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"instilling" poems
I’ll split the hairs, I’ll split an atom And never leave the bedroom. I most identify with December, Not because of the crushing temperature But the lack of cosmic dawdling Is no more mesmerizing than a frozen phoenix. And as she arrives by train from Phoenix, I study who she appears to be, the atoms Composing her auburn hair with dawdling Authenticity shout “Take me to the bedroom!” While the wedge of geese in this temperature Head to the Southern Hemisphere’s December. The common chill of this morning in December Prevents us from rising from out the covers like a phoenix, And our blankets like ash defend us from the temperature That stills the vibrations of the atmosphere’s atoms. I curse the insulated walls of the bedroom, Trapping in heat and discouraging our dawdling. A rafter of turkeys outside my window are dawdling, Printing their runes on the documents of December Between the thickets surrounding the bedroom While the sun, golden like the plumage of a phoenix, Awakens in my bones every dormant atom, Instilling in me courage to brave the temperature. I follow her, dressed, from the bedroom And her footsteps serve to punctuate the temperature Like the smoldering beak of a phoenix Too busy being risen for dawdling. She leaves, by train through the chill of December, Me daydreaming of fission. The splitting of an atom. I’ll split an atom daily, safely within the bedroom And sleep through December’s pitiless, hollow temperature, Waking only for dawdling until Spring is a phoenix.
0
Mar 24, 2010
Mar 24, 2010 at 10:16 PM UTC
nicholas-pugliese-1
Fission
I’ll split the hairs, I’ll split an atom And never leave the bedroom. I most identify with December, Not because of the crushing temperature But the lack of cosmic dawdling Is no more mesmerizing than a frozen phoenix. And as she arrives by train from Phoenix, I study who she appears to be, the atoms Composing her auburn hair with dawdling Authenticity shout “Take me to the bedroom!” While the wedge of geese in this temperature Head to the Southern Hemisphere’s December. The common chill of this morning in December Prevents us from rising from out the covers like a phoenix, And our blankets like ash defend us from the temperature That stills the vibrations of the atmosphere’s atoms. I curse the insulated walls of the bedroom, Trapping in heat and discouraging our dawdling. A rafter of turkeys outside my window are dawdling, Printing their runes on the documents of December Between the thickets surrounding the bedroom While the sun, golden like the plumage of a phoenix, Awakens in my bones every dormant atom, Instilling in me courage to brave the temperature. I follow her, dressed, from the bedroom And her footsteps serve to punctuate the temperature Like the smoldering beak of a phoenix Too busy being risen for dawdling. She leaves, by train through the chill of December, Me daydreaming of fission. The splitting of an atom. I’ll split an atom daily, safely within the bedroom And sleep through December’s pitiless, hollow temperature, Waking only for dawdling until Spring is a phoenix.
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33
What's the purpose of control if I'm just going to lose it From the on going pain of trying to make it work with you Setting a blaze the demons leaving you Instilling the will to rise from the broken promises that sustain what little remains Of my patience tolerating your emotional abuse
0
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 10:46 PM UTC
MOZALIOS
Abuse
What's the purpose of control if I'm just going to lose it From the on going pain of trying to make it work with you Setting a blaze the demons leaving you Instilling the will to rise from the broken promises that sustain what little remains Of my patience tolerating your emotional abuse
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5
The picturesque glow from the full moon enkindles youthful swooning and yearning; orotund voices rising above prattle conversation yield celestial affirmations in conjunction with analogous, supernal relations Full acceptance of the shimmering stars sacrosanct messages coruscating through the sky - fulsome oracular expressions instilling mesmerizing past-life recollections.
0
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 10:56 AM UTC
jessica-golich
Full Moon
The picturesque glow from the full moon enkindles youthful swooning and yearning; orotund voices rising above prattle conversation yield celestial affirmations in conjunction with analogous, supernal relations Full acceptance of the shimmering stars sacrosanct messages coruscating through the sky - fulsome oracular expressions instilling mesmerizing past-life recollections.
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2
The Things I Wish I Could Be I wish I could be one of all instruments; the singer whose voice transforms his audience into a choir; the writer who drops his reader's guard making a beautiful decimation of every self-made fantasy; the actor ripe with nominations whose prestigious Oscar breaks him open before the world; the photographer who captures moments worth infinite words while instilling that perfect piercing silence; the painter of elegant simplicity or ponderous complexity in every brush and stroke; the icon strangers seek for reason looking upon for inspiration; the husband who gives and comforts appreciating the angel he's been bestowed; the father wise and guiding with enough laughs and smiles to last their whole lives; the chef and the baker serving only the best scrumptious entrees and desserts; the encyclopedia of experience answering questions obscured from the web; yet beyond all things I wish to greet death with a smile knowing my life, however lived was worth those years.
0
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 11:26 PM UTC
kenneth-everett-rathburn
The Things I Wish I Could Be
The Things I Wish I Could Be I wish I could be one of all instruments; the singer whose voice transforms his audience into a choir; the writer who drops his reader's guard making a beautiful decimation of every self-made fantasy; the actor ripe with nominations whose prestigious Oscar breaks him open before the world; the photographer who captures moments worth infinite words while instilling that perfect piercing silence; the painter of elegant simplicity or ponderous complexity in every brush and stroke; the icon strangers seek for reason looking upon for inspiration; the husband who gives and comforts appreciating the angel he's been bestowed; the father wise and guiding with enough laughs and smiles to last their whole lives; the chef and the baker serving only the best scrumptious entrees and desserts; the encyclopedia of experience answering questions obscured from the web; yet beyond all things I wish to greet death with a smile knowing my life, however lived was worth those years.
