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"intimating" poems
i felt like talking that night reciting poetry to your big blue eyes and raw pink mouth smiling high as a wind whipped kite discussing art, ontology, and existentialism sitting like lotus at the Cafe Figaro on McDougall st in the west village belly of a ghost lost in a vagrant memory afterwards we went to a little one bedroom flat in the east village haunted by the vapors of its history a slight stench of **** and dingo tongue dripping toilet all peeling walls intimating births, cheer and squalor after a hot bath of lathered torsos we followrd each other naked winding around a table into a swaying bed that beckoned **** here my darlings and i licked and drank out of your drenched rose red blossom for hours it licking back I salvaged the loneliness of my soul between your thighs like a desolate dog whimpering thanking God with every graze and ****** of your all supple shifting limbs your company your company your sweet droplets of company in moon rise summer balm we looked in the mirror reflecting on my glistening face all red raspberry my lips like blood hydras laughing our ***** off at how artsy we looked smeared with your rouge painted thighs appearing as if half eaten you growled swallowed and licked big butter piggy till your nose ran like the Ganges gagging eyes bloodshot pools of fire cooing and oowing driving me maniacal with every ****** of your wild flicking tongue we poured our selves into each other viscous creels gushing coursing like slime silver radiating and finally used to the marrow we found ourselves drooping sails our eyelids  leaden the night mist fell upon us   muttering shadows and our *** shriveled like cast-off umbilici and we fell to sleep steep steep buoyant like two buttermilk clouds adrift your company your company your sweet droplets of company in moon rise summer balm
0
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 1:50 PM UTC
zebrablack
CAFE FIGARO
i felt like talking that night reciting poetry to your big blue eyes and raw pink mouth smiling high as a wind whipped kite discussing art, ontology, and existentialism sitting like lotus at the Cafe Figaro on McDougall st in the west village belly of a ghost lost in a vagrant memory afterwards we went to a little one bedroom flat in the east village haunted by the vapors of its history a slight stench of **** and dingo tongue dripping toilet all peeling walls intimating births, cheer and squalor after a hot bath of lathered torsos we followrd each other naked winding around a table into a swaying bed that beckoned **** here my darlings and i licked and drank out of your drenched rose red blossom for hours it licking back I salvaged the loneliness of my soul between your thighs like a desolate dog whimpering thanking God with every graze and ****** of your all supple shifting limbs your company your company your sweet droplets of company in moon rise summer balm we looked in the mirror reflecting on my glistening face all red raspberry my lips like blood hydras laughing our ***** off at how artsy we looked smeared with your rouge painted thighs appearing as if half eaten you growled swallowed and licked big butter piggy till your nose ran like the Ganges gagging eyes bloodshot pools of fire cooing and oowing driving me maniacal with every ****** of your wild flicking tongue we poured our selves into each other viscous creels gushing coursing like slime silver radiating and finally used to the marrow we found ourselves drooping sails our eyelids  leaden the night mist fell upon us   muttering shadows and our *** shriveled like cast-off umbilici and we fell to sleep steep steep buoyant like two buttermilk clouds adrift your company your company your sweet droplets of company in moon rise summer balm
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80
3.14 is the value of pi Semicircle is the shape of a smile 8 is the symbol for infinity Welcome to quantumly formed poetry. Expressing my thoughts through cryptic theory End of reversed evolutionary It might not be self-explanatory JUST Keeping It Short and Simple, M, E. C, L, O, U, D, plus the square of three is all that I feel when you are with Mi Fa, So, La, Ti, Do, Re... or I mean me Like M, A, G, I see... my world on thee. You are my earth that is a twisted heart I dream to be the he beside that art Giving his best to be a romantic Intimating through the fields of physics. My love for you is three-dimensional Taller and longer than diagonals As deep as abyss, like cosmos so wide but unbound by space and unchanged by time. A fire started by a Maxwell's demon Burning and shining from here to the moon A flame so lunar and so lunatic breaking the laws of thermodynamics. Faring the distance at the speed of light Lining the night skies like a meteorite Traversing the widths of the hyperspace Or cross a black hole just to see your face. Escape with luck from a magnetic flux Be right thrice a day with a broken clock Above all that, there's just one thing I want: To spend my last breath by holding your hand.
