"interprets" poems
Ambrose
Ah-kin-
MOO-sir-ee
Lifts a trumpet to his mouth.
Deep breaths blow notes
at right angles
into space.
The sound is worn denim.
The sound is Lauren Bacall.
The beat is urgent and syncopated
just like his last name.
Ambrose
Ah-kin-
MOO-sir-ee
Rests a trumpet by his side.
Reverb:
Ambrose interprets the persistence of sound;
reflections build up and decay
until the sound is absorbed
by the surfaces of this space.
Inhale.
Ambrose,
pulls the trumpet
To his mouth
once again.
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 2:02 PM UTC
I asked you if God saw a reflection
and you told me she was simply confused.
What more could be learned from two eyes alone?
I struggled with the thought before it died
and found the answer deep within your breath;
a subtle reach and clasp would stay empty.
I had questioned if your words were empty
as a ghost gazing at its reflection;
you stare at me as though with lack of breath
and pretend that I was always confused
by words that might as well have died
or just preferred to have been left alone.
And so I had spent many nights alone
with only my thoughts that would prove empty.
In longing for those eyes I could have died
or sought to find light in the reflection
of the sun on darkened craters, confused
but drawn back as though of gasping for breath.
I thought that I should wait to feel your breath
again, to avoid being so alone
would leave us out of reach or too confused
to extend our hands or feel for empty
air, I prayed to see your warm reflection
from a window before it withered and died.
I wished you’d take my soul before it died
or remained as it took its final breath;
and that thought returned in quiet reflection
from a place that must have been so alone,
like expecting treasure to be empty
or to discover you were just confused.
I thought that maybe I should stay confused
and in that same fashion I would have died,
in a room so void of light and empty.
I need to know the feeling of your breath,
even if it means I will stay alone
until God interprets my reflection.
It died with Patience, and ceased reflection.
Never alone, but harmonious breath.
Always confused, but never empty.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 11:37 AM UTC
Music can build you up, tear you down, reinvent your future and make you feel so wholeheartedly desperate that you just want to rip your heart out
- now, every one interprets music differently-
So...after you ripped it from your chest...
What did you do, give it away?
Or, burn it, so the temptation is gone?
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 12:27 PM UTC
there's almost always
an ambiguity
between what my words mean
and what my mind intends them to mean.
like, with loving intention, i tell her
i can't praise you enough
she smells a ploy in praise and enough.
she interprets them as
she hasn't done enough to deserve my praise.
then, when i tell her
with age you're maturing in beauty
she takes them to mean
i'm digging at her age
and her beauty is in doubt.
last, but not the least
when i compliment her thus
you've made my life full
she retorts
no more fooling.
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 4:14 AM UTC
*With elegance,
A Wordsmith interprets
In the exquisite,
Timeless language
Of poetry,
Delicately composing
Beautiful words
Into elaborate sonatas,
Each rendition A graceful,
Classical symphony.
With beauty and intensity,
Full of raw emotions,
Each wordsmith
Extracts their most inner-feelings
And intricately converts them
Into rhythmical compositions.
And this
Is the only fluent language
Their soul is able to speak...
Each sonata they release,
With wings,
Is individually mastered,
Impeccable, and unique.
May each Wordsmith
Never miss a beat,
And continue writing,
With poetic justice,
Their heart's rhythm
On every sheet.
***
By Lady R.F. (C)2017*
Jul 22, 2017
Jul 22, 2017 at 10:56 PM UTC
for Thomas Raine Crowe
...These nights bring dreams of Cherokee shamans
whose names are bright verbs and impacted dark nouns,
whose memories are indictments of my pallid flesh...
and I hear, as from a great distance,
the cries tortured from their guileless lips, proclaiming
the nature of my mutation.
NOTE: My “mutation” is that my family appears to contain English, Scottish, German and Cherokee blood, meaning that my ancestors were probably at war with each other. Did my English ancestors force my Cherokee ancestors to walk the Trail of Tears?
I have recently created these new translations of Native American poems, proverbs and sayings ...
What is life?
The flash of a firefly.