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27
Now I'd like to tell you of a liquid And a beverage clearly divine It matches the holiest spirit And most blessed communion wine But it's not to be found at the altar Of the temple, the mosque or the church You'll see it in glasses lined up on the bar Wherever the pensioners perch Oh Gin, Gin, fabulous Gin Finest concoction there ever has bin A knee to the crotch and a kick in the shin To him that speaks ill of that heavenly Gin I had a great aunty called Floris Each morning she'd sternly arise With a fire in the pit of her stomach And a merciless scowl in her eyes But thanks to a magical fluid By the end she was quite the reverse And her face was serene and so tranquil As they bundled her into the hearse Oh Gin, Gin, glorious Gin Remover of troubles and varnish and skin There's many a baby that wouldn't have bin If not for a bottle of beautiful Gin Edith was crippled with cramp of the back And terrible gout of the thighs Her walk was askew and her bottom had swelled To a rather astonishing size But with Gin in the morning, the noon and night She was right as proverbial rain She still couldn't walk but now couldn't talk So no one could hear her complain Oh Gin, Gin, medicinal Gin Bracing your face with a permanent grin Cleans up the silver but tarnishes tin Joyous the juice of the juniper, Gin Tis a regular modern elixir And a kick in the liver to boot It's companion for many a mixer To the tonic or blending of fruit Instilling a mighty contentment And removing all traces of rage Though it's mainly imbibed by ladies Those of a particular age... Oh Gin, Gin, magnificent Gin Clean as a whistle and sharp as a pin Puts hairs on the ears, the chest and chin Of nannies and grannies all guzzling Gin
0
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 6:14 PM UTC
ben-jones
A Lovely Song About Gin ;)
Now I'd like to tell you of a liquid And a beverage clearly divine It matches the holiest spirit And most blessed communion wine But it's not to be found at the altar Of the temple, the mosque or the church You'll see it in glasses lined up on the bar Wherever the pensioners perch Oh Gin, Gin, fabulous Gin Finest concoction there ever has bin A knee to the crotch and a kick in the shin To him that speaks ill of that heavenly Gin I had a great aunty called Floris Each morning she'd sternly arise With a fire in the pit of her stomach And a merciless scowl in her eyes But thanks to a magical fluid By the end she was quite the reverse And her face was serene and so tranquil As they bundled her into the hearse Oh Gin, Gin, glorious Gin Remover of troubles and varnish and skin There's many a baby that wouldn't have bin If not for a bottle of beautiful Gin Edith was crippled with cramp of the back And terrible gout of the thighs Her walk was askew and her bottom had swelled To a rather astonishing size But with Gin in the morning, the noon and night She was right as proverbial rain She still couldn't walk but now couldn't talk So no one could hear her complain Oh Gin, Gin, medicinal Gin Bracing your face with a permanent grin Cleans up the silver but tarnishes tin Joyous the juice of the juniper, Gin Tis a regular modern elixir And a kick in the liver to boot It's companion for many a mixer To the tonic or blending of fruit Instilling a mighty contentment And removing all traces of rage Though it's mainly imbibed by ladies Those of a particular age... Oh Gin, Gin, magnificent Gin Clean as a whistle and sharp as a pin Puts hairs on the ears, the chest and chin Of nannies and grannies all guzzling Gin
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48
A precious hummingbird, left rhythmic sounds, in sweet soft notes Playing music, light and heavenly, as I waved adios Soaring freely, upon Springs gentle breeze With finesse and ease With iridescent feathers Flamboyantly taking flight, in this lovely weather Graciously gazing through Surely, dazzling too Quickly resting on tree branches, in attune Fearlessly humming, in romantic tunes Dancing smoothly And elegantly Modeling beautifully, in its fine long beak Very entertaining and chic And casually stopping in the center of a flower Obtaining nectar, in the morning hour Placing a grin on my face While engaging in an impressive, cozy space Instilling a fulfilling and pleasant day And quite excited, it came my way
0
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 2:46 AM UTC
gladysp911
Soaring Freely Upon Springs Gentle Breeze
A precious hummingbird, left rhythmic sounds, in sweet soft notes Playing music, light and heavenly, as I waved adios Soaring freely, upon Springs gentle breeze With finesse and ease With iridescent feathers Flamboyantly taking flight, in this lovely weather Graciously gazing through Surely, dazzling too Quickly resting on tree branches, in attune Fearlessly humming, in romantic tunes Dancing smoothly And elegantly Modeling beautifully, in its fine long beak Very entertaining and chic And casually stopping in the center of a flower Obtaining nectar, in the morning hour Placing a grin on my face While engaging in an impressive, cozy space Instilling a fulfilling and pleasant day And quite excited, it came my way
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20
. **•atop the mast billows my wind-tossed rag•grinning skull embla- zoned proud•the starkness of black upon my flag •piercing the encroaching sea mist and shroud•her- ald the sight of the jolly roger • instilling trepidation in all who sail through my turf • fuelled by the thirst to pillage and plunder•others before, have sunk into graves beneath the surf•my salt encrusted timber creaks                   a frightening low                growl• my hull                       would pum-                     mel thro- ugh the opposing waves•    my sails bloat full trapping winds that howl•my       deck bears the screams of a thousan-            d slaves•know me, seafarers... i am no legend but truth•avast! seafarers, i am the tale that looms•believe me, seafarers for i am ca-        pable         of all         things** •••                                                         •••   **uncouth                                                 •fear me, seafarers for                                            i am your doom•you could                                 sail the seas with the world's most                    skillful of crew• you cannot deny the inevitable heavy hand of fate•be- cause once my vessel comes within view                             •you would know for certain                                that it's already •••••••                                       ••••••• •••••                                               •••••** too late•
0
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 11:39 AM UTC
ryn
Avast!
