"juxtaposing" poems - Hello Poetry

"juxtaposing" poems

Sailing through sheer jagged thoughts and cool running dreams The merciless curse of emotion overflowing the exhilarating streams Witnessing the chaotic times of the dark and ancient old when the mystifying warriors heart was branded honorable and bold ever drifting ever more in this sea without a shore through this land of legends and lore ever drifting evermore Floating ever aimlessly through translucent waters seeing the weak of mind from this plane exiling their sons and daughters While beasts of burden trudge from within the midsts of juxtaposing viking ships ships of war and plague and death that obliviously vanish within a breath ever drifting evermore in this sea without a shore through this land of legends and lore ever drifting evermore Sailing after those laden beasts that which so arrogantly stray you see those morbid souls of life so ominisqueskly carried away To the ***** delight and warmth of the strong and merciful earth Away from this unknown land Of legends miraculous birth ever drifting evermore in this sea without a shore Through this land of legends and lore ever drifting evermore © Crystal Erickson 1999

0

Dec 29, 2014

Dec 29, 2014 at 6:24 PM UTC

Land of Legends

Sailing through sheer jagged thoughts and cool running dreams The merciless curse of emotion overflowing the exhilarating streams Witnessing the chaotic times of the dark and ancient old when the mystifying warriors heart was branded honorable and bold ever drifting ever more in this sea without a shore through this land of legends and lore ever drifting evermore Floating ever aimlessly through translucent waters seeing the weak of mind from this plane exiling their sons and daughters While beasts of burden trudge from within the midsts of juxtaposing viking ships ships of war and plague and death that obliviously vanish within a breath ever drifting evermore in this sea without a shore through this land of legends and lore ever drifting evermore Sailing after those laden beasts that which so arrogantly stray you see those morbid souls of life so ominisqueskly carried away To the ***** delight and warmth of the strong and merciful earth Away from this unknown land Of legends miraculous birth ever drifting evermore in this sea without a shore Through this land of legends and lore ever drifting evermore © Crystal Erickson 1999

Continue reading...

building purist æsthetic proselytizing solar-powered heliolatry commemorating historic concert sensing dark forces fokken lekker antwoord pumping sensory overload featuring high-tech dee-jay admiring gelato micro-truck laxing laying lazing "doing something nasty" continuing quality content entering another cathedral journeying without borders "exactly one year since visiting vatican" appreciating full-time gigasphere awaiting pyongyang performance depicting unlikely crowdsurfer foreseeing exponential improvements furthering esoteric agenda sensing profound incompatibility data-mining people's infidelities anticipating futuristic caffeine perfecting invisible propaganda researching mind-control techniques polishing psycho-social weaponry sensing social embargo flourishing frantic fanfare admiring longitudinal monument parodying marketing slogans cycling through österreich eyeing dystopian disneyland streaming crosswords extended-play herding glass kittens deleting idiosyncratic fragment loremipsum-ing laconic loudmouth receiving ultramodern telegram eigo-ga wakarimasu ka? guzzling duck-fat fries encouraging panic selling (juxtaposing past incarnations) getting black-and-white privilege renewing boutique account relishing cinema poutine re-entering hibernation mode opening old windows continuing zoo motif absquatulating excessive excesses nullifying originality claims proliferating protean persona disappearing sidewalk alphabet shrugging opprobrious moments enjoying vertical alignment re-entering cyberpunk paradise approaching island sun soaring beyond monoliths trivializing extraneous argy-bargy decreasing character limits dumping generic accounts uglifying commit message escaping into idiosyncracy moonshining great lake exuding idiosyncratic propaganda living nineties' dreams making occidental cuisine envisioning idiocratic president expropriating your time ascending homely helix singing fat lady

0

Sep 12, 2015

Sep 12, 2015 at 12:12 PM UTC

building purist æsthetic proselytizing solar-powered heliolatry commemorating historic concert sensing dark forces fokken lekker antwoord pumping sensory overload featuring high-tech dee-jay admiring gelato micro-truck laxing laying lazing "doing something nasty" continuing quality content entering another cathedral journeying without borders "exactly one year since visiting vatican" appreciating full-time gigasphere awaiting pyongyang performance depicting unlikely crowdsurfer foreseeing exponential improvements furthering esoteric agenda sensing profound incompatibility data-mining people's infidelities anticipating futuristic caffeine perfecting invisible propaganda researching mind-control techniques polishing psycho-social weaponry sensing social embargo flourishing frantic fanfare admiring longitudinal monument parodying marketing slogans cycling through österreich eyeing dystopian disneyland streaming crosswords extended-play herding glass kittens deleting idiosyncratic fragment loremipsum-ing laconic loudmouth receiving ultramodern telegram eigo-ga wakarimasu ka? guzzling duck-fat fries encouraging panic selling (juxtaposing past incarnations) getting black-and-white privilege renewing boutique account relishing cinema poutine re-entering hibernation mode opening old windows continuing zoo motif absquatulating excessive excesses nullifying originality claims proliferating protean persona disappearing sidewalk alphabet shrugging opprobrious moments enjoying vertical alignment re-entering cyberpunk paradise approaching island sun soaring beyond monoliths trivializing extraneous argy-bargy decreasing character limits dumping generic accounts uglifying commit message escaping into idiosyncracy moonshining great lake exuding idiosyncratic propaganda living nineties' dreams making occidental cuisine envisioning idiocratic president expropriating your time ascending homely helix singing fat lady

Continue reading...

Always saying I love you, baby. But they’ve only been together a day. Captivated by the way the Darkness of each other’s pupils grow Every time they touch. Forcing the kind of relationships, but more of the Groping, that they saw in the movies. Heated make out sessions in the church youth room, with Intensity that could make strippers blush. Juxtaposing every inch of their bodies. Knowing what to do only because of what they Learned in health class. Trying to Master the art of *** and what they call love, Not caring who knows. Living off each Other’s breaths. Fabricating Plans and stories for their parents when they’re caught Quietly sneaking back into their Rooms at four in the morning, Shutting their doors and their eyelids, Tracing remnant goose bumps. Until the sun shines into their windows, Violating their dreams of Cinderella and Prince Charming, Washing the night from their skin, and shoving their ****** memories to the back and hiding them in a drawer. Yearning to be touched again, by whom ever the next Zephyr can blow into their neighborhood.