0
Jun 3, 2017
Jun 3, 2017 at 10:40 PM UTC
KRRW
q1tumly 4med poe3
3.14 is the value of pi Semicircle is the shape of a smile 8 is the symbol for infinity Welcome to quantumly formed poetry. Expressing my thoughts through cryptic theory End of reversed evolutionary It might not be self-explanatory JUST Keeping It Short and Simple, M, E. C, L, O, U, D, plus the square of three is all that I feel when you are with Mi Fa, So, La, Ti, Do, Re... or I mean me Like M, A, G, I see... my world on thee. You are my earth that is a twisted heart I dream to be the he beside that art Giving his best to be a romantic Intimating through the fields of physics. My love for you is three-dimensional Taller and longer than diagonals As deep as abyss, like cosmos so wide but unbound by space and unchanged by time. A fire started by a Maxwell's demon Burning and shining from here to the moon A flame so lunar and so lunatic breaking the laws of thermodynamics. Faring the distance at the speed of light Lining the night skies like a meteorite Traversing the widths of the hyperspace Or cross a black hole just to see your face. Escape with luck from a magnetic flux Be right thrice a day with a broken clock Above all that, there's just one thing I want: To spend my last breath by holding your hand.
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32
It was in Rome You guys got the table(cade,nevin) So we stood there Till you asked us if we'd like to join Sure I said so awkward first cause you somehow look like Ryan Gosling(no you look better, RG has never been my type) Blue eyed boy from Iowa Strangely enough, my bedtime T-shirt says Iowa hawkeyes We talked bout beer ,Shandy, Greek islands ,Prague,Bristol and Iowa. Why should I know? then you turned to me Hey, fun fact, do you know the British first sounds like American? Why should I know?Why did you say so? But that was the most intimating thing on the table. Strangely enough, you only asked my name when you left, and everything was left in Rome.
0
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 3:36 PM UTC
maggieYCW
Alex Unknown
It was in Rome You guys got the table(cade,nevin) So we stood there Till you asked us if we'd like to join Sure I said so awkward first cause you somehow look like Ryan Gosling(no you look better, RG has never been my type) Blue eyed boy from Iowa Strangely enough, my bedtime T-shirt says Iowa hawkeyes We talked bout beer ,Shandy, Greek islands ,Prague,Bristol and Iowa. Why should I know? then you turned to me Hey, fun fact, do you know the British first sounds like American? Why should I know?Why did you say so? But that was the most intimating thing on the table. Strangely enough, you only asked my name when you left, and everything was left in Rome.
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14
W. S. Rendra translations Willibrordus Surendra Broto Rendra (1935-2009), better known as W. S. Rendra or simply Rendra, was an Indonesian dramatist and poet. He said, “I learned meditation and the disciplines of the traditional Javanese poet from my mother, who was a palace dancer. The idea of the Javanese poet is to be a guardian of the spirit of the nation.” The press gave him the nickname Burung Merak (“The Peacock”) for his flamboyant poetry readings and stage performances. SONNET by W. S. Rendra loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Best wishes for an impending deflowering. Yes, I understand: you will never be mine. I am resigned to my undeserved fate. I contemplate irrational numbers―complex & undefined. And yet I wish love might ... ameliorate ... such negative numbers, dark and unsigned. But at least I can’t be held responsible for disappointing you. No cause to elate. Still, I am resigned to my undeserved fate. The gods have spoken. I can relate. How can this be, when all it makes no sense? I was born too soon―such was my fate. You must choose another, not half of who I AM. Be happy with him when you consummate. THE WORLD'S FIRST FACE by W. S. Rendra loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Illuminated by the pale moonlight the groom carries his bride up the hill― both of them naked, both consisting of nothing but themselves. As in all beginnings the world is naked, empty, free of deception, dark with unspoken explanations― a silence that extends to the limits of time. Then comes light, life, the animals and man. As in all beginnings everything is naked, empty, open. They're both young, yet both have already come a long way, passing through the illusions of brilliant dawns, of skies illuminated by hope, of rivers intimating contentment. They have experienced the sun's warmth, drenched in each other's sweat. Here, standing by barren reefs, they watch evening fall bringing strange dreams to a bed arrayed with resplendent coral necklaces. They lift their heads to view trillions of stars arrayed in the sky. The universe is their inheritance: stars upon stars upon stars, more than could ever be extinguished. Illuminated by the pale moonlight the groom carries his bride up the hill― both of them naked, to recreate the world's first face. Keywords/Tags: Rendra, Indonesian, Javanese, translation, love, fate, god, gods, goddess, groom, bride, world, time, life, sun, hill, hills, moon, moonlight, stars, life, animals , international, travel, voyage, wedding, relationship, mrbtran
0
Oct 15, 2020
Oct 15, 2020 at 5:36 AM UTC
michael-r-burch
W. S. Rendra translations