. **•atop the mast billows my wind-tossed rag•grinning skull embla- zoned proud•the starkness of black upon my flag •piercing the encroaching sea mist and shroud•her- ald the sight of the jolly roger • instilling trepidation in all who sail through my turf • fuelled by the thirst to pillage and plunder•others before, have sunk into graves beneath the surf•my salt encrusted timber creaks                   a frightening low                growl• my hull                       would pum-                     mel thro- ugh the opposing waves•    my sails bloat full trapping winds that howl•my       deck bears the screams of a thousan-            d slaves•know me, seafarers... i am no legend but truth•avast! seafarers, i am the tale that looms•believe me, seafarers for i am ca-        pable         of all         things** •••                                                         •••   **uncouth                                                 •fear me, seafarers for                                            i am your doom•you could                                 sail the seas with the world's most                    skillful of crew• you cannot deny the inevitable heavy hand of fate•be- cause once my vessel comes within view                             •you would know for certain                                that it's already •••••••                                       ••••••• •••••                                               •••••** too late•
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32
I can not find one reason not to cry Nor to shed a single tear or to be drowned out in defeat I have been bullied by life's many faults The inner workings of my own self doubt beaten to a pulp in a split second The impulses that drive through my thoughts instilling madness from within Numbed to the bone by regret and remorse Engraved into the fabric of my soul Shredding my well being until nothing is left I can not put out the flames that destroy me
0
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 9:22 PM UTC
silent-screams
Life's ugly
I can not find one reason not to cry Nor to shed a single tear or to be drowned out in defeat I have been bullied by life's many faults The inner workings of my own self doubt beaten to a pulp in a split second The impulses that drive through my thoughts instilling madness from within Numbed to the bone by regret and remorse Engraved into the fabric of my soul Shredding my well being until nothing is left I can not put out the flames that destroy me
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9
I see you twinkling back at me from the midnight sky Sending guiding light through the air Instilling marvelous wonder into my beating heart With the sweetest peace, that you share Your light fills my soul with the sustenance I seek To reestablish all that has gone astray Filling me with the courage of everlasting hope The strength I need to walk another day No longer do I sit alone, desolate in my despair With you there above me in my sky As I can hear you singing inside this soul of mine To take heart, as the future is so bright Sweet guiding light in heaven, twinkling back at me Such peace and contentment you bring As you shed your light, I see all the possibilities Waiting for me now in life’s wings
0
Aug 9, 2010
Aug 9, 2010 at 10:49 AM UTC
neva-flores
Reassurance
I see you twinkling back at me from the midnight sky Sending guiding light through the air Instilling marvelous wonder into my beating heart With the sweetest peace, that you share Your light fills my soul with the sustenance I seek To reestablish all that has gone astray Filling me with the courage of everlasting hope The strength I need to walk another day No longer do I sit alone, desolate in my despair With you there above me in my sky As I can hear you singing inside this soul of mine To take heart, as the future is so bright Sweet guiding light in heaven, twinkling back at me Such peace and contentment you bring As you shed your light, I see all the possibilities Waiting for me now in life’s wings
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16
Conquering the world with fear & terror, Were their techniques & tactics any good? If they were genuinely powerful indeed, Would they not show their might in persuasion? Instilling a fear of death they would not have put efforts, Did they not know that death is a bitter but compulsory truth of life? And today the world is largely unaffected by violence, Efforts are on to defeat death by peaceful means that involve Ethos & Pathos.
0
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 12:46 AM UTC
Atul
Phobos & Deimos For Ethos & Pathos
Conquering the world with fear & terror, Were their techniques & tactics any good? If they were genuinely powerful indeed, Would they not show their might in persuasion? Instilling a fear of death they would not have put efforts, Did they not know that death is a bitter but compulsory truth of life? And today the world is largely unaffected by violence, Efforts are on to defeat death by peaceful means that involve Ethos & Pathos.
