"larynx" poems
When the
mess bred
by ancient
logicians
is put to rest
and we dicover:
The chicken
and the egg
hatched
in two
different
places at
the same time;
Love was
an inverse
relationship
between lust
and time;
Infinity was
a universe
we couldn't see.
Will conversation
cease?
Will silence
replace
speech?
Will the larynx
become a vestige?
How will
we debate
the notes
that compose
silence?
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 3:07 PM UTC
Etched in a lilies bloom
Tastes of him were born;
Beneath an attic sky, a sleeping heart, listens to his tune,
Her hands, small cathedrals, catching the heat of his dark...
Summer, shimmered beneath a midnight sun;
Flooding moments,
Feeding his mind through her tongue,
A vibration, milky blue ....notes rubbing softly upon her skin,
Oh! how her pores sung his finger tipped tender.....
A half light of fingers, stroked memories through shadows,
A skin of kisses, shivering on starry pillows, fusing the jet velvet;
Gauze, skimmed a ghost, un-woken between light and body;
As the flute of larynx, unhooked, softly in shadows of reflection,
Spilling amber
Upon a necklace of optimism...too delicate to wear.....
His heart, cradled the curl that fell across her face,
It danced in his fingertips,
Endless ribbons of tender Love, dripped from veins upon
Her skinny jeans,
Scarlet stained
Ripped...
He whispered "baby", and rocked her with his hips;
The ache in her thighs missed him,
The sweetness of him;
Breathing silence, upon her pelvis,
A cat's cradle; scented with orchids;
Upon a canvas of aching skin...
Ravaging, raking needs, spoke tongue's
In the drape down taste of heartbeats,
Arousing the fire of Summer's gentle slope;
The spiral of her heart, cornered, wild;
A quiet suffering, soothing her breast,
In a moonlight of dark songs...
Heartbeats, she thought,
Are but night whispers..... fading in and out of time,
Lingering on the edge of now, to
Fall softly, into a misty world of someday;
Somewhere, in the stillness, his voice whispers her heart,
Beyond forever, washing wishes in the sea........
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 2:42 PM UTC
If I thought I was losing you I wouldn't beg you to stay
I'd say that when you breathe, I see stars because I imagine your heart inside your body pumping blood
to your veins and your lungs expanding and letting go and all I can think of is how I never want to be your lungs
because I could never let go of your air.
I'd tell you that your eyes put the northern lights to shame.
That I've been everywhere and nowhere feels more at home than
sitting on the curb of a street in a city I don't know with you by my side.
If I thought I was losing you I would tell you that I'm not one
for love poems, but the sound of you saying my name is enough to make me think of red roses and blue violets.
And that when you touch me the roses are blue and the violets are red
and everything painful inside my head doesn't matter.
If I thought you were going to leave I wouldn't ask you to stay,
I'd tell you that every word that comes from your mouth leaves me breathless;
That there are little caves in your body and I picked a temporary home in your larynx
so you could always feel me in the words you're nervous to say.
I'd let you know that my whole life I've been searching for myself,
and amidst the shadows I found your bright eyes, and I lost my senses there...
and found them as well.
I want to tell you that all I need is you and a record player.
That music runs through my veins, and right next to Every Grain of Sand
and my love for Bob Dylan, you're there.
Shining through my bloodstream, leading the way to my heart.
If I thought I was losing you, I wouldn't beg you to stay.
I'd say that you're the best and worst thing that has ever happened to my poetry.
That I find metaphors in the notches of your spine,
that I play them like a piano.
And most of all, above all these things,
I'd say darling don't go, I'll miss you.
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 1:16 AM UTC
i am afraid we have begun to dissociate,
unable to dissolve, I dissipate
we lavish emotion, laugh laudably
and cry with our larynx ripped out of our throats
i just need a little attention
'cause it's midday
and the midwife has a migraine,
with spoiled milk and clogged drains,
laundry a mile-long with tenuous children
tense with grimace and gray
we believe uncertainty for the hopeless and expectations for the great
the subtle hum
followed by slithering smirks
followed by snarls and sneers and weird sober
social experiments,
followed by small town dramas
and big time hypocrites.
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 1:07 PM UTC
Heartless *****
Got no soul to love
Heartless *****
Parasite feeding in our skin
Heartless *****
Don’t worry they do love something
That something is themselves
Heartless *****
spiked their life bringer into a flaming can
Heartless *****
watching the world from a cave.
Heartless *****
sleeping with friends.
No benefits attached.
Heartless *****
doesn’t care if you like them
Heartless *****
actually delighted they’re messed up
How about you keep you’re mouth sewed shut
and tear out your larynx.