0

Dec 10, 2012

Dec 10, 2012 at 10:38 PM UTC

shelby-rose-farrell

Teen Love, Like Knowing the ABCs But Not Any Words: Listen to These Kids

Always saying I love you, baby. But they’ve only been together a day. Captivated by the way the Darkness of each other’s pupils grow Every time they touch. Forcing the kind of relationships, but more of the Groping, that they saw in the movies. Heated make out sessions in the church youth room, with Intensity that could make strippers blush. Juxtaposing every inch of their bodies. Knowing what to do only because of what they Learned in health class. Trying to Master the art of *** and what they call love, Not caring who knows. Living off each Other’s breaths. Fabricating Plans and stories for their parents when they’re caught Quietly sneaking back into their Rooms at four in the morning, Shutting their doors and their eyelids, Tracing remnant goose bumps. Until the sun shines into their windows, Violating their dreams of Cinderella and Prince Charming, Washing the night from their skin, and shoving their ****** memories to the back and hiding them in a drawer. Yearning to be touched again, by whom ever the next Zephyr can blow into their neighborhood.

Continue reading...

Cigarettes and coffee and you. If I had to name three things I couldn't live without, I guess those would be the things. But it’s not an addiction, per say. I only like cigarettes when your callused fingers offer them to me, your wordless expression showing concern and contentess. I blow away our pain and worries and pass it on for later, thinking I’ll make some coffee again today. For both of us like I usually do. Coconut milk in yours and creamer in mine, right? My toes are suddenly cold I dip them in these tender aqua waters, juxtaposing itself with the Tampa humidity that laces my cup. I can't tell if you resting your arms around my waist brings a fire within me or if it gives me chills. I start swaying to some synonymous tune that happens to play in both of our heads at this moment, even though the only music is the wind whistling through the shells and stems of the palm leaves. My lips are, coffee and cigarette and you stained. The painful heat always disrupts this heavenly time for us. So we’ll meet here, same time tomorrow. I wouldn't want to live without it.

0

Mar 18, 2021

Mar 18, 2021 at 4:49 PM UTC

simranmodhera819

Tampa Hallucination

Cigarettes and coffee and you. If I had to name three things I couldn't live without, I guess those would be the things. But it’s not an addiction, per say. I only like cigarettes when your callused fingers offer them to me, your wordless expression showing concern and contentess. I blow away our pain and worries and pass it on for later, thinking I’ll make some coffee again today. For both of us like I usually do. Coconut milk in yours and creamer in mine, right? My toes are suddenly cold I dip them in these tender aqua waters, juxtaposing itself with the Tampa humidity that laces my cup. I can't tell if you resting your arms around my waist brings a fire within me or if it gives me chills. I start swaying to some synonymous tune that happens to play in both of our heads at this moment, even though the only music is the wind whistling through the shells and stems of the palm leaves. My lips are, coffee and cigarette and you stained. The painful heat always disrupts this heavenly time for us. So we’ll meet here, same time tomorrow. I wouldn't want to live without it.

Continue reading...

A glimpse of blond and shadow, tall and hunched. I would paint him as a morning sun, a blood orange with pinks and golds, my strokes would be soft like the blush on his cheekbones and the indentations beside his mouth. I would paint his face a grey, like clouds that are confused, swirling and whirling but amused by the slightest thing. As I near his chest, I would paint his heart a purple, so dark and deep, juxtaposing his bashful smile and ***** blond hair. The 5 o'clock shadow spreading its graceful limbs along his angular jaw, I would paint a mauve brown, reflecting the days of nerves and sadness as his red-stained lips drop, the smile gone. Like the knock of an elbow, harsh and sharp, eyes seeing stars, the pain is all consuming at first, all he can think about and then the ground stills, the sky is pink, the grass a burnt yellow. I would paint his face blue.

0

Jun 14, 2015

Jun 14, 2015 at 4:49 AM UTC

A glimpse of blond and shadow, tall and hunched. I would paint him as a morning sun, a blood orange with pinks and golds, my strokes would be soft like the blush on his cheekbones and the indentations beside his mouth. I would paint his face a grey, like clouds that are confused, swirling and whirling but amused by the slightest thing. As I near his chest, I would paint his heart a purple, so dark and deep, juxtaposing his bashful smile and ***** blond hair. The 5 o'clock shadow spreading its graceful limbs along his angular jaw, I would paint a mauve brown, reflecting the days of nerves and sadness as his red-stained lips drop, the smile gone. Like the knock of an elbow, harsh and sharp, eyes seeing stars, the pain is all consuming at first, all he can think about and then the ground stills, the sky is pink, the grass a burnt yellow. I would paint his face blue.

Continue reading...

In the shadows of the walls where laughter once reverberated as a symphony of gleeful bliss, intonational inclines arise in the dark as dancing phantoms haunt the smirking silence which dissipates from the splotched, upended floorboards, while midnight footprints breathlessly creak, cradling the demonizing affirmations whispered, the very ones I knew would never become true. We stood by, powerlessly spectating as the love we once shared gasped for air, red in the face, its gushing carotid bulging in desperation, four lungs incinerating themselves with imminent anticipation of the death gleaming just over the horizon, its violet hues juxtaposing with the glimmering night skies of faded constellations comprising the celestial as moonlit silhouettes waltzed across the water, a bright cerulean rippling in our presence, the genesis of a journey unforeseen. Brutal acceptance rains from my eyes, a rumbling river that reigns supreme over the rounded stones stacked high as a towering dam of branches and rubble, leftover waste long forgotten and forlorn; hometown fantasies of childhood memories linger longer than our lost loyalty, liberating me from the rusted chains you'd stapled into my brittle bones, a leash tied tightly around my throat to **** me from my courageous caution back into the splintered wheel dictating our selfish agendas, empty promises of dilapidated affirmations now turned weary and worn with this newfound sense of reflection, a dichotomy depicting time's own passage, the consequence of a metamorphic resolution of open wounds blossoming into eroded scars. Futuristic visions of lesions now mended seamlessly fuse with renewed self-reception, your broken promises stitched with the threads ripped from the capillaries comprising my core, blood-stained carpet of scarlet and crimson fading into an aged and weathered maroon, never truly waning in its acquainted pigment yet blossoming into a stained fabric portraying the promises of the past, of decayed ruins now industriously erected into a radiant utopia of gallant, rubious valor, the final product of an unyielding resolve to have our story rewritten, our own steadfast evolution.