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8
What is the point in Poignancy? *Fragment, you tell me. Another one in paragraph three.* What do words matter? I have spelled love with Lilacs instead of an “L” I have drawn the curve of my “O” with the chill of a Sweeping breeze. A “V” can only appear as the violet of a sparkling sky, or I will be unable to read it, and every “E” will amount to nothing more than emptiness if the voice it has been given does not epitomize song. *Comma-splice, Replace it with a semicolon.* I am trying live freely. I want to breathe in color, to inhale an orange Savannah sky And exhale green which shows through the translucent dew of grass. *Unnecessary use of description. Limit it, Lidiah. Limit it.* My fingers itch with the ferocity of A vengeful army. They are waiting to trample pages with The lead of my pencil, the bayonet of a Revolutionary-War-era rifle. The word limit sounds like tragedy. A single word that can somehow act as a precursor, To the death of passion. Your words have put you in a box. People always say “Actions speak louder than words.” In a way that is true. But I also know it to be a tremendous piece of fiction. *Lidiah, Please watch your run-ons.* Why can our words and our actions not be the same thing? Isn’t the act of speaking, the act of raising your voice, the act of being heard, isn’t that an action? *Lidiah, how many times do I have to remind you? Clarification throughout.* Why have we decided that our words Mean nothing more than stepping stones on the road to action? When did we decide that our voices which rise like clarion calls, forever instilling our promises, are to be left on silent? Precious jewels set into rings. Poison in a water tank. *Lidiah, what you say is irrelevant if your MLA bibliography isn’t in alphabetical order.* Our words are our actions. They mean the same. Words are the distinctions of our beliefs Illustrations of our personas They are not mosquitos to be slapped away and forgotten. *Lidiah, paragraph five is too long. Stop rambling. Be concise.* Please tell me, what is the point of being concise? *Lidiah, stop rambling.* Why do we let justification equate to useless rambling? *Lidiah, you have to detach yourself from the narrative.* Feelings mean more than a couple of sentences. More than a good or a bad. A mad or a sad. Comma-splice What about ferocity? Never end with a preposition. What about passion? Replace this with a conjunctive adverb. What about the discernable strife that follows even indifference? What about that? *Lidiah, what is the point of Poignancy?* What are we without it? What does the human soul matter if we have forsaken the parts of ourselves that remind us of what a soul is for? *Lidiah, you will never be heard if you do not learn to follow the rules*.
0
Mar 4, 2018
Mar 4, 2018 at 1:04 AM UTC
egghead
The Point of Poignancy
What is the point in Poignancy? *Fragment, you tell me. Another one in paragraph three.* What do words matter? I have spelled love with Lilacs instead of an “L” I have drawn the curve of my “O” with the chill of a Sweeping breeze. A “V” can only appear as the violet of a sparkling sky, or I will be unable to read it, and every “E” will amount to nothing more than emptiness if the voice it has been given does not epitomize song. *Comma-splice, Replace it with a semicolon.* I am trying live freely. I want to breathe in color, to inhale an orange Savannah sky And exhale green which shows through the translucent dew of grass. *Unnecessary use of description. Limit it, Lidiah. Limit it.* My fingers itch with the ferocity of A vengeful army. They are waiting to trample pages with The lead of my pencil, the bayonet of a Revolutionary-War-era rifle. The word limit sounds like tragedy. A single word that can somehow act as a precursor, To the death of passion. Your words have put you in a box. People always say “Actions speak louder than words.” In a way that is true. But I also know it to be a tremendous piece of fiction. *Lidiah, Please watch your run-ons.* Why can our words and our actions not be the same thing? Isn’t the act of speaking, the act of raising your voice, the act of being heard, isn’t that an action? *Lidiah, how many times do I have to remind you? Clarification throughout.* Why have we decided that our words Mean nothing more than stepping stones on the road to action? When did we decide that our voices which rise like clarion calls, forever instilling our promises, are to be left on silent? Precious jewels set into rings. Poison in a water tank. *Lidiah, what you say is irrelevant if your MLA bibliography isn’t in alphabetical order.* Our words are our actions. They mean the same. Words are the distinctions of our beliefs Illustrations of our personas They are not mosquitos to be slapped away and forgotten. *Lidiah, paragraph five is too long. Stop rambling. Be concise.* Please tell me, what is the point of being concise? *Lidiah, stop rambling.* Why do we let justification equate to useless rambling? *Lidiah, you have to detach yourself from the narrative.* Feelings mean more than a couple of sentences. More than a good or a bad. A mad or a sad. Comma-splice What about ferocity? Never end with a preposition. What about passion? Replace this with a conjunctive adverb. What about the discernable strife that follows even indifference? What about that? *Lidiah, what is the point of Poignancy?* What are we without it? What does the human soul matter if we have forsaken the parts of ourselves that remind us of what a soul is for? *Lidiah, you will never be heard if you do not learn to follow the rules*.
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103
"Who am I, mother? Who am I and what do I do?" –Norman to his mother Norma, "Bates Motel" And so it goes, a split self - the protagonist defending the darkness as Bizarre murders satisfy obsessions of a mothers love, taking a Chefs knife, stabbing victims to death. Dualistic wars within, a helpless man whose mother taught him of the "Evils of women," instilling her own moralities of their wickedness. Fostering the antagonistic personality of his mother Giving to his incomplete soul a sense of wholeness. Hidden behind the boy next door innocence, a terrified man Incarcerated; locked & bolted Juddering with fear - promising to adhere - set free said to be "cured." Kleptomania returns; unearthing bodies from their graves, stealing skulls; a comforting souvenir, as Loving anyone meant destroying them also. Multiple personalities dominate him Norman Bates becomes Norma; his mothers persona, crawling into her skin Originating from their very kiss, kick starting a timeless love affair Paraphernalia of skins tanned, butchered conquests -keepsakes turned to art & now protecting an un Quiet mind Reasons pertaining to mental insanity Sectioned to institutions Taxidermy as a young boy fascinated his mind Urges to **** & fill, feeding euphoric highs, & even Vertigo. Women thrilled him; their smell lingered on each garment he kept. Xenos to himself; who, am I mother? Youth denied, cried away Zenith ended; his final resting place behind the bars of Mendona Mental Health Institution, 1984. © Sia Jane
0
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 8:21 AM UTC
sia-jane