Words from that useless hole are hollow.
Manipulation your mistress
Depression your *****
You take
and abuse
and lie.
Just chose one or the other you-
Heartless *****
Stay quiet, behave.
Heartless *****
do they even have a name?
Heartless *****
It’s still beating in the trashcan, cold.
I am that Heartless *****
Dec 7, 2017
Dec 7, 2017 at 5:51 PM UTC
As the days get deeper
So does the hole
People start losing their unique ****** qualities
The objects in your house become dull clutter
Monday morphs into Tuesday and Tuesday morphs into Wednesday and Wednesday morphs into Thursday and
All of a sudden you don’t know what day it is.
The only thing that doesn’t lose its edge
Are the words that pump out from your lung,
to vibrate from your vocal cords,
then are fine tuned from your larynx,
and emanate from your articulators.
Those are the words that stuff me deeper into the hole.
Sometimes it’s not words
but actions
That burry me under and into the darkness.
This hole I speak of,
***** you in and won’t let you out
Until you’ve admitted defeat
And hell,
You’ll never live to see the day that
I, Admit Defeat.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 12:08 AM UTC
The body
I want
exists
through the veil of blood that spiderwebs above my eyelids.
The soul
I so desire
screams out like nails on a chalkboard, across my vanes-
and alone, underneath the cupboard drawer.
The human
I loved
hides underneath my larynx
and rests so heavily upon my soul.
It is the monster under my bed
but, I am no longer five so-
I assume night lights are out of the question.
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 2:48 AM UTC
End,
The True Tip of my Tongue,
(Enchanted Bronchial Tree),
holding out the
Cavern of Soft Sultry Silhouettes
that hug the walls.
Clinging to their influence able nature,
tendency to allow pink purity
to fall
to the black blistering blasphemy
of dirty-watered bongs.
Inhaling the Damnation of god
And Magic Meal of
Those residing in Gehenna,
Limbo,
And those scouring the pearly whites of
heaven for their 72 ******
***** Calls.
The desperate stench
Of religion
crawling down
my needy trachea
to attach its
sticky suction cup sermons,
trying to trick
My larynx into
Hallelujah’s
And
Hail Mary’s.
Hoping repetition
will etch it into
our subconscious
like a gravestone
set in stone.
So repent,
saunter back into your pen little sheep.
False Anarchic Prophet,
Pretend Goat.
Throw your brain back into the box,
The Individuality Dishwasher,
They built for your mind from the
Start.
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 3:19 AM UTC
Don't be scared to sneeze in MATH105
Blow these numbers off the page, so I can finally have an excuse to
Blow off some time with you
I want to memorize what that sneeze sounds like, unique to the individual
Each sound varies upon sneezers voice,
allergies, voice box, larynx, even personality
If that's all true, I bet even you, sneeze as **** as a mother ******
The only thing that I want more wet and slimey than the inside of your elbow,
Is the way we make love
"Oh baby, that's it!
Sneeze for me! Sneeze harder!
Sneezed like you've never sneezed
for a man before and then sneeze
harder!"
Don't EVER hold a sneeze back!
You're not only killing brain cells
But killing me as well!
I want to see what kind of tornados
you can throw when a dust storm
gets at you
What demons are you hiding,
not letting Christ expel
Don't be ashamed!
Are you scared that just you're sneeze
Will create tsunami waves of attention
If so! I'm buying a front row ticket wearing
nothing but arm floaties and a rain coat
If you get sick, kiss me with your breathe
And well get over this cold- feet together
I want to know your sneeze so when we
Are cooking dinner, you can be half way through inhale
And I'll have a tissue and the words
"Bless you"
Already trotting outta my mouth
I want to be the blessed one
To be within hearing distance
Be able to bless you back
See you come outta your shell for .237 seconds
There to catch the science of your anatomy jumping off the cliff of your nose
I want to be in the bookstore,
Reading super hero graphic novels
And hear you in your boredom two floors up at Starbucks, sneeze,
And be able to say
"YES! THATS MY MAN!!"
You hear that one Peter Parker?
Try to dodge your spidey-sense around that one!
That's a sneeze that'd make the phone booth go inside Clark Kent!
We'll have two kids, named
Gesundheit and Salud
The cat's name will be Ah-Choo
Unless you're allergic to cats
Then scratch the kids, we'll have
A cat zoo! So I can hear the symphony
Of your nostrils on the daily
If you think this poem is gross
Wait tell you see the way I sneeze
When I'm thinking of you
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 5:02 PM UTC
funny how it's always
been about you
the wind's through the larynx
of a world raging without us
the song's making us weep
the stage too hard to cast our swag on
fingers to shaky to turn the page
i've been kicking it with a friend
the undertone of sinister elegance
of age - the vanishing of what used to be
Apr 15, 2018
Apr 15, 2018 at 2:49 AM UTC
I - WORDS LIKE PRISMS
The crystal awaits the perfect slant of sun.