0

Jan 6, 2024

Jan 6, 2024 at 6:24 PM UTC

An unyielding resolve.

In the shadows of the walls where laughter once reverberated as a symphony of gleeful bliss, intonational inclines arise in the dark as dancing phantoms haunt the smirking silence which dissipates from the splotched, upended floorboards, while midnight footprints breathlessly creak, cradling the demonizing affirmations whispered, the very ones I knew would never become true. We stood by, powerlessly spectating as the love we once shared gasped for air, red in the face, its gushing carotid bulging in desperation, four lungs incinerating themselves with imminent anticipation of the death gleaming just over the horizon, its violet hues juxtaposing with the glimmering night skies of faded constellations comprising the celestial as moonlit silhouettes waltzed across the water, a bright cerulean rippling in our presence, the genesis of a journey unforeseen. Brutal acceptance rains from my eyes, a rumbling river that reigns supreme over the rounded stones stacked high as a towering dam of branches and rubble, leftover waste long forgotten and forlorn; hometown fantasies of childhood memories linger longer than our lost loyalty, liberating me from the rusted chains you'd stapled into my brittle bones, a leash tied tightly around my throat to **** me from my courageous caution back into the splintered wheel dictating our selfish agendas, empty promises of dilapidated affirmations now turned weary and worn with this newfound sense of reflection, a dichotomy depicting time's own passage, the consequence of a metamorphic resolution of open wounds blossoming into eroded scars. Futuristic visions of lesions now mended seamlessly fuse with renewed self-reception, your broken promises stitched with the threads ripped from the capillaries comprising my core, blood-stained carpet of scarlet and crimson fading into an aged and weathered maroon, never truly waning in its acquainted pigment yet blossoming into a stained fabric portraying the promises of the past, of decayed ruins now industriously erected into a radiant utopia of gallant, rubious valor, the final product of an unyielding resolve to have our story rewritten, our own steadfast evolution.

Continue reading...

I’ve been wrestling this since last fall, peeling my socks off around 2a.m. and crawling into my nightmares like a child on her hands and knees. I’ve tossed my hair in the towel, examined the scratches on my back or the bite mark on my shoulder, juxtaposing them to my flaws, prying myself open and watching the little memories flood from my arteries like insects. I’ve ****** the energy from my cheeks and given it to my bones so they may carry the weight of last year into this year, the heavy balance between leaving your room and sitting myself against the frame, legs to my chest, listening to the unheard voices telling me to stop loving you. I’ve cut you out like bruises on a strawberry, throwing the bad parts into the black hole to be grinded and deposited as to be rightfully grown into something new. But this time, after we made love on your floor and counted the stars that left my mouth every time you touched me like that, I let myself cling to the light. I stuffed the empty parts with your remnants, and latched onto the goodbye kiss. I’ve been wrestling with you our bodies so close since the summer ended and we rejoined the feelings we spared just to pretend that we didn’t hear the kettle roar when we were finished.

0

Nov 11, 2014

Nov 11, 2014 at 6:26 PM UTC

I’ve been wrestling this since last fall, peeling my socks off around 2a.m. and crawling into my nightmares like a child on her hands and knees. I’ve tossed my hair in the towel, examined the scratches on my back or the bite mark on my shoulder, juxtaposing them to my flaws, prying myself open and watching the little memories flood from my arteries like insects. I’ve ****** the energy from my cheeks and given it to my bones so they may carry the weight of last year into this year, the heavy balance between leaving your room and sitting myself against the frame, legs to my chest, listening to the unheard voices telling me to stop loving you. I’ve cut you out like bruises on a strawberry, throwing the bad parts into the black hole to be grinded and deposited as to be rightfully grown into something new. But this time, after we made love on your floor and counted the stars that left my mouth every time you touched me like that, I let myself cling to the light. I stuffed the empty parts with your remnants, and latched onto the goodbye kiss. I’ve been wrestling with you our bodies so close since the summer ended and we rejoined the feelings we spared just to pretend that we didn’t hear the kettle roar when we were finished.

Continue reading...

It's been quite some time since I've been here, This forest I mean. What a magical place it is, Where dragons have been cleaved; And faeries caged. The moonlight drips over its canvas, In between the canopy, Unto rustling decomposition. Although I wounder to myself, "Where is Hercules tonight?" Maybe the city lights are flushing out The constellations which articulate my thoughts, And imbue their synergy Into the masterpiece of the night sky. Silly humans. Thinking they can do whatever they want, To achieve their dreams. Well, I'm not sorry to break it to you all; but Time has to happen before it exists. So all your petty hopes and wishes are simply Problems you are all creating That were never destined to be there in the first place. Who am I to decide though. Decisions, decisions; Fate waiting to happen, Statistics to record. But Destiny is already turning her gears. Working the clock. So many thoughts trickling through my mind, Sitting here under this eucalyptus tree. The arouma is so soothing... It reminds me of the princess who lived in a cave. The very grounds where I was nearly slaughtered, By her knight in shining armour. No, I wasn't the one glistening under the moonlight, For the person being slaughtered would be none other than myself. She would sit in horror at the scene when she awoke. Only to find that the knight simply wanted to defend her well-being. Something I could never do. Because defending one means bringing wraith upon another. I could never do that. For the guilt I would feel, And remorse ten fold that the relatives of the one being hurt would feel. Empathy would be the enemy, Not the one "endangering" my beloved. So I'll die in her stead. So I musn't experience the ulterior hatred of her eyes, As she looks at me as if I were her Saviour. No, that isn't what I want. So if it means her heart in someone else's hands, So be it. So long she is happy, And safe. No matter how long I should wait for her return, No matter the distance achieved between us; Both physically and emotionally, I will always Love her. Not to the moon and back, For landing upon the stars simply puts me at rest Of the brink of death from the fall. Gravity isn't near, But Darkness most certainly is. Everything in "space" is nothing. Zero. But the clock keeps its schedule on point, And the gears of Destiny still turn; although the time is certainly out of joint.

0

Jun 8, 2013

Jun 8, 2013 at 9:29 PM UTC

Juxtaposing Infinity.

