through my veins
I felt my heart pounding in my chest
I felt my muscles moving and tearing and ripping as I ran, fueled by adrenaline
I felt the loss
I felt the icy numbness blanketing my family

I saw a life end that night and dozens of others permanently altered

Her life ended that night and ours changed and came crashing to a halt but we got back up
I got back up

I only hope that wherever she is, she's finally happy

Happier than she was here
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