W. S. Rendra translations Willibrordus Surendra Broto Rendra (1935-2009), better known as W. S. Rendra or simply Rendra, was an Indonesian dramatist and poet. He said, “I learned meditation and the disciplines of the traditional Javanese poet from my mother, who was a palace dancer. The idea of the Javanese poet is to be a guardian of the spirit of the nation.” The press gave him the nickname Burung Merak (“The Peacock”) for his flamboyant poetry readings and stage performances. SONNET by W. S. Rendra loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Best wishes for an impending deflowering. Yes, I understand: you will never be mine. I am resigned to my undeserved fate. I contemplate irrational numbers―complex & undefined. And yet I wish love might ... ameliorate ... such negative numbers, dark and unsigned. But at least I can’t be held responsible for disappointing you. No cause to elate. Still, I am resigned to my undeserved fate. The gods have spoken. I can relate. How can this be, when all it makes no sense? I was born too soon―such was my fate. You must choose another, not half of who I AM. Be happy with him when you consummate. THE WORLD'S FIRST FACE by W. S. Rendra loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Illuminated by the pale moonlight the groom carries his bride up the hill― both of them naked, both consisting of nothing but themselves. As in all beginnings the world is naked, empty, free of deception, dark with unspoken explanations― a silence that extends to the limits of time. Then comes light, life, the animals and man. As in all beginnings everything is naked, empty, open. They're both young, yet both have already come a long way, passing through the illusions of brilliant dawns, of skies illuminated by hope, of rivers intimating contentment. They have experienced the sun's warmth, drenched in each other's sweat. Here, standing by barren reefs, they watch evening fall bringing strange dreams to a bed arrayed with resplendent coral necklaces. They lift their heads to view trillions of stars arrayed in the sky. The universe is their inheritance: stars upon stars upon stars, more than could ever be extinguished. Illuminated by the pale moonlight the groom carries his bride up the hill― both of them naked, to recreate the world's first face. Keywords/Tags: Rendra, Indonesian, Javanese, translation, love, fate, god, gods, goddess, groom, bride, world, time, life, sun, hill, hills, moon, moonlight, stars, life, animals , international, travel, voyage, wedding, relationship, mrbtran
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61
Waves crashing into the sand The light of the sun palpable throughout the land Blades of grass whisper a song Intimating it won't be long Birds fly high high high The afternoon musts be nigh Listening quietly to the sounds Although silence is more profound Steps lead up through the gates Saying "au revoir" where reality awaits
0
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 6:24 PM UTC
viya-choudhary
Irvington memories
Waves crashing into the sand The light of the sun palpable throughout the land Blades of grass whisper a song Intimating it won't be long Birds fly high high high The afternoon musts be nigh Listening quietly to the sounds Although silence is more profound Steps lead up through the gates Saying "au revoir" where reality awaits
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10
From off the branch of an old tree a tired rope swing sings the breeze that travels over from afar in my grandmother's old backyard Intimating long lost ghosts of children idly passing time gently swaying back and forth in a rhythm also I am Shade in summer from the sun mosaic in the autumn light company for winter nights glowing when spring has begun Transforming mundane to sublime of love, intermediate host a gin and tonic with a lime to raise to life and love in toast A firefly inside a jar I caught once, like a shooting star beneath the tall and ancient tree the first time I held you to me
0
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 8:37 PM UTC
zajan-akia
Roots of Love
From off the branch of an old tree a tired rope swing sings the breeze that travels over from afar in my grandmother's old backyard Intimating long lost ghosts of children idly passing time gently swaying back and forth in a rhythm also I am Shade in summer from the sun mosaic in the autumn light company for winter nights glowing when spring has begun Transforming mundane to sublime of love, intermediate host a gin and tonic with a lime to raise to life and love in toast A firefly inside a jar I caught once, like a shooting star beneath the tall and ancient tree the first time I held you to me
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20
The sun lit up the ocean like a shattered sapphire rippling through waves piercing each crest in a crystalline instant as she glanced over her shoulder intimating midnight
0
Jul 1, 2012
Jul 1, 2012 at 9:58 PM UTC
zajan-akia
Broken Symmetry
The sun lit up the ocean like a shattered sapphire rippling through waves piercing each crest in a crystalline instant as she glanced over her shoulder intimating midnight
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7