It's been quite some time since I've been here, This forest I mean. What a magical place it is, Where dragons have been cleaved; And faeries caged. The moonlight drips over its canvas, In between the canopy, Unto rustling decomposition. Although I wounder to myself, "Where is Hercules tonight?" Maybe the city lights are flushing out The constellations which articulate my thoughts, And imbue their synergy Into the masterpiece of the night sky. Silly humans. Thinking they can do whatever they want, To achieve their dreams. Well, I'm not sorry to break it to you all; but Time has to happen before it exists. So all your petty hopes and wishes are simply Problems you are all creating That were never destined to be there in the first place. Who am I to decide though. Decisions, decisions; Fate waiting to happen, Statistics to record. But Destiny is already turning her gears. Working the clock. So many thoughts trickling through my mind, Sitting here under this eucalyptus tree. The arouma is so soothing... It reminds me of the princess who lived in a cave. The very grounds where I was nearly slaughtered, By her knight in shining armour. No, I wasn't the one glistening under the moonlight, For the person being slaughtered would be none other than myself. She would sit in horror at the scene when she awoke. Only to find that the knight simply wanted to defend her well-being. Something I could never do. Because defending one means bringing wraith upon another. I could never do that. For the guilt I would feel, And remorse ten fold that the relatives of the one being hurt would feel. Empathy would be the enemy, Not the one "endangering" my beloved. So I'll die in her stead. So I musn't experience the ulterior hatred of her eyes, As she looks at me as if I were her Saviour. No, that isn't what I want. So if it means her heart in someone else's hands, So be it. So long she is happy, And safe. No matter how long I should wait for her return, No matter the distance achieved between us; Both physically and emotionally, I will always Love her. Not to the moon and back, For landing upon the stars simply puts me at rest Of the brink of death from the fall. Gravity isn't near, But Darkness most certainly is. Everything in "space" is nothing. Zero. But the clock keeps its schedule on point, And the gears of Destiny still turn; although the time is certainly out of joint.

Continue reading...

He’s a ***** of in- tellectual acumen. A real conveyor of post-modern acuity. What he has to say doesn’t make sense to me. No one understands his esoteric complexity. He speaks of Aristotelian “virtues”, Platonic Forms, and other “practical” participation by the particularities. Part of all that not even he fully understands. Juxtaposing Quniean “webs of Knowledge” with Davidson Coherantism He is challenged by McDowells 2nd nature Bildung. His conventional English is thus un-sung, while meta-physical abstractions are then hung Out to dry, in the abstract realm sky. What color is that sky? “Unfair Question” he cries. “Tell me about God” I ask, “very well” he replies. My brain is numb after one question, and a few words. He continues, “Do the God(s) agree upon what is good?” Yes is my reply. “If so, do they love what is good?” Again yes. “Then, is the Good whatever the God(s) love, or do the God(s) love what is Good?” He must be on drugs. A little philosophy makes a man an atheist. A lot makes him a believer, just not in God. He praises Reason, his room is a shrine. Within four walls one will not find, no not any sign Of conviction. What? All this time thinking, reflecting, meditating, abstracting, observing, weaving grand tapestries of thought and still he does not find a foot hold in reality? What the hell were you thinking about? He responds. A stream of consciousness is all that is, past is a referent future is a predicate. I am not the “me” I refer to when I say “my book.” No sir, I have never spoken to you any knowledge of me. For that I have none of, but knowledge I am not without. If it is one thing I know, it is that I know nothing. I tell him certainly my English teacher would know something to defeat him, I am soon disenchanted, for he has ammunition for her. “Ask her”, he says “to ascertain the truth value to this grammatically perfect declarative Sentence.” Colorless green ideas sleep furiously.

0

Oct 23, 2011

Oct 23, 2011 at 11:29 PM UTC

Freestyling Philosphy

He’s a ***** of in- tellectual acumen. A real conveyor of post-modern acuity. What he has to say doesn’t make sense to me. No one understands his esoteric complexity. He speaks of Aristotelian “virtues”, Platonic Forms, and other “practical” participation by the particularities. Part of all that not even he fully understands. Juxtaposing Quniean “webs of Knowledge” with Davidson Coherantism He is challenged by McDowells 2nd nature Bildung. His conventional English is thus un-sung, while meta-physical abstractions are then hung Out to dry, in the abstract realm sky. What color is that sky? “Unfair Question” he cries. “Tell me about God” I ask, “very well” he replies. My brain is numb after one question, and a few words. He continues, “Do the God(s) agree upon what is good?” Yes is my reply. “If so, do they love what is good?” Again yes. “Then, is the Good whatever the God(s) love, or do the God(s) love what is Good?” He must be on drugs. A little philosophy makes a man an atheist. A lot makes him a believer, just not in God. He praises Reason, his room is a shrine. Within four walls one will not find, no not any sign Of conviction. What? All this time thinking, reflecting, meditating, abstracting, observing, weaving grand tapestries of thought and still he does not find a foot hold in reality? What the hell were you thinking about? He responds. A stream of consciousness is all that is, past is a referent future is a predicate. I am not the “me” I refer to when I say “my book.” No sir, I have never spoken to you any knowledge of me. For that I have none of, but knowledge I am not without. If it is one thing I know, it is that I know nothing. I tell him certainly my English teacher would know something to defeat him, I am soon disenchanted, for he has ammunition for her. “Ask her”, he says “to ascertain the truth value to this grammatically perfect declarative Sentence.” Colorless green ideas sleep furiously.

Continue reading...

Jewels Just joking the jankiest of jaunts Juxtaposing justice Jails and Jealousy A jingling jackpot Joyfully Jostling Jawboned jewels

0

Oct 13, 2013

Oct 13, 2013 at 4:41 PM UTC

Jewels Just joking the jankiest of jaunts Juxtaposing justice Jails and Jealousy A jingling jackpot Joyfully Jostling Jawboned jewels

Continue reading...

Irrelevant and inexperienced tongues speak of things that are merely meek borrowed thoughts, charred and dark none got the zeal or spark of the original mark behold the originator of thought Fierce and finesse opulent and neoteric complex yet tangible veridical and factual juxtaposing tradition and aesthetics original stands out better Pursue your thoughts deliberately choose perdurable possibilities disparate spheres of same thought well deserved appreciation eponymous hero, you will be !!