The breath of a winter buffalo.
The shadow scooting across the grass that vanishes with sunset.
—Blackfoot saying, translation by Michael R. Burch
Speak less thunder, wield more lightning. — Apache proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
The more we wonder, the more we understand. — Arapaho proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Adults talk, children whine. — Blackfoot proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Don’t be afraid to cry: it will lessen your sorrow. — Hopi proverb
One foot in the boat, one foot in the canoe, and you end up in the river. — Tuscarora proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Our enemy's weakness increases our strength. — Cherokee proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
We will be remembered tomorrow by the tracks we leave today. — Dakota proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
No sound's as eloquent as a rattlesnake's tail. — Navajo saying, translation by Michael R. Burch
The heart is our first teacher. — Cheyenne proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Dreams beget success. — Maricopa proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Knowledge interprets the past, wisdom foresees the future. — Lumbee proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
The troublemaker's way is thorny. — Umpqua proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Feb 22, 2020
Feb 22, 2020 at 6:33 AM UTC
Departure!
Raise the anchor
and raise the sail
Now the wind blows
Two compasses
inside of me
turn their lights on
The first one tells
where to go
by private signals
The second one
interprets the stories
from the sun, stars, sea, and the wind
Decoding the two
from inner voice
and from the world
I decide
to turn the prow
adventure is there
How big the sea
Can't resist
the wind and waves in front
By drifting
and grounding
learned from the past
But being friends
with wind and waves
weaving own rhythm
New route appears
in each moment
to an unknown world
Seeing the land
lower the sail
and descend the anchor
Earth fertilises
the sailor's soul
to go back to the sea
May 18, 2020
May 18, 2020 at 12:17 PM UTC
I agree, writing my eating soul is not enough
Metaphors I spill, only my head interprets
I should give up, but my soul won't say yes
Instead, I yell obscenities and keep writing
I won't cry if you choose to tell me the truth
Go ahead and scream **** you Kara Jean
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 11:53 PM UTC
~ Believing what is real, is not easy to do
Everything I feel, is not always real
~ To undergo change, to have every 'hello' reversed
Never what I want, for better or for worse
~ Circumstances change, feelings stay the same
Obstacles change, mind never sane
~ In need of that love, in need of that care
However demonstrated, my mind will only stare
~ These expectations may be implausible
Closely examining them seems only impossible
~ I understand the effects of my choices
When given them I simply rely on other voices
~ My own self isn't what I express in my appearance
At least I’m myself here, with no interference
~ Expressions support life values, interpreting the thought process
A damaged train of thought interprets incorrectly
~ My body language is irrelevant to what I'm assuming
For one trying to comprehend, It's complex and amusing
~Meagan Williams
1.16.13
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 5:50 AM UTC
Mind interprets what heart wants but heart doesn't care what mind thinks
All that heart want is the one which eyes wants to see and ears want to hear
Apr 25, 2017
Apr 25, 2017 at 6:03 AM UTC
I'm choking
Gasping
I drown
For my lungs collapse in the water
Like my heart interprets your words
My adoration and lust for both
Leaves me breathless.
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 9:56 AM UTC
Fireflies float in lightless rooms,
Spelling out words with fluid constellations
And my heart still tender from afternoon
Drugged up and fussed with the want of rain
Interprets these flecks of dancing
as love letters to pain
I think of dreaming and I think of you
Somewhere basking in summer rain
While I fall for foolish stories
written on the windows of a midnight train
These conversations that go nowhere
heavily soaked in honey stick to my tongue
These whisperings float in pools of ink
Like the daunting midnight sea,
But i'm too far gone into this dream state
Yet ready to drown, before I can hesitate,
In this ocean that you call home
May 27, 2022
May 27, 2022 at 5:53 PM UTC
you move restless impulsive, loud but empty
on the prowl, easy naive prey
you are a true merchant of death
surrounded by bought smiles
one day you call in the debt mercilessly
karma will call your debt in to, maybe already
my eyes won't have the pleasure to see
God knows best
your face, once a clean canvas
reveals the truth, death merchant
life was easy
conveniently forgetting there is a god ,watching
each brush stroke reveals more truth
choice in color, an educated eye interprets
cracks revealed- you old cracked painting
discarded - life is cruelest when you are old
a new painting painted over a discarded death merchant
an era forgotten
wiped clean - the end
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 3:27 AM UTC
“No, I said the song was stuck in my head”.