******
"Who am I, mother? Who am I and what do I do?" –Norman to his mother Norma, "Bates Motel" And so it goes, a split self - the protagonist defending the darkness as Bizarre murders satisfy obsessions of a mothers love, taking a Chefs knife, stabbing victims to death. Dualistic wars within, a helpless man whose mother taught him of the "Evils of women," instilling her own moralities of their wickedness. Fostering the antagonistic personality of his mother Giving to his incomplete soul a sense of wholeness. Hidden behind the boy next door innocence, a terrified man Incarcerated; locked & bolted Juddering with fear - promising to adhere - set free said to be "cured." Kleptomania returns; unearthing bodies from their graves, stealing skulls; a comforting souvenir, as Loving anyone meant destroying them also. Multiple personalities dominate him Norman Bates becomes Norma; his mothers persona, crawling into her skin Originating from their very kiss, kick starting a timeless love affair Paraphernalia of skins tanned, butchered conquests -keepsakes turned to art & now protecting an un Quiet mind Reasons pertaining to mental insanity Sectioned to institutions Taxidermy as a young boy fascinated his mind Urges to **** & fill, feeding euphoric highs, & even Vertigo. Women thrilled him; their smell lingered on each garment he kept. Xenos to himself; who, am I mother? Youth denied, cried away Zenith ended; his final resting place behind the bars of Mendona Mental Health Institution, 1984. © Sia Jane
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30
*They fill the air in sweet soft scents, When their delicate petals unfold, Slowly waving in the dulcet breeze, In vibrant shades of yellows, pinks, and blues, And stand tall, between an arched rainbow. After a bashful touch of rain showers, Forming into crystalize droplets, Dripping upon the blossoms fragile leaves, On a stimulating summer day, As the golden rays offset. Instilling a charming glow, Adding a radiant ambiance, to a welcoming atmosphere, As I listen to the precious birds chirping, Into a melodious tune, On this comforting, and inspirational time of year.*
0
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 10:41 AM UTC
gladysp911
After A Bashful Touch Of Rain Showers
*They fill the air in sweet soft scents, When their delicate petals unfold, Slowly waving in the dulcet breeze, In vibrant shades of yellows, pinks, and blues, And stand tall, between an arched rainbow. After a bashful touch of rain showers, Forming into crystalize droplets, Dripping upon the blossoms fragile leaves, On a stimulating summer day, As the golden rays offset. Instilling a charming glow, Adding a radiant ambiance, to a welcoming atmosphere, As I listen to the precious birds chirping, Into a melodious tune, On this comforting, and inspirational time of year.*
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15
Burnt out lanterns swaying in the wind. Harsh Winter bares his glistening teeth biting at my exposed flesh tearing at my tattered layers. He whispers in my ear threatens my life with hunger thirst promising death in the end. Harsh Winter wears a mask of white, glittery fabric. He walks around impersonating instilling images of family friends love. Harsh Winter tempts you only to take your heart freeze it shatter it. Harsh Winter is not your friend.
0
Dec 30, 2010
Dec 30, 2010 at 8:17 AM UTC
cassie-mae
Harsh Winter
Burnt out lanterns swaying in the wind. Harsh Winter bares his glistening teeth biting at my exposed flesh tearing at my tattered layers. He whispers in my ear threatens my life with hunger thirst promising death in the end. Harsh Winter wears a mask of white, glittery fabric. He walks around impersonating instilling images of family friends love. Harsh Winter tempts you only to take your heart freeze it shatter it. Harsh Winter is not your friend.
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23
*In the awakening of the ebony skies, A burst of translucent and shining crystals, Flickered into a heavenly bliss, Enlightening the night, like an amazing festival. With a mild breeze, that gently sways, Bringing warmth and a tender caress, Leaving a beautiful and fresh fragrance, Alluring romance, at its best. Instilling a delightful glimpse, of a beaming smile, Upon an enchanting moonlight, Inspiring, a sensual and cozy atmosphere, On this dazzling and magical night.*
0
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 2:50 AM UTC
gladysp911
Flickering Into A Heavenly Bliss
*In the awakening of the ebony skies, A burst of translucent and shining crystals, Flickered into a heavenly bliss, Enlightening the night, like an amazing festival. With a mild breeze, that gently sways, Bringing warmth and a tender caress, Leaving a beautiful and fresh fragrance, Alluring romance, at its best. Instilling a delightful glimpse, of a beaming smile, Upon an enchanting moonlight, Inspiring, a sensual and cozy atmosphere, On this dazzling and magical night.*
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12
im starting to realize i don’t eat im afraid to chew scared to gain more than an ounce i thought this fear died when the hate did but when you’re gone i don’t want to fight these pangs giving in to their tiresome lull maybe one day i can be as small as i feel but that’s not the truth i just want to feel like a man longed for and strong instilling fear in those who challenge me until then i might eat even more so in hopes that maybe i can tear open my insides to become beautiful on the outside
0
Nov 10, 2020
Nov 10, 2020 at 3:06 PM UTC
marksoltero
imed
im starting to realize i don’t eat im afraid to chew scared to gain more than an ounce i thought this fear died when the hate did but when you’re gone i don’t want to fight these pangs giving in to their tiresome lull maybe one day i can be as small as i feel but that’s not the truth i just want to feel like a man longed for and strong instilling fear in those who challenge me until then i might eat even more so in hopes that maybe i can tear open my insides to become beautiful on the outside
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18
hidden secrets or beautiful lies you write in me like I'm your notebook that's kept under lock and key. it seems like you were doing all of this, just to humor me. telling me not tell because these are your deepest darkest secrets but in reality your just yelling stay with me. I look at you & I see you drowning or maybe falling off a cliff I know your reading this and saying she must be psychologically insane or the godsister of Cain but you have to understand my point of view. you're writing all these things instilling them inside me showing me that you value every single page you say your done hurting people & that's why you won't leave her you know that's not where you want to be . your heart isn't there - your heart is with me - I should've been more transparent with my feelings - I admit that - causing confusion & feelings of mixed emotions was never my intention I can't let you go they're right about that. so quick to mention my flaws an all - a - that but they're wrong I'm sorry I don't show love like all these other females out here always all up under their man - & holding their hands that's not me I show love through my gestures my voice my eyes my poetry & that's not something I can or want to change about myself & I'm sorry that I needed space & you had to be alone from time to time denying what my heart has been screaming out but I keep feelings like this to myself because I'm my own notebook with my heart under lock & key hidden secrets or beautiful lies you use to write in me like I'm your notebook but now that lock is broken and I threw away the key .