0

Dec 25, 2013

Dec 25, 2013 at 11:21 AM UTC

parasuram-dora-hanumanthu

Irrelevant and inexperienced tongues speak of things that are merely meek borrowed thoughts, charred and dark none got the zeal or spark of the original mark behold the originator of thought Fierce and finesse opulent and neoteric complex yet tangible veridical and factual juxtaposing tradition and aesthetics original stands out better Pursue your thoughts deliberately choose perdurable possibilities disparate spheres of same thought well deserved appreciation eponymous hero, you will be !!

Continue reading...

From across the waters of sky and sea, a quest for fire remains. Contained by borders Zues & Posiedon laugh at this homonculus What are signs set by stars division and duality Smoke drifts from mouth and fingertips as once again the beast howls at the juxtaposing light. Why then do these walls whisper Tenderly, "Burn me down," "You've suffered us enough," "Nothing worth doing was ever easy," "Divinity is given to those willing to drown." Frown turns to grit turns to Grin turns to me and I give my word of agreement. "Please."

0

Dec 7, 2022

Dec 7, 2022 at 4:35 AM UTC

From across the waters of sky and sea, a quest for fire remains. Contained by borders Zues & Posiedon laugh at this homonculus What are signs set by stars division and duality Smoke drifts from mouth and fingertips as once again the beast howls at the juxtaposing light. Why then do these walls whisper Tenderly, "Burn me down," "You've suffered us enough," "Nothing worth doing was ever easy," "Divinity is given to those willing to drown." Frown turns to grit turns to Grin turns to me and I give my word of agreement. "Please."

Continue reading...

All the things I am scared to say pile in my brain; begging to flood over they don’t know their own names, but crave to be heard. your voice. its vibrato, true velvet floating across every atom of my being a truth spoken that only comes from your lips a masterpiece no mere humans could create my darling, do you sift through the clouds scanning my eyes as I worship the light you bring? do you hear me call your name as my dreams project themselves toward where you are. your eyes. their stare, a protective state I have never known; dancing across my every move. laughter finds itself within the outlying colors of your world. Don’t you see… don’t you see, our eyes match intensities to create another creation. a world colliding but not in a collision. A big bang, but in serenity. a secret kept; only for us. please, don’t allow me to write about the hands that write me everyday. defining a path in the dark a leader, led by truth and goodness sought by many; found by me. I fall into an eternity, wrapped into you — you rise and fall; I reciprocate. We are patterns; carefully placed alongside juxtaposing backgrounds, only to become one. I surrender, fully. I understand now. For you my heart would fall from my chest, fulfilled it leaps. I will not chase it, it has found its freedom. Freedom in the throwing up of hands. A white flag positioned

0

Feb 28, 2019

Feb 28, 2019 at 11:45 AM UTC

Another Love Poem, but Not Just

All the things I am scared to say pile in my brain; begging to flood over they don’t know their own names, but crave to be heard. your voice. its vibrato, true velvet floating across every atom of my being a truth spoken that only comes from your lips a masterpiece no mere humans could create my darling, do you sift through the clouds scanning my eyes as I worship the light you bring? do you hear me call your name as my dreams project themselves toward where you are. your eyes. their stare, a protective state I have never known; dancing across my every move. laughter finds itself within the outlying colors of your world. Don’t you see… don’t you see, our eyes match intensities to create another creation. a world colliding but not in a collision. A big bang, but in serenity. a secret kept; only for us. please, don’t allow me to write about the hands that write me everyday. defining a path in the dark a leader, led by truth and goodness sought by many; found by me. I fall into an eternity, wrapped into you — you rise and fall; I reciprocate. We are patterns; carefully placed alongside juxtaposing backgrounds, only to become one. I surrender, fully. I understand now. For you my heart would fall from my chest, fulfilled it leaps. I will not chase it, it has found its freedom. Freedom in the throwing up of hands. A white flag positioned

Continue reading...

.no, i believe in a god, because i also believe that man, cannot delve into proper jurisprudence... i believe in god because i can't believe that man can settle the argument for justice, outside the realm of the godly ultimatum of the democracy of, death. so psychiatrists are basically psychologists queen-armed with pharmaceuticals... i'm dead too... and i'll bedead much more, core, years later... but like you'd ******* care... psychiatry is merely psychology for the masses, with the sodden pharmacological-blues of the bourgeoisie-typo of panic... no ****** no... i was the sort of person that was necessarily inconvenient.... i was diagnosed schizoid... because if i wasn't, i'd be deemed a terrible, "idea"... hell... you can't forget me, i'm loving the drugs, esp. when i take them while drinking! so? **** you! bilingualism and reading Heidegger, could only be considered a mental health issue, in the ****** place, akin to England... thank god! i'm ready for the Eire people to cite their ******* Bible! like some crooked excuse in juxtaposing a vague attire to satire. - and what are the chances of me being paid social consolidation payments? virtually, and really: nil... but some **** is just waiting for a housing benefit, while expecting his fifth child? so i'm mad... come to think of it... i tend to forget that god is evil... i try to remember that man is: unjust... god might be evil, but i keep remembering that man is unjust... i prefer an evil god to a good god... because, just because... i know that man will never be just, however much he glories a sense of justice... because i'm pretty sure the devil covered that instance of a paradox... there is no "good" god... when there's a notion of man's injustice premeditated, or, rather... there is no "good" god... when the justice of man, supposed, "justice"... is anything but a courtship with a halved deliverance of purpose... an evil god is a god with only the good bound to men... and if men ploy their affair of goodness on a faking... ergo: quid est deus? then a genuine diagnosis... so... why do people find it strange, being diagnosed with cancer, and their supporters, running the career mile of a charity shop organization... ha ha! ha ha ha ha ha ha! ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! a stick owns two ends... you laugh at me... i? i laugh at you. you were diagnosed with cancer?! ha ha ha ha ha! ha! ****** like how the the reversal of the stick feels? now watch me give a ****