Well, maybe your just trapped in an entire melody.
Chained to a wall of harmonics.
Pinned to the floor by the tetra-chord.
Sequenced and submissioned in a pool of Lonian Mode and Aeolian Mode notes.
Your brain corresponds to a numeric ratio responding the principal intervals of a scale.
Hail to the symphony, to the orchestra.
Give your all to Pythagoras, the Greek philosopher of such discovery.
This ongoing evolution of stringed instruments and major and minor scales, forms, interprets, co-exists with one another, forever.
If you were to associate yourself to the modern tunings of ancients temperament, you’ll see that just because they have ultimately derived, does not mean that they have all died.
The song you are stuck in reaches way back in time, when world knew no hymn.
Any song is a reminder of a world that once was dim.
Sep 20, 2010
Sep 20, 2010 at 1:26 AM UTC
FRIENDS
Friends meaning so many definitions,
Really can be interpreted in so many ways,
I can think of so many meanings of a friend,
Everyone interprets friends differently
No wonder the word is left so openly,
Do you get confused by this word too?
Surly there is just one meaning of this word-
-FRIENDS
(Read vertically first letters)
© By HF-Whisper
22/2/2020
FRIENDS STATEMENT
Friends-Acquaintances.
Friends-Friends with Benefits. (F.W.B)
Friends- Friends.
Friends- By text only.
Friends-Social Media friends only.
Friends- Long distance -International friends.
Friends- One night stand. (O.N.S)
Friends-Casual.
Friends-Ongoing casual.
Friends-Regular catch up’s-but only at events.
Friends- Regular catch up’s only one on one.
Friends-Equally balanced catch ups.
Friends-No dating but showing interest.
Friends-Not interested but acting interested.
Friends-How can I benefit from having you as my friend?
Friends- In good times and bad.
Friends-Lifelong friends.
-How many kinds of friends do you have?
I'm sure you can think of more!
FRIENDS
© By HF-Whisper
22/2/2020
Mar 14, 2021
Mar 14, 2021 at 8:43 PM UTC
Awake.
That feeling can mean many different things.
Sober.
Sick.
Irrelevant.
Alone.
Empty.
The feelings sometimes accompanied with awake.
An emotionally painful sort of awake, where waking up at all is torture.
The sort where you go about your business, and continue playing underdog to the system.
Where you fabricate the surface of your existence to please the wants and needs of others.
The outside.
The part of you that everyone interprets.
The part that you fight so hard for, but never really matters in the end.
The human distinction.
Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 10:01 AM UTC
In the world of poetry
Everything is magical
The feelings magical
The writings magical
A superb magic touch
lingers in the magical mind
interprets by the magical hands
of a magical poet.
and a plain piece of paper
shines with magic!
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 10:31 PM UTC
Sharing secrets with a madman
Crunch Berries around the breakfast table
Pouring milk in jugs of nonsense
From cows in designer labels
Voices from the refrigerator
Offer cubes of sugar
Singing Carols in the springtime
Like it was Mid-December
The bacon interprets modern dance
Sizzling in the frying pan
The lights flickering on and off in Morris code
Grocery prices in the Yucatan
As you talk about the weather
With the windows painted black
Talking in sideways motions
You wonder what's up with that
Sharing secrets with a mad man
Are the best secrets kept
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 4:44 PM UTC
It's currently 2am and I remembered someone asked me, 'What does it feel to be suicidal?'
'Does it literally mean that you want to **** yourself?'
Now what does being suicidal mean?
A lot of people interprets the word 'suicidal' individuals as persons who's mad and wants to **** themselves.
As simple as that.
A person who wants to pull a gun's trigger in their head.
But people got it all wrong.
Being suicidal doesn't just mean killing yourself.