I am holding a million and one words each tightly packed into my mouth yet many small words are escaping, pouring from the sides of my lips, drenching the lower half of my face entirely. I will wipe away the slipping residue and begin with calm, only opening the entrance of description as to unclench my lips. Jared, male, twenty-two. These minimal words of black and white reach the ear plainly, without impact. Residue slips further, more words of lesser color, lesser impact, yet the slightly slightly slightly more more more more invigorating colors release themselves in these bright forms of words, descriptions, explanations, emotions. He has ambition. Ambition that can only be compared to the greats of history, the psychotic, the brave, the colorful. A juicy pink now fills my lips. Jared has a heart that beats with caution, yet when held close, fits into your hands like a newborn animal, precious. I tear up at every encounter with this one this one psychotic, brave, colorful boy. This one careful, darling individual who yet could, without flinching could extract apart every ****** limb of any breathing thing. He stands, a military posture, gazing. He does not look away. With shuffling your feet and nerves jumping because you have only experienced this once by your least favored teacher, the opposing end of a power dynamic too intimating to overcome, who was evaluating the proper level of punishment. Punishment? He already knows who you are yet you batter and batter and batter into your head what this boy is. Some seconds pass by and yet the same three words; Jared, male, twenty-two, patter like a ****** advertisement through your mind until he is telling you a story; his venture on the mountain of Mount Fuji and amid a monsoon in which he would have, should have, died. And you listen, attentively. And he does not stop talking and you do not stop listening and you have hiked nine miles and you realize the sun has set and you are not where you started and those three words have been forgotten and you are walking in 11pm darkness. Attentitive, at his side.
0
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 5:26 PM UTC
haley-cann
Jared, male, twenty-two.
I am holding a million and one words each tightly packed into my mouth yet many small words are escaping, pouring from the sides of my lips, drenching the lower half of my face entirely. I will wipe away the slipping residue and begin with calm, only opening the entrance of description as to unclench my lips. Jared, male, twenty-two. These minimal words of black and white reach the ear plainly, without impact. Residue slips further, more words of lesser color, lesser impact, yet the slightly slightly slightly more more more more invigorating colors release themselves in these bright forms of words, descriptions, explanations, emotions. He has ambition. Ambition that can only be compared to the greats of history, the psychotic, the brave, the colorful. A juicy pink now fills my lips. Jared has a heart that beats with caution, yet when held close, fits into your hands like a newborn animal, precious. I tear up at every encounter with this one this one psychotic, brave, colorful boy. This one careful, darling individual who yet could, without flinching could extract apart every ****** limb of any breathing thing. He stands, a military posture, gazing. He does not look away. With shuffling your feet and nerves jumping because you have only experienced this once by your least favored teacher, the opposing end of a power dynamic too intimating to overcome, who was evaluating the proper level of punishment. Punishment? He already knows who you are yet you batter and batter and batter into your head what this boy is. Some seconds pass by and yet the same three words; Jared, male, twenty-two, patter like a ****** advertisement through your mind until he is telling you a story; his venture on the mountain of Mount Fuji and amid a monsoon in which he would have, should have, died. And you listen, attentively. And he does not stop talking and you do not stop listening and you have hiked nine miles and you realize the sun has set and you are not where you started and those three words have been forgotten and you are walking in 11pm darkness. Attentitive, at his side.
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57
from our shores we stake out our boundaries at various distances for safety outside of them we are entrusted to traverse quietly with humility with delicacy because, when we are lovingly let to draw nearer - we are allowed to discover the light and life that many of us must leave buried amongst brush and boulders or beneath the sand quietly hidden from the ravenous wandering souls staring on tempestuous howling storms unconsciously devouring what we haven't tucked away for safe keeping & with such great gratitude to have that arterial vein willingly with trust opened for you to climb in so you can be let to listen to hear to see to know the most earnest vibrations intricate intimacies the warm heaving and sighing the most sacred temple the most venerable ***** a ventricular vestibule intimating the harshest subtleties & the most visceral visions
0
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 9:30 PM UTC
rikki
V
from our shores we stake out our boundaries at various distances for safety outside of them we are entrusted to traverse quietly with humility with delicacy because, when we are lovingly let to draw nearer - we are allowed to discover the light and life that many of us must leave buried amongst brush and boulders or beneath the sand quietly hidden from the ravenous wandering souls staring on tempestuous howling storms unconsciously devouring what we haven't tucked away for safe keeping & with such great gratitude to have that arterial vein willingly with trust opened for you to climb in so you can be let to listen to hear to see to know the most earnest vibrations intricate intimacies the warm heaving and sighing the most sacred temple the most venerable ***** a ventricular vestibule intimating the harshest subtleties & the most visceral visions
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39
how did it come to be, this silence all around me.. i see your eyes intimating a river, makes my body shiver. when your heads down low, and the stream becomes a flow i promise to never let you go. when i hold your head tight to my chest your river you may rest, stare up at me and i will be looking back. where is all the laughter at?