0

Sep 24, 2018

Sep 24, 2018 at 8:39 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

mental illness in England

.no, i believe in a god, because i also believe that man, cannot delve into proper jurisprudence... i believe in god because i can't believe that man can settle the argument for justice, outside the realm of the godly ultimatum of the democracy of, death. so psychiatrists are basically psychologists queen-armed with pharmaceuticals... i'm dead too... and i'll bedead much more, core, years later... but like you'd ******* care... psychiatry is merely psychology for the masses, with the sodden pharmacological-blues of the bourgeoisie-typo of panic... no ****** no... i was the sort of person that was necessarily inconvenient.... i was diagnosed schizoid... because if i wasn't, i'd be deemed a terrible, "idea"... hell... you can't forget me, i'm loving the drugs, esp. when i take them while drinking! so? **** you! bilingualism and reading Heidegger, could only be considered a mental health issue, in the ****** place, akin to England... thank god! i'm ready for the Eire people to cite their ******* Bible! like some crooked excuse in juxtaposing a vague attire to satire. - and what are the chances of me being paid social consolidation payments? virtually, and really: nil... but some **** is just waiting for a housing benefit, while expecting his fifth child? so i'm mad... come to think of it... i tend to forget that god is evil... i try to remember that man is: unjust... god might be evil, but i keep remembering that man is unjust... i prefer an evil god to a good god... because, just because... i know that man will never be just, however much he glories a sense of justice... because i'm pretty sure the devil covered that instance of a paradox... there is no "good" god... when there's a notion of man's injustice premeditated, or, rather... there is no "good" god... when the justice of man, supposed, "justice"... is anything but a courtship with a halved deliverance of purpose... an evil god is a god with only the good bound to men... and if men ploy their affair of goodness on a faking... ergo: quid est deus? then a genuine diagnosis... so... why do people find it strange, being diagnosed with cancer, and their supporters, running the career mile of a charity shop organization... ha ha! ha ha ha ha ha ha! ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! a stick owns two ends... you laugh at me... i? i laugh at you. you were diagnosed with cancer?! ha ha ha ha ha! ha! ****** like how the the reversal of the stick feels? now watch me give a ****

Continue reading...

the restless words you left and the disembodied lives. they strain to find sunlight. and jointed alibis. everyone keeps searching for your excuse, but without finding, they fall. in comforting arbitration and juxtaposing facts. for instance, you'd said you'd always be there, but you were never there at all.

0

Sep 2, 2012

Sep 2, 2012 at 1:43 AM UTC

the restless words you left and the disembodied lives. they strain to find sunlight. and jointed alibis. everyone keeps searching for your excuse, but without finding, they fall. in comforting arbitration and juxtaposing facts. for instance, you'd said you'd always be there, but you were never there at all.

Continue reading...

When I went away to school, I lived in a town with an upper and lower main street, on one of the slanted connector streets there was a storefront church with a white cross sign above the shop that said, "Jesus Saves". Just beyond, and next door, hung a lower sign reading "Green Stamps". Not sure whether anyone else ever noticed, but tickled me near death each time I saw it. And I've been juxtaposing ever since.

0

Jan 18, 2011

Jan 18, 2011 at 9:49 AM UTC

I've been juxtaposing ever since

When I went away to school, I lived in a town with an upper and lower main street, on one of the slanted connector streets there was a storefront church with a white cross sign above the shop that said, "Jesus Saves". Just beyond, and next door, hung a lower sign reading "Green Stamps". Not sure whether anyone else ever noticed, but tickled me near death each time I saw it. And I've been juxtaposing ever since.

Continue reading...

Our bodies lie next to eachother Juxtaposing In such contrasting perfection Your shoulder supplants as my pillow Our lips touching satisfy my every urge Each nibble on the neck acts as a reminder of why we are here Love. So practical and enjoyable But you can see in my eyes, I wonder why. My mind questions my bodies And its desire, its yearning, in its simplest form, its want to be held. Though- I am able to turn my back toward you, curl my legs to yours and forget this question for one more minute.

0

Nov 21, 2013

Nov 21, 2013 at 3:20 PM UTC

Wondering why my mind wanders before dawn.

Our bodies lie next to eachother Juxtaposing In such contrasting perfection Your shoulder supplants as my pillow Our lips touching satisfy my every urge Each nibble on the neck acts as a reminder of why we are here Love. So practical and enjoyable But you can see in my eyes, I wonder why. My mind questions my bodies And its desire, its yearning, in its simplest form, its want to be held. Though- I am able to turn my back toward you, curl my legs to yours and forget this question for one more minute.

Continue reading...

Umbridging the gap and the platitudes of word-whores as well as the Encyclopedic pimps of posh spiced with lingual ice... Because I am a simpleton with a thirst for the Beloved and its discriptive meanings, I am scholarly lacking Juxtaposing my script to refer to references Grecian or urn, enflagrante artisan spurts with superlatives and personified iambics of rhetorical lines limned with deep shagrin because my verbs are linear even when my chicken scratch struck midnight a match stick flame to illuminate my poetic fluffer's formulae schisms from my own mind's magician hat... Not to be-little or slight those hands walking that yellow the pages with slothly seeking rote for meandering bibliographies a librarian's histology fingers for Captain Cook / exploration's verbose exploitation if at most connecting dots treasured maps of purposeful / placement for imagery in the textiles of poetry's destined and enlightening cloak & dagger or a Throw or a goose-down warmth of Love / to blanket the night away just as would a mother's / tucking in from the day's overwhelming lack of reverances, referenced oh how to closely listen / or live beyond the history to be in the moment comparing and sharing our joys and the power of now . . . keep it simple because I am a simpleton with a thirst with a thirst for the Beloved, the Truth of a promise / endowed Tao of Us. . .

0

Dec 25, 2015

Dec 25, 2015 at 1:22 PM UTC

butch-decatoria

UMBRIDGE THE GAP & PLATITUDES (Spoken Word #4)

Umbridging the gap and the platitudes of word-whores as well as the Encyclopedic pimps of posh spiced with lingual ice... Because I am a simpleton with a thirst for the Beloved and its discriptive meanings, I am scholarly lacking Juxtaposing my script to refer to references Grecian or urn, enflagrante artisan spurts with superlatives and personified iambics of rhetorical lines limned with deep shagrin because my verbs are linear even when my chicken scratch struck midnight a match stick flame to illuminate my poetic fluffer's formulae schisms from my own mind's magician hat... Not to be-little or slight those hands walking that yellow the pages with slothly seeking rote for meandering bibliographies a librarian's histology fingers for Captain Cook / exploration's verbose exploitation if at most connecting dots treasured maps of purposeful / placement for imagery in the textiles of poetry's destined and enlightening cloak & dagger or a Throw or a goose-down warmth of Love / to blanket the night away just as would a mother's / tucking in from the day's overwhelming lack of reverances, referenced oh how to closely listen / or live beyond the history to be in the moment comparing and sharing our joys and the power of now . . . keep it simple because I am a simpleton with a thirst with a thirst for the Beloved, the Truth of a promise / endowed Tao of Us. . .