Being suicidal is like,
smoking cigarettes and drinking with hopes that you'll get cancer and die.
Or maybe crossing the street without looking cause you don't really care getting hit by a vehicle.
Not eating or not sleeping and hoping that you'll die out of exhaustion.
Or even staying late outside hoping that a random person would stab you and let you bleed to death.
Sometimes it's showing less interest and being cruel to persons that you love, because if they leave you'll have less reasons to go on with life.
Or not being interested with yours dreams and future so you'll get tired and have less of a purpose.
Sometimes being suicidal means shutting all of your doors to be alone and endure all the pain.
Or putting yourself in potentially painful situations hoping that it'll be the last straw.
It's that sick feeling when every time you sleep at night, and the only hope you have is that your eyes will not open.
Being suicidal doesn't mean trying to die.
Or pointing a gun in your head and pulling its trigger.
A lot of times, it means not putting any effort in living.
Feb 13, 2021
Feb 13, 2021 at 11:11 AM UTC
And in the moments
where movements of the soul
shift the thoughts and awareness
to the cracks.. to remind
that the mind is crafting this dream,
it interprets the world and in
it's best intention,
it attempts to flatten and compress
the endless data.
Laying the symbols and memes
into stone
and since we operate in a symbolic fashion
it brings comfort to know
that reality can seem so static,
so unchanging
but the cracks...
Oh.. the cracks!
And through the cracks in the street
the seeds sprout wildly into grass
and through the cracks in the sky
the rains burst and wash the sands of
yesterday from our skin
and from the cracks in your throat
the songs of tomorrow shine in resonance
through your voice
and by the cracks in your smile
I'm reminded
of why
I love you so much
-Chaotic Melodic
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 12:22 PM UTC
Even a master welder
could not feat these bars
that wind and twirl
encasing, interlacing
your thoughts with the world
for all may be what never was so
where a smile once beamed
a soft glow, now resides
torn from the out, inside
feeling weakened and tried
because you tried and you tried
but your fire was put out
by eager firemen
with hoses that spewed
and skewed, the world you once knew
for things you could not understand
but you learned to understand
grew up and found you can
live without starting a fire
and live to aspire
to be
important
but when the town falls asleep
my thoughts slowly creep
back into my conscience
ready or not Im
ready
and something so small as
barefeet or chopsticks
become the most important things
at all
red lipstick and straw hats
a smile and a wave at
someone Ive never met
how good it can get
when i havent heard yet
what I need to know
the need to go
and learn on my own
miles of road
on an endless mind
that only interprets
what goes unfiltered
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 12:57 AM UTC
Alice looked in the mirror and saw a rabbit
Her ***** lit with curiosity, followed him down
But Alice never left
She was just a talking animal, like the rest
She killed her monkey, lost her graces
And now she rules on the other side of the galaxy
We wear her tattoos by age 10
And we sure do love Alice in the underground
The world interprets her story with wonder-
A prevailed analysis of power
But where is the truth?
Liberation has its price
Falling off the wings of an angel
And seeing God on the way down
How do you sleep at night?
I bet your dreams erase the feeling
Of feathers on a wing
And behind closed doors
They’re making deals with the universe
Maybe that’s why I’m never ok
When everyone else is smiling
She wears suede as she swallows my star
Never thought she would take it that far
Guess I’m bound for underwater things
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 4:45 PM UTC
What was the last thing you forgot?
I thought I’d forgotten about Chumbawamba
Their song about not remembering whether they had amnesia
And discovered the reasons we forget
There are three
Sometimes the memory is simply lost
I fail to record it
I struggle to retrieve it
I lose it through the passage of time
And I may as well never have learned it
Sometimes the memory was never right
A subtle hint overwrites it
A trick of the mind confuses where I got it
A belief or assumption filters and interprets it
And surely I learn to trust my memory less
And then, of course, I could repress it
Squash it into the back of my mind
Remembering Freud’s unproven theories
Hoping that what’s left behind
Leaves me feeling more positive
Jun 26, 2017
Jun 26, 2017 at 7:19 AM UTC