0
May 21, 2011
May 21, 2011 at 4:08 PM UTC
the-froyo
~~laughter~~
how did it come to be, this silence all around me.. i see your eyes intimating a river, makes my body shiver. when your heads down low, and the stream becomes a flow i promise to never let you go. when i hold your head tight to my chest your river you may rest, stare up at me and i will be looking back. where is all the laughter at?
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6
Blood’s on your lips as you stare into my soul. What is it you see? You see a victim. I can see the carnivorous beast in you and the predator gnashing her teeth at her prey, sending the scent of adrenaline through the air and intimating with the fragrance of potential gratification. But I am helpless as my ears flick like a helpless doe. You stalk your pray with ***** glances and sweet smiles from across expansions of room, waiting for the perfect moment to lunge in for the **** Finding it, you come closer and let me know my vulnerability with only one word. Hi And the rest is history Little did the prey know that he was the hunted. Our bodies twisted and bent in such ways of pleasurous escape that I don’t realize. I’m trapped. Nibble on my neck like a predator crushes a windpipe. Lick your lips like a satisfied wolf and let me know who my ender is. Spread yourself over me and don’t let me escape, grip me like you’ll never satisfy again. And then leave. The predator has been satisfied, the prey left to the vultures. How can she play with so many souls and feel no remorse? How can she turn such innocence without the slightest thought of disturbance? One must keep his lust and his love as separate entities, for if you confuse the two, you might become a victim. Man-eater
0
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 7:31 PM UTC
Poeticjustice
Man-eater
Blood’s on your lips as you stare into my soul. What is it you see? You see a victim. I can see the carnivorous beast in you and the predator gnashing her teeth at her prey, sending the scent of adrenaline through the air and intimating with the fragrance of potential gratification. But I am helpless as my ears flick like a helpless doe. You stalk your pray with ***** glances and sweet smiles from across expansions of room, waiting for the perfect moment to lunge in for the **** Finding it, you come closer and let me know my vulnerability with only one word. Hi And the rest is history Little did the prey know that he was the hunted. Our bodies twisted and bent in such ways of pleasurous escape that I don’t realize. I’m trapped. Nibble on my neck like a predator crushes a windpipe. Lick your lips like a satisfied wolf and let me know who my ender is. Spread yourself over me and don’t let me escape, grip me like you’ll never satisfy again. And then leave. The predator has been satisfied, the prey left to the vultures. How can she play with so many souls and feel no remorse? How can she turn such innocence without the slightest thought of disturbance? One must keep his lust and his love as separate entities, for if you confuse the two, you might become a victim. Man-eater
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19
So soulful and very mystic this time so begin It was so much without saying anything at all A stillness of silence so profound The simple and soothing secrets of sounds never composed A whisper in the ear from a shadow of cool breeze And slow clouds being pushed apart by the wind Silence on white cliffs and empty grey skies A tear could readily fall hauntingly from the view of her beauty It was so much without saying anything at all Yet the color of her brown eyes Seemed to slip away from the candle flame One would truly dislike as they slowly passed away They would unwillfully threaten to leave and betray As pleasing to the senses or mind aesthetically As  eyes were once closed in the Garden of Eden It was so much without saying anything at all From under the flickering light designs No words could ever compare such of atmosphere Forthwith the beauty of silence Thence her intimating shadowy eyes A clueless looking glass of never sea Wasted on he in time flows of night moths Fond affections were never stated to she From cold secretive envelops, And faded letters of dusty dry ink Visionary shadowy landscapes From the scent of a lost silence And time became just a lost memory It was so much without saying anything at all The leaves gathering in a motion of a winter whisper An unclear , and uncertain smile almost seen away
0
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 10:29 PM UTC
Shadow-Silence
Leaves Gathering Motion