The world turns just so and refracted light
Hurls a color blaze against the wall.
So it is when a long awaited word
Forms on the lips of the wise.
II - WORDS LIKE FLAX
In the fire of conflict,
Words fall to the floor like mounds of charred flax.
Red–faced saints gather clumps to themselves
To spin into finest thread for self-flattering raiment.
III - WORDS WITHOUT WORDS
When pain burrows deep in the marrow
Where words cannot assuage
A gentle touch can bleed some out
And channel hope back in.
No words can spell a kind caress.
IV - POISON WORDS
Beware the charismatic
Carrying a jar of poison pills!
Cover your glass when he passes your way
Or he’ll slip one in unawares.
V - LAUGHING WORDS
Absurdities and failures are the stuff of jokes.
Long live non sequiturs and double entendres!
We love a clumsy tumble into the drink
As long as nobody drowns.
VI - WORDS FOR BUILDING
Of course you can!
I place my total trust in you.
VII - WORD PAINTING
Mister Frost's words never made a wood
Or caused a harness bell to shake.
Even so I’d travel many miles
To see his imagined snow accumulate.
VIII - THE GIFT
My cat, Zoe, never says a word to me!
He doesn't have the tongue or lips or larynx for it.
He cannot fit his paws around a pen.
His brain’s too small for metaphors.
The gift belongs to us alone.
To craft words to build or **** or heal.
Forgive us Zoe for doing little with so much.
July, 2006
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 1:20 PM UTC
Behind these eyes, insanity
a slow permeation of a voice
screaming truths and half truths
I just don’t want to listen
so I flood the head
just to drown the haunting
but it is ******* immortal
every night I send an eagle
to gnaw on the larynx
every morning it’s there to greet
disguised as a fictional friend
fiend. I meant fiend.
it’s kudzu it’s ******* kudzu
every day is a mid spring day
even in winters delicate palms
I spend the nights soaking in a bath
last night I let the water taste my tongue
soon it will feast on my lungs
I can go out like Plath
except my poems are bad
and my novel is only a paragraph
I will not
let the inner
demons win.
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 2:29 PM UTC
There are days
when my soul feels
stretched out
like a ribbon
emotions
hang
ing
from a thread
on the line,
like laundry, for
all to see, on pegs
vulnerable
in storms
letting wind caress
and sometimes whip them
round in beaten time
like a tempest
They tend to
get bruised, secretly
battered internally
as the surface of me smiles
and marches on
Vocal chords tightening
as the larynx longs
in primal urge
to take out the words
in one long
graceful arc
of purge
On these days I
need to sit
in the cloudforms
of my mind's eye
and let myself feel
what I cannot show:
the daily coldness gnawing
at my innards
blow by icy blow
In these hours
I must let the tears
well up and run down
until the sting of salt
penetrates the glacier
let the significance of
unspoken words
rise up from
the deep dermis layers
into my throat, my tonsils
up to the palate and tongue
out through my lips
to the heavens,
releasing the unsung
those words caught within
the walls of my neck -
they almost make me choke
exhaust contamination
from heavy, unseen smoke
It billows up and out
and soon, like
hard-worked magic
this morse code is busted
because I am sick of feeling tragic
I command clear
communication
to filter through
the spasms of fog
in drops of dew
I command my words to be heard
in tiny spikes of sun
And all the while
in clear spirals,
a prayer commences to
be spun:
for the harsh
and bitter
be flushed out
in unabated, icy rush
for my soul to rise up
for the cleansing
in aching spirit blush
for the painfulness
of silence
to be ground out
upon the floor
for the shadows of
the violence
to be obliterated
to the
core
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 8:14 AM UTC
"I can tell you that Dada was a leftist,
anti-bourgeois, non-Art birthed from WWI
and not some aleatory root to postmodernism
off-shot from a lurid acid rain.
I know that diffraction can be seen
on horizons in the early morning hours
of summer along smooth or dentate curvatures
and that it can have hues of blue, purple and
a soft-handed massage of orange that gingerly
applies pressure to your retinas with sugar-water.
If only eyes had lips that opened and closed.
"It is said that action is the birth of Manyness
and that non-action brings one's soul back to the Sage Mind,
the universe of Oneness, the cup longing to be fulfilled and how
upon brim overflow it longs to be empty once again
because of the relationship between Yin and Yang
and how one cannot Be without the other
and why perspective can change "full" to "empty"
so that the vicious cycle can never truly, truly end.