Continue reading...

suffer the young poets to come they are already good – most – what they need – like it or not – is a heavy-handed teach with a heart of steel and a mind of compassion…. The other way around? the behavior education model? nope. Whitman wannabe’s will do it on their own? nope. Dickinson’s to be discovered in yellow paper letters in death? spinsterhood to be canonized like Lorca? there are laureates in front of me, standing tall at the podium – life is to be lived, words to be spit out with relish, juxtaposing music with tears – letting ambition curdle and toss away transience – Amen. © Lewis Bosworth, 9/16

0

Sep 23, 2016

Sep 23, 2016 at 12:57 PM UTC

suffer the young poets to come they are already good – most – what they need – like it or not – is a heavy-handed teach with a heart of steel and a mind of compassion…. The other way around? the behavior education model? nope. Whitman wannabe’s will do it on their own? nope. Dickinson’s to be discovered in yellow paper letters in death? spinsterhood to be canonized like Lorca? there are laureates in front of me, standing tall at the podium – life is to be lived, words to be spit out with relish, juxtaposing music with tears – letting ambition curdle and toss away transience – Amen. © Lewis Bosworth, 9/16

Continue reading...

You were beautiful from afar Reflecting a variety of hues Attracting with swirls and swiggles Personifying some pattern of character You pulled me in Allowing my heart to pump Letting me admire you Giving your lovely essence to me You then opened up to me Horrifying to me Destroying your cover Burning down my love You were ugly up close Terrifying under your mask Juxtaposing to what you seemed Lying to pull me in You attract the gullible Acting all pretty and nice Dancing with their joy for you Swallowing them You then betray them Abandoning your fake Backstabbing their beliefs Entrapping them in lostness

0

Sep 19, 2017

Sep 19, 2017 at 1:38 PM UTC

Beautiful from afar

You were beautiful from afar Reflecting a variety of hues Attracting with swirls and swiggles Personifying some pattern of character You pulled me in Allowing my heart to pump Letting me admire you Giving your lovely essence to me You then opened up to me Horrifying to me Destroying your cover Burning down my love You were ugly up close Terrifying under your mask Juxtaposing to what you seemed Lying to pull me in You attract the gullible Acting all pretty and nice Dancing with their joy for you Swallowing them You then betray them Abandoning your fake Backstabbing their beliefs Entrapping them in lostness

Continue reading...

Sometimes the rain doesn't just roll off my skin. Instead of water, sheets of razors pour from the sky, slicing my soul into something unrecognizable. And it makes me feel more than I have let myself in weeks. Sharp and cold and harsh juxtaposing itself from my warm naivety and shut eyes. So much damage to the inside that my skin prickles from underneath and I shutter at the downpour of metal. And I beg it to stop, beg it to let me sleep again, and curse the sky for making me breathe through stripped lungs. Nothing so violent has ever been so quiet. Nothing so dark has ever felt so familiar.

0

Jun 29, 2016

Jun 29, 2016 at 3:00 PM UTC

Sometimes the rain doesn't just roll off my skin. Instead of water, sheets of razors pour from the sky, slicing my soul into something unrecognizable. And it makes me feel more than I have let myself in weeks. Sharp and cold and harsh juxtaposing itself from my warm naivety and shut eyes. So much damage to the inside that my skin prickles from underneath and I shutter at the downpour of metal. And I beg it to stop, beg it to let me sleep again, and curse the sky for making me breathe through stripped lungs. Nothing so violent has ever been so quiet. Nothing so dark has ever felt so familiar.

Continue reading...

You're a winged beetle and I am a lightening roach during our paranormal hour. Why am I struggling the weight of a vagabond on my slack-spine back with slack strings that bring silly string dreams to my brain starring an amateur fawn. Why are you attracting your mate this late in the morning? I think I'm late to my own mourning ceremony. How phony of me to accept this bait that that I've dangled so familiarly. Silly me with my silly string lullabies like sighs of goodbye pranks. Thanks for making me your mate, or am I prey? I've been growing a frigid light inside me. I've watered it and watched it grow into a person. This frigid light suggested a tundra flight in an instant shock, juxtaposing the dismal night like an instant dusty fish on our musty hidden floor. I'm just an instant dusty chore, a crusty crustacean washed up on the faded shore. I'm just a maudlin faded bore that's always needing more and more and more and more and more and more and more and more. I wish I wasn't an instant fish, beautiful and shocking, unlocking a rainbow that's inducing emotions that I'm chemically reducing slowing to nothing, producing lightening from my murky roach of a lower firefly belly, that's been on display a lot lately, greatly failing to focus your unfocused attention. I'd like to mention how the lines of your words and the lines of your body and the lines of your face have become blurred to me. Tomorrow they will be crisp and clear, though. I know they will be and my head will be sleeping in an endless foggy dream.

0

Feb 13, 2018

Feb 13, 2018 at 12:29 AM UTC

peyton-leigh-stille

Are These Wings or Fins?

You're a winged beetle and I am a lightening roach during our paranormal hour. Why am I struggling the weight of a vagabond on my slack-spine back with slack strings that bring silly string dreams to my brain starring an amateur fawn. Why are you attracting your mate this late in the morning? I think I'm late to my own mourning ceremony. How phony of me to accept this bait that that I've dangled so familiarly. Silly me with my silly string lullabies like sighs of goodbye pranks. Thanks for making me your mate, or am I prey? I've been growing a frigid light inside me. I've watered it and watched it grow into a person. This frigid light suggested a tundra flight in an instant shock, juxtaposing the dismal night like an instant dusty fish on our musty hidden floor. I'm just an instant dusty chore, a crusty crustacean washed up on the faded shore. I'm just a maudlin faded bore that's always needing more and more and more and more and more and more and more and more. I wish I wasn't an instant fish, beautiful and shocking, unlocking a rainbow that's inducing emotions that I'm chemically reducing slowing to nothing, producing lightening from my murky roach of a lower firefly belly, that's been on display a lot lately, greatly failing to focus your unfocused attention. I'd like to mention how the lines of your words and the lines of your body and the lines of your face have become blurred to me. Tomorrow they will be crisp and clear, though. I know they will be and my head will be sleeping in an endless foggy dream.