So soulful and very mystic this time so begin It was so much without saying anything at all A stillness of silence so profound The simple and soothing secrets of sounds never composed A whisper in the ear from a shadow of cool breeze And slow clouds being pushed apart by the wind Silence on white cliffs and empty grey skies A tear could readily fall hauntingly from the view of her beauty It was so much without saying anything at all Yet the color of her brown eyes Seemed to slip away from the candle flame One would truly dislike as they slowly passed away They would unwillfully threaten to leave and betray As pleasing to the senses or mind aesthetically As  eyes were once closed in the Garden of Eden It was so much without saying anything at all From under the flickering light designs No words could ever compare such of atmosphere Forthwith the beauty of silence Thence her intimating shadowy eyes A clueless looking glass of never sea Wasted on he in time flows of night moths Fond affections were never stated to she From cold secretive envelops, And faded letters of dusty dry ink Visionary shadowy landscapes From the scent of a lost silence And time became just a lost memory It was so much without saying anything at all The leaves gathering in a motion of a winter whisper An unclear , and uncertain smile almost seen away
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31
' *You have been much more  to many a progressively  ailing heart,  in the eloquence  of whispered words -  watch them alight on  the pages of a poem.  What in the waving  of waxing thought;  words copiously flow  in the effervescent  glow of lilting rhyme -  solitary images  march the desert storm.  Amnesty provides no relief:  no human deed can make amends,  the speed of apologies fail  to outrun the steam roller  of resolute demeanour.  Once the balm of intimating breath  now asphyxiates tomorrow's hope.  Put forth in plain speech  what now in riddles present  then lay a poignant wreathe upon  this wailing, bardic crypt.  Underneath its gravestone, find  wispy embers of yesterdays  awaiting phoenix wings' climb.  Hence in its turn let generosity provide  this grievous dagger a sheath to hide.* ____ ____ ____ ✒ ○● ° '
0
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 5:57 AM UTC
hellopoet
a dagger's hiding place
' *You have been much more  to many a progressively  ailing heart,  in the eloquence  of whispered words -  watch them alight on  the pages of a poem.  What in the waving  of waxing thought;  words copiously flow  in the effervescent  glow of lilting rhyme -  solitary images  march the desert storm.  Amnesty provides no relief:  no human deed can make amends,  the speed of apologies fail  to outrun the steam roller  of resolute demeanour.  Once the balm of intimating breath  now asphyxiates tomorrow's hope.  Put forth in plain speech  what now in riddles present  then lay a poignant wreathe upon  this wailing, bardic crypt.  Underneath its gravestone, find  wispy embers of yesterdays  awaiting phoenix wings' climb.  Hence in its turn let generosity provide  this grievous dagger a sheath to hide.* ____ ____ ____ ✒ ○● ° '
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35
Brainstorming, concentrating panning... for poem idea shattered brew tilly by deafening seasonal greensward cutting crew contracted throughout summer to mow leaves of grass every Tuesday, which drew attention toward fragrant aroma seeping into nostrils of me - match hew, heavily negated true quiescence courtesy ear splitting soundcloud of driving mowers even moo ving bovines would clap cloven hooves over soft as lambs wool sensitive hearing micro corkscrew innards, viz their ***** shaped audiological anatomical accouterments - cow word lee lowing Jew pitter Io sliver by jove whew once silence returns (after cessation rip snorting bedlam) savoring the hum of nature anew, and moost likely relish fresh cut leaves of grass as I inhale analogous delectable waft of homebrew albeit molecules borne aloft after sharp heavy duty blades of industrial riding mowers bestrew higglety pigglety, helter skelter juicy fruit chlorophyll rich plants releasing nectar sweet as honeydew olfactory imbibing nostalgic view of yesterday, when agrarian farmsteads populated landscape picturesquely anointing, exuding, messaging... perfuming faint clue intimating rural lifestyle forebears hapt tubby privy too, where deer and antelope played unaccosted by impending urbanization, hence such idyllic serene rue man nation - visage you would probably concur as most divine comity worth more than any buckeroo could purchase - vestiges vanishing without a trace adieu mother nature nowhere found except caged up within zoo.