0
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 11:13 PM UTC
golden-ambitionz
7/23/15 .
hidden secrets or beautiful lies you write in me like I'm your notebook that's kept under lock and key. it seems like you were doing all of this, just to humor me. telling me not tell because these are your deepest darkest secrets but in reality your just yelling stay with me. I look at you & I see you drowning or maybe falling off a cliff I know your reading this and saying she must be psychologically insane or the godsister of Cain but you have to understand my point of view. you're writing all these things instilling them inside me showing me that you value every single page you say your done hurting people & that's why you won't leave her you know that's not where you want to be . your heart isn't there - your heart is with me - I should've been more transparent with my feelings - I admit that - causing confusion & feelings of mixed emotions was never my intention I can't let you go they're right about that. so quick to mention my flaws an all - a - that but they're wrong I'm sorry I don't show love like all these other females out here always all up under their man - & holding their hands that's not me I show love through my gestures my voice my eyes my poetry & that's not something I can or want to change about myself & I'm sorry that I needed space & you had to be alone from time to time denying what my heart has been screaming out but I keep feelings like this to myself because I'm my own notebook with my heart under lock & key hidden secrets or beautiful lies you use to write in me like I'm your notebook but now that lock is broken and I threw away the key .
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48
*my rough and tattered edges like sea glass smoothly rounded by her passions relentlessly polished by intimate contact with her welling water and earthy grit the reality of her excites me humbling any romantic doubt dispelling any fantasy skepticism instilling a will for the moment she is energy in pure spherical form encircling this scattered life she holds for me a sense of place a bookmark to poetic existence just as bands bind magic barrel staves as rainbows secretly circle underground as concentric rings indicate growth love will revolve even as it expands*
0
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 4:26 PM UTC
liam
Inextricable
*my rough and tattered edges like sea glass smoothly rounded by her passions relentlessly polished by intimate contact with her welling water and earthy grit the reality of her excites me humbling any romantic doubt dispelling any fantasy skepticism instilling a will for the moment she is energy in pure spherical form encircling this scattered life she holds for me a sense of place a bookmark to poetic existence just as bands bind magic barrel staves as rainbows secretly circle underground as concentric rings indicate growth love will revolve even as it expands*
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16
Every night as I go to bed with my conscious filled with remorse and my heart so heavy I feel like a side of my body cries out in pain, and the other one feels wholly empty Tears roll down my eyes as if I hadn’t cried enough during the day Still, I wish there was a way in which I could just make the grief go away My mind seems clouded with a million things, each of them ripping me apart I feel so emotionally drained that even keeping up with my sanity seems so hard Wanting to break free from the shackles of my mind, I now realize I can no longer carry Carry the fear of futility, the fear of failure, the fear of everything. I just want to spend my youth in a merry Insecurities forge the unrest I sense within my chest, they make me feel like nothing to the world I could give The emotions that I have been suppressing have now left me suffocated, my ribs can no longer protect my heart by instilling all the pain, at any moment they might split And though being thankful for everything I am blessed with, I feel like I don't even deserve a bit With this constant thought running through my brain cells, I realise that I am slowly turning into an under-watered withering flower, with no desire to live
0
Oct 29, 2021
Oct 29, 2021 at 11:19 PM UTC
Tylor
Withering flower
Every night as I go to bed with my conscious filled with remorse and my heart so heavy I feel like a side of my body cries out in pain, and the other one feels wholly empty Tears roll down my eyes as if I hadn’t cried enough during the day Still, I wish there was a way in which I could just make the grief go away My mind seems clouded with a million things, each of them ripping me apart I feel so emotionally drained that even keeping up with my sanity seems so hard Wanting to break free from the shackles of my mind, I now realize I can no longer carry Carry the fear of futility, the fear of failure, the fear of everything. I just want to spend my youth in a merry Insecurities forge the unrest I sense within my chest, they make me feel like nothing to the world I could give The emotions that I have been suppressing have now left me suffocated, my ribs can no longer protect my heart by instilling all the pain, at any moment they might split And though being thankful for everything I am blessed with, I feel like I don't even deserve a bit With this constant thought running through my brain cells, I realise that I am slowly turning into an under-watered withering flower, with no desire to live