Continue reading...

Into the night I seek The silhouette of chance, Black merges into white A flight of dances Step into the light To erase the shadows Of a man Whose face over voice In melancholic range Now weeps beneath dreams Of reckless prose eager to know the birth Of another dawn In the arms and wings Of past future strides… The deadly dark of the Running night Is everywhere in sight From bars to bedrooms Juxtaposing Each irreverent line of Tomorrows yet to come But has nothing to offer That is of consequence Forget the deranged sorrow I say Night has its blessings for sale Turn your head to this side And derail the empty wail A breathtaking flight Is a plight that is borrowed From fateless time Oh aphrodisiac nights When the heart seals The worldless spirit I caress your face With the touch of my mind, I have known these moments before When the throat runs dry And feelings are high… A song is conceived By the magical sighs Born to grow With the sweet breath Of love Night blossoms And withers into morn The stars swoon In the slumber of the moon Maybe again Your face will I see As the creatures of mystery Celebrate their Change of colors Outrageously Into the night…..

0

Apr 7, 2015

Apr 7, 2015 at 8:06 AM UTC

Aphrodisiac Nights

Into the night I seek The silhouette of chance, Black merges into white A flight of dances Step into the light To erase the shadows Of a man Whose face over voice In melancholic range Now weeps beneath dreams Of reckless prose eager to know the birth Of another dawn In the arms and wings Of past future strides… The deadly dark of the Running night Is everywhere in sight From bars to bedrooms Juxtaposing Each irreverent line of Tomorrows yet to come But has nothing to offer That is of consequence Forget the deranged sorrow I say Night has its blessings for sale Turn your head to this side And derail the empty wail A breathtaking flight Is a plight that is borrowed From fateless time Oh aphrodisiac nights When the heart seals The worldless spirit I caress your face With the touch of my mind, I have known these moments before When the throat runs dry And feelings are high… A song is conceived By the magical sighs Born to grow With the sweet breath Of love Night blossoms And withers into morn The stars swoon In the slumber of the moon Maybe again Your face will I see As the creatures of mystery Celebrate their Change of colors Outrageously Into the night…..

Continue reading...

Dear poet, This is not a love letter. I only want to write about how my heart does this juxtaposing speed up, slow down, make me lose my ******* mind in the absolute best way thing any time you just… catch my eye. Cliche, I’m aware; but since I met you, your eyes have been my favorite color. Do you want to know why you’re the one who whispers sunsets? You speak, and I am instantly overcome with the glow of the sky. The soft oranges and reds, the delicate pinks and the comfort of the purples. I always want you to watch the sun set and remember that that is how I feel when you speak. I never want you to be afraid to uncover your pages with me. I would submerge myself into each binding and memorize each curve of your letters if only it would bring me one step closer to being a part of your mind. Your mind doesn’t scare me anymore. You tried so hard to keep me out, you put up road blocks and keep out signs but I refuse to listen to any more dusty U-Turn signs. Each time I take one step into a place you are afraid of yourself, you try to push me away but I decline your offer for a life raft. "Life rafts might keep you afloat but they rarely get you anywhere and I’ve got places I want to go." I sit in silence so often because I hold back so much. I don’t want you to know how badly I want to take you back with me and spend hours on hours on days on days just sharing other people’s words and other people’s melodies with you. Months have passed, people have been in and out of my mind, but I still firmly believe that there is a reason I have not lost a single knot in my stomach when it comes to you.

0

Aug 17, 2014

Aug 17, 2014 at 9:16 AM UTC

katie-rudnicki-1

A Letter to the One Who Whispers Sunsets.

Dear poet, This is not a love letter. I only want to write about how my heart does this juxtaposing speed up, slow down, make me lose my ******* mind in the absolute best way thing any time you just… catch my eye. Cliche, I’m aware; but since I met you, your eyes have been my favorite color. Do you want to know why you’re the one who whispers sunsets? You speak, and I am instantly overcome with the glow of the sky. The soft oranges and reds, the delicate pinks and the comfort of the purples. I always want you to watch the sun set and remember that that is how I feel when you speak. I never want you to be afraid to uncover your pages with me. I would submerge myself into each binding and memorize each curve of your letters if only it would bring me one step closer to being a part of your mind. Your mind doesn’t scare me anymore. You tried so hard to keep me out, you put up road blocks and keep out signs but I refuse to listen to any more dusty U-Turn signs. Each time I take one step into a place you are afraid of yourself, you try to push me away but I decline your offer for a life raft. "Life rafts might keep you afloat but they rarely get you anywhere and I’ve got places I want to go." I sit in silence so often because I hold back so much. I don’t want you to know how badly I want to take you back with me and spend hours on hours on days on days just sharing other people’s words and other people’s melodies with you. Months have passed, people have been in and out of my mind, but I still firmly believe that there is a reason I have not lost a single knot in my stomach when it comes to you.

Continue reading...

Come hither heather from out your heath. For a heroine on ****** leads to death. Play time is over; call for the curtains to end the play. Fiend to friend juxtaposing friend to fiend. Wave crashing over and over again. Soft the blow but ends with deadly effect. When poison enters into the subject. Poor moral fool that wastes the precious gift. Why shalt thou theft from good? And make faith shift! Foul serpent that submitted even the wisest of men. Pray thy spirit find peace; adou amen!

0

Feb 28, 2018

Feb 28, 2018 at 2:03 PM UTC

Don’t trust the serpent

Come hither heather from out your heath. For a heroine on ****** leads to death. Play time is over; call for the curtains to end the play. Fiend to friend juxtaposing friend to fiend. Wave crashing over and over again. Soft the blow but ends with deadly effect. When poison enters into the subject. Poor moral fool that wastes the precious gift. Why shalt thou theft from good? And make faith shift! Foul serpent that submitted even the wisest of men. Pray thy spirit find peace; adou amen!

Continue reading...