0
Aug 6, 2019
Aug 6, 2019 at 3:33 PM UTC
matthew-scott-harris2p
Smell of fresh mown grass
Brainstorming, concentrating panning... for poem idea shattered brew tilly by deafening seasonal greensward cutting crew contracted throughout summer to mow leaves of grass every Tuesday, which drew attention toward fragrant aroma seeping into nostrils of me - match hew, heavily negated true quiescence courtesy ear splitting soundcloud of driving mowers even moo ving bovines would clap cloven hooves over soft as lambs wool sensitive hearing micro corkscrew innards, viz their ***** shaped audiological anatomical accouterments - cow word lee lowing Jew pitter Io sliver by jove whew once silence returns (after cessation rip snorting bedlam) savoring the hum of nature anew, and moost likely relish fresh cut leaves of grass as I inhale analogous delectable waft of homebrew albeit molecules borne aloft after sharp heavy duty blades of industrial riding mowers bestrew higglety pigglety, helter skelter juicy fruit chlorophyll rich plants releasing nectar sweet as honeydew olfactory imbibing nostalgic view of yesterday, when agrarian farmsteads populated landscape picturesquely anointing, exuding, messaging... perfuming faint clue intimating rural lifestyle forebears hapt tubby privy too, where deer and antelope played unaccosted by impending urbanization, hence such idyllic serene rue man nation - visage you would probably concur as most divine comity worth more than any buckeroo could purchase - vestiges vanishing without a trace adieu mother nature nowhere found except caged up within zoo.
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56
Indeed, but who decided that? Oh I see; Would it make sense to say no? That's what I meant to say Indeed, I was thinking to blurt no (It may have been a question of whether you were a matter for howling or rejoicing) I will stay alive Divest! Lose the rest and conquer South by jest Stand proud and fresh, unfettered from contrive How else? That's what I hinted at: I'll stay alive That's what I meant- I mean to stay alive Indeed, like staying alone Staying indirectly; staying indecisive How but through deeds Can we move past the needs Manifesting via words - millions of words - (As we are leaving, time leaves us That's what I'm intimating) Staying somewhere oh yeah Just fine oh yeah I'll leave As soon as I do not have direction As soon as I know it's a problem. As soon as I am... awful ... Ah It is a badly smeared foundation Barely shabby management Indeed what I was portraying- (Feeling your potency and feeding equally Your proportional perversity for skin) Staying where oh yeah, oh yeah As long as it is there, ahhh... huh? Yes, I heard it's a bad habit (Shall I miss you at the bull's eye And **** brick-wall instead?) Building a dynasty of steps Toward the inevitable clash of flesh- Yours and mine Welcome to the Big Shade ******* out of serenade .... Colours left to fade (Well it's a bumpy breeze Maybe what I meant it to be Indeed to say I will not let you go- Well at least That's what I told you so) Not such a bad, bad thing You - healing little by little, your adversities for real It is not like I'll be brittle and It won't be such a long time No way- no need to worry It will not be such a bad thing: (I. Then no more I.)
0
May 13, 2017
May 13, 2017 at 4:36 PM UTC
richard-collier
Untitled
Indeed, but who decided that? Oh I see; Would it make sense to say no? That's what I meant to say Indeed, I was thinking to blurt no (It may have been a question of whether you were a matter for howling or rejoicing) I will stay alive Divest! Lose the rest and conquer South by jest Stand proud and fresh, unfettered from contrive How else? That's what I hinted at: I'll stay alive That's what I meant- I mean to stay alive Indeed, like staying alone Staying indirectly; staying indecisive How but through deeds Can we move past the needs Manifesting via words - millions of words - (As we are leaving, time leaves us That's what I'm intimating) Staying somewhere oh yeah Just fine oh yeah I'll leave As soon as I do not have direction As soon as I know it's a problem. As soon as I am... awful ... Ah It is a badly smeared foundation Barely shabby management Indeed what I was portraying- (Feeling your potency and feeding equally Your proportional perversity for skin) Staying where oh yeah, oh yeah As long as it is there, ahhh... huh? Yes, I heard it's a bad habit (Shall I miss you at the bull's eye And **** brick-wall instead?) Building a dynasty of steps Toward the inevitable clash of flesh- Yours and mine Welcome to the Big Shade ******* out of serenade .... Colours left to fade (Well it's a bumpy breeze Maybe what I meant it to be Indeed to say I will not let you go- Well at least That's what I told you so) Not such a bad, bad thing You - healing little by little, your adversities for real It is not like I'll be brittle and It won't be such a long time No way- no need to worry It will not be such a bad thing: (I. Then no more I.)