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12
“Weights to the body that want all too exercise Your Muscles want you to energize Two Fitness Enthusiast were known as the “Iron Brothers” The movie was centered around Exercise, Physical Transformation, Muscles and Bodybuilding Yet it was a creation forming a Fitness Enterprise and Bodybuilding Affiliation Organization Weider Muscles want your attention please Stand and Flex but move with ease But there was Rivalry between two George and Joe Weider all having a mission for Bodybuilding with a Higher Recognition Bodybuilding Prize The convince being a hard realize So George had a title that was called “Mr. Universe 1940” Bodybuilders were all competing for the title However, Weider was denounced to have anyone from his organization to compete, and there was a struggle But Joe Weider saw a bigger picture of Bodybuilders in creating the “Mr. Olympia 1950” Victory being on Joe Weider’s mind But having a magazine that will enhance The mission was about giving all Bodybuilders the competing chance Bodybuilding Magazine relaying Bodybuilders and Bodybuilding coverage Expressing to the world Bodybuilding was a sport But don’t cut the sport short It was going to take persuasion and instilling Bodybuilding appreciation So the journey being a determined mission Yet, it was on to discover Arnold Schwarzenegger Whose name Joe Weider had heard of This Writer actually met Arnold Schwarzenegger personally when he was competing during his Bodybuilding days and the title was “Mr. Olympia” in New York City I met Mr. Schwarzenegger at the Mid-City Gym in New York City Arnold would often have trouble saying my name Anthony Today, he would have no trouble saying my name because he was once a California Governor and a Movie Star However, I was intrigued to see Sergio Olivia, Jr playing his Father in the Movie, Sergio Olivia, SR What a combination? Now the Sergio Olivia, Sr was a Cuban Weightlifter, and became a high Ranking Bodybuilder standing with Arnold Schwarzenegger What makes Sergio Olivia, SR was when he posed in the ***** pose with humongous Lats when it came to Bodybuilding competition So Sergio Olivia, Jr was following in his father’s footsteps with destination being stardom But the Mr. Olympia is still the number one Bodybuilding competition today Joe Weider saw the vision and how Bodybuilding will make the Mr. Olympia competition worthwhile Are your muscles pumped to perfection? Joe Weider’s legacy left behind, “Muscles pumped to Victory” There’s training to be done It’s Bodybuilding Victory I want all too be among Yet, remember what I accomplished in looking upon.
0
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 7:03 PM UTC
preservationman
BIGGER, MOVIE REVIEW (THE STORY OF BETTY, JOE AND BEN WEIDER)
“Weights to the body that want all too exercise Your Muscles want you to energize Two Fitness Enthusiast were known as the “Iron Brothers” The movie was centered around Exercise, Physical Transformation, Muscles and Bodybuilding Yet it was a creation forming a Fitness Enterprise and Bodybuilding Affiliation Organization Weider Muscles want your attention please Stand and Flex but move with ease But there was Rivalry between two George and Joe Weider all having a mission for Bodybuilding with a Higher Recognition Bodybuilding Prize The convince being a hard realize So George had a title that was called “Mr. Universe 1940” Bodybuilders were all competing for the title However, Weider was denounced to have anyone from his organization to compete, and there was a struggle But Joe Weider saw a bigger picture of Bodybuilders in creating the “Mr. Olympia 1950” Victory being on Joe Weider’s mind But having a magazine that will enhance The mission was about giving all Bodybuilders the competing chance Bodybuilding Magazine relaying Bodybuilders and Bodybuilding coverage Expressing to the world Bodybuilding was a sport But don’t cut the sport short It was going to take persuasion and instilling Bodybuilding appreciation So the journey being a determined mission Yet, it was on to discover Arnold Schwarzenegger Whose name Joe Weider had heard of This Writer actually met Arnold Schwarzenegger personally when he was competing during his Bodybuilding days and the title was “Mr. Olympia” in New York City I met Mr. Schwarzenegger at the Mid-City Gym in New York City Arnold would often have trouble saying my name Anthony Today, he would have no trouble saying my name because he was once a California Governor and a Movie Star However, I was intrigued to see Sergio Olivia, Jr playing his Father in the Movie, Sergio Olivia, SR What a combination? Now the Sergio Olivia, Sr was a Cuban Weightlifter, and became a high Ranking Bodybuilder standing with Arnold Schwarzenegger What makes Sergio Olivia, SR was when he posed in the ***** pose with humongous Lats when it came to Bodybuilding competition So Sergio Olivia, Jr was following in his father’s footsteps with destination being stardom But the Mr. Olympia is still the number one Bodybuilding competition today Joe Weider saw the vision and how Bodybuilding will make the Mr. Olympia competition worthwhile Are your muscles pumped to perfection? Joe Weider’s legacy left behind, “Muscles pumped to Victory” There’s training to be done It’s Bodybuilding Victory I want all too be among Yet, remember what I accomplished in looking upon.
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38
frozen fallout shelter housing dried goods and tinder black bean and rice prepper bent on the end of days looking first to the sky and then to the government absorbing radiation and propaganda faster than organic apple juice can flush the system triple berry blast yogurt smoothie shakes violently in hands coated with Lyme and the scent of the non-believers bodies unburied lead only to disease and discomfort stench filled landscape harboring mutated mankind arms outstretched seeking normalcy and edible grains contaminated meat from damaged cans sits unprotected thin and frail lithosphere no longer preventing dermal cancer only encouraging drought and famine while burning retinas and emaciating newborns procreation as a plan of self-destruction and child-abuse distant smokestacks, cracked, create a forlorn skyline instilling visuals from days gone by of easy life and happy youngsters before the nuclear discovery
0
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 3:54 PM UTC
s-lyman-temple
6 lbs. of garbage
frozen fallout shelter housing dried goods and tinder black bean and rice prepper bent on the end of days looking first to the sky and then to the government absorbing radiation and propaganda faster than organic apple juice can flush the system triple berry blast yogurt smoothie shakes violently in hands coated with Lyme and the scent of the non-believers bodies unburied lead only to disease and discomfort stench filled landscape harboring mutated mankind arms outstretched seeking normalcy and edible grains contaminated meat from damaged cans sits unprotected thin and frail lithosphere no longer preventing dermal cancer only encouraging drought and famine while burning retinas and emaciating newborns procreation as a plan of self-destruction and child-abuse distant smokestacks, cracked, create a forlorn skyline instilling visuals from days gone by of easy life and happy youngsters before the nuclear discovery
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18
sitting at the computer ranting about global tragedy but only peeking through the slightest slit barely noticeable curtain rustle when a physical knock finds the ominous wooden door the passive-aggressive activist waits – the blog whirrs into life… instilling motivation in others for the terrors of GMO crops and the vast wealth of lies perpetrated by government officials while quietly munching corn chips bought on the food stamp card… the passive-aggressive activist giggles – buying filtered water in plastic bottles and organic produce from chain grocery stores taking out personal loans to give to charity the passive-aggressive activist reads John Trudell only because he just died – watching CNN because FOX lies only frequenting local coffee houses while investing in French sunglasses mispronouncing the names of countries unable to be located on maps while exclaiming the wrongdoings of his government after going to college on federal aid programs promoting the second amendment with no intention of ever owning a gun the passive-aggressive activist waits -- someone will one day send the letter proclaiming the importance of the insights offered –
0
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 3:19 PM UTC
s-lyman-temple
An ode to basically everyone in Portland, Oregon (San Franciso and Seattle too)
sitting at the computer ranting about global tragedy but only peeking through the slightest slit barely noticeable curtain rustle when a physical knock finds the ominous wooden door the passive-aggressive activist waits – the blog whirrs into life… instilling motivation in others for the terrors of GMO crops and the vast wealth of lies perpetrated by government officials while quietly munching corn chips bought on the food stamp card… the passive-aggressive activist giggles – buying filtered water in plastic bottles and organic produce from chain grocery stores taking out personal loans to give to charity the passive-aggressive activist reads John Trudell only because he just died – watching CNN because FOX lies only frequenting local coffee houses while investing in French sunglasses mispronouncing the names of countries unable to be located on maps while exclaiming the wrongdoings of his government after going to college on federal aid programs promoting the second amendment with no intention of ever owning a gun the passive-aggressive activist waits -- someone will one day send the letter proclaiming the importance of the insights offered –
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40
all black is the calmest gesture alluring - inviting, kindly asking to stay away the streets were filled with chest's that explode with art a woman walks by with her ex-lover she looks at him when he does not pay attention she wishes he would rest in peace upon leaves that fell from the tree they grew together I stare at my fingers stained with red wine I stare at lips stained with red wine I do not want to kiss them we walked into one gallery, filled with color lingering too explosive for me at the moment I wanted something slow that creeps through the blood like injecting a needle something subtle, infused with a hiding passion penetrating and brutal instilling hope regaining fear grieved by reality stolen by the ethereal I wanted to experience something that stirred in my chest moving around my arms and back hungrily looking for something that was lost, or perhaps never there wild emotion in the shape of a snake infusing me with a poison that is too sweet to ****** and too bitter to live through I walked these streets, passed by these galleries in a desperate attempt to seek this inspiration this rage this entity this sadness this satisfaction this sensitivity this coldness this shame this pride I left with the feeling of being hallow and realized perhaps that which I seek perhaps cannot be found in a painting or a photograph cannot be mastered in physical form that foreign sensation  that starves that foreign sensation that fills you like a glass of wine is sleeping in the eyes of another person
0
Aug 15, 2011
Aug 15, 2011 at 1:03 AM UTC
midnight-prague
Art Walk
all black is the calmest gesture alluring - inviting, kindly asking to stay away the streets were filled with chest's that explode with art a woman walks by with her ex-lover she looks at him when he does not pay attention she wishes he would rest in peace upon leaves that fell from the tree they grew together I stare at my fingers stained with red wine I stare at lips stained with red wine I do not want to kiss them we walked into one gallery, filled with color lingering too explosive for me at the moment I wanted something slow that creeps through the blood like injecting a needle something subtle, infused with a hiding passion penetrating and brutal instilling hope regaining fear grieved by reality stolen by the ethereal I wanted to experience something that stirred in my chest moving around my arms and back hungrily looking for something that was lost, or perhaps never there wild emotion in the shape of a snake infusing me with a poison that is too sweet to ****** and too bitter to live through I walked these streets, passed by these galleries in a desperate attempt to seek this inspiration this rage this entity this sadness this satisfaction this sensitivity this coldness this shame this pride I left with the feeling of being hallow and realized perhaps that which I seek perhaps cannot be found in a painting or a photograph cannot be mastered in physical form that foreign sensation  that starves that foreign sensation that fills you like a glass of wine is sleeping in the eyes of another person
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44
I asked time to pause when our breathes were jousting millimeters away I asked time to pause when you landed your lips on mine, warming the cold chaps of distance I asked time to pause when you cupped my face instilling all sense of security with 3 words "i am here"
0
Feb 15, 2017
Feb 15, 2017 at 9:14 AM UTC
maria-etre
Press Pause
I asked time to pause when our breathes were jousting millimeters away I asked time to pause when you landed your lips on mine, warming the cold chaps of distance I asked time to pause when you cupped my face instilling all sense of security with 3 words "i am here"
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13