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'Pon reading tragic headline..., aye experienced grief alone, no matter the killer (Chris Watts, thirty-three years of Frederick, Colorado) unknown to me, the sheer brutality, whereat he killed Shanann Watts, Bella and Celeste, his once adorably beautiful, now ceased wife and daughters ages thirty four, four, and three respectively (purportedly via strangulation) reflexively did i groan particularly, the propensity to **** with in sinew weighted bone times gone by, where expletive laced epithets incessantly did drone nearly activating trip wires, a blood dripping knife, would be shown to police, unless...I took my life, cuz immediate regret would well up resulting with an agonizing moan... hence after perusing morbid (somewhat inexplicably fascinating) screaming tragedy ado admit sadness overtook this chap, what wrought motive, (albeit premeditated) for him to construe such an atrocious, ferocious, heinous, et cetera grew some crime toward innocent wife (she supposedly knew) intuitively felt and possibly foresaw the slew how her life (a grotesque mass square aid ) would meet one gross violent death intimating marriage frayed ranking as "FAKE," or Eff for failing grade yet tidbits publicized twas shaky match from get go, no heaven made nor wedded bliss - her precious life paid as well two preschoolers (cute as a button), and expectant third progeny (male fetus) existence extinguished by, "killer" the husband, who went into a deadly tie raid now guilt upon his conscious heavily weighed.
0
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 2:39 PM UTC
matthew-scott-harris2p
Reprehensible Savagery ©
'Pon reading tragic headline..., aye experienced grief alone, no matter the killer (Chris Watts, thirty-three years of Frederick, Colorado) unknown to me, the sheer brutality, whereat he killed Shanann Watts, Bella and Celeste, his once adorably beautiful, now ceased wife and daughters ages thirty four, four, and three respectively (purportedly via strangulation) reflexively did i groan particularly, the propensity to **** with in sinew weighted bone times gone by, where expletive laced epithets incessantly did drone nearly activating trip wires, a blood dripping knife, would be shown to police, unless...I took my life, cuz immediate regret would well up resulting with an agonizing moan... hence after perusing morbid (somewhat inexplicably fascinating) screaming tragedy ado admit sadness overtook this chap, what wrought motive, (albeit premeditated) for him to construe such an atrocious, ferocious, heinous, et cetera grew some crime toward innocent wife (she supposedly knew) intuitively felt and possibly foresaw the slew how her life (a grotesque mass square aid ) would meet one gross violent death intimating marriage frayed ranking as "FAKE," or Eff for failing grade yet tidbits publicized twas shaky match from get go, no heaven made nor wedded bliss - her precious life paid as well two preschoolers (cute as a button), and expectant third progeny (male fetus) existence extinguished by, "killer" the husband, who went into a deadly tie raid now guilt upon his conscious heavily weighed.
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56
“ The reality is that no medication or vaccine is 100% effective, and everything has risks and benefits,” (Bloomberg article on the efficacy of vaccines) <<> this the larger/largest query, if not the largesr grandee of all questions and querying, is it has no equal! hopefully you place expectant parenthood off to one side for soon enough the daily double trouble of learned birth defects yours, theirs, ours collectively, of the most ordinary human variety will be self-disclosed, no needed writ of disclaimer, just a legal exclaim, of a suitable profanity curse… better than who what when where and it’s a first cousin to why?, and begins the conversation intimating the process, goal setting, mostly failing, cursing your self oft out-loudly while think-walking, and the nearby know it all’s are thinking, what was I expecting? you don’t understand? 99.9% of us doomed, doomed I tell you, to fail… What were you expecting?
0
Mar 27, 2024
Mar 27, 2024 at 2:36 AM UTC
nat-lipstadt
What were you expecting?
“ The reality is that no medication or vaccine is 100% effective, and everything has risks and benefits,” (Bloomberg article on the efficacy of vaccines) <<> this the larger/largest query, if not the largesr grandee of all questions and querying, is it has no equal! hopefully you place expectant parenthood off to one side for soon enough the daily double trouble of learned birth defects yours, theirs, ours collectively, of the most ordinary human variety will be self-disclosed, no needed writ of disclaimer, just a legal exclaim, of a suitable profanity curse… better than who what when where and it’s a first cousin to why?, and begins the conversation intimating the process, goal setting, mostly failing, cursing your self oft out-loudly while think-walking, and the nearby know it all’s are thinking, what was I expecting? you don’t understand? 99.9% of us doomed, doomed I tell you, to fail… What were you expecting?
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37