The difference between French Vanilla ice cream
and plain Vanilla is the degree of creaminess.
Fill up a bathtub and let it soak into my skin.
"There is no way for me to avoid being prolix about the things
I speak about in normal, day-to-day conversation. Science and reason
have accursed me to traverse this reality with the utmost care and precision
of language and society has forced pseudo-logic down my throat like
a bird screeching as it is forced past my pharynx and larynx.
Its sounds are amplified, beak-blared from my nostrils, and its wings are violent,
stretched against my neck skin, creating a pale-skinned, ship anchor image from my shoulders up.
I'll try to sing for you when you reach my trapdoor, I don't wish to eat you.
"I do not believe in anything because with everything comes a something,
a reason for its being. They are, 'from reason,' 'in reason,' and/or, 'for reason.'
There is no escaping this thought.
There is no escaping criticism.
I will find the Truth, mathematically calculated to infinity
from knowable circumstance and perception.
I will know everything and I will believe nothing."
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 9:02 AM UTC
The devil tore off my angel wings
Crushed my larynx, so I couldn't sing
Dragged me from heaven, straight to hell.
By the fiery pits of hell
I grew cold and alone
A once beating heart, turned to stone.
He ****** his claws, deep in my chest
Pulling out what was left of the rest
He left me there to die
I became Satan's broken angel, I realized.
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 4:32 PM UTC
Your lies were the water I needed
For the plants I had seeded
In the depths of my larynx
Because you had all the words I could've wanted
which at the time seemed undaunted
But seeds need sunlight too
so this love never grew...
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 3:24 PM UTC
perhaps it was the water
the touch of pressuring drops
and unspoken words
the larynx blocked
perhaps by water
and hands pressing skin
perhaps moist hands
and air
triggered her tears
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 7:19 AM UTC
puffing out smoke like the entangling of long hair
with my portable hookah of acid apple palette experienced;
then eyelid the softest skin the warm puff puff experienced
when unable to see the gaseous
entangle of thus compared:
cut off the eyelids and become
serpents, rather than circumcising
exchanging loss of masculine
additives with excess of feminine
pin points of skin like the bloating
of the throat: larynx region with a thyroid
cancer bubbling and blubbering:
circumcise and make men eagerly warring...
and women prone to consecrate approval
as if dreaming... a naked sword without a sheath...
but instead of circumcision, the cutting off ********
cut the eyelids! what then? i'd begin revision
of man by cutting off the eyelids rather than the ********
**** me, why not both?! cut the eyelids
and cut the ******** then narrate what excesses of
womankind are worth disregarding:
feminine ******** and perverted religion,
hey, excess skin of man was the culprit once,
now the woman's chance to equate kippah with
a monk's hairstyle, with her own slit of
niqab and postbox of forcing through a hole
as narrow / as tight so that an object capably sat on
can be delivered.
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 4:25 PM UTC
Three nonconsecutive generations that can --
No -- Will – spit the timeless fairytale of that princess
Who never lost glass slippers -- or
Touched poisoned spindles -- or
Ate strangers’ apples -- or
Dealt with witches – and
We are that dry, plain Eucharist-wafer taste on your tongue
That paralyzing cramp between your toes
That still-alive, still-wiggling earthworm’s six separate, butchered body parts
We stole the words from journalists’ larynx,
His statistics, his inference, his prowess
His bias came hungry and ate the bread crumbs from our hands.
The name mother-bird doesn’t carry as much weight these days.
Collectively considered and individually squandered,
We’re the nonsense jumbled-word search in your local Sunday paper.
And you’ll have us whether you like or not with your large coffee and bagel.
Sep 23, 2011
Sep 23, 2011 at 11:52 PM UTC
~
"The cradle rocks above an abyss, and common sense tells us that our existence is but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness." — Vladimir Nabokov
Clockworks and Ferris wheels
mix time and laughter into their spin
and then comes twilight
and a vacant lot
of endless cycles:
hide and seek in a night-time labyrinth
and then the night walks begin
this fear of emptiness
—time is not a straight line
a warning to the curious:
don't ever trust the stars
to guide you
in the black hit of space
the warmth of our flare's lifespan
is a true testament to the skill and sorcery
found in every limb, larynx
and lovelorn heart
of this dimming voidance
Dec 16, 2022
Dec 16, 2022 at 7:18 AM UTC
I'd rather
chill in some place
and burn an L
with you,
than let my tongue
get live
in any other
larynx
that never knew your name,
I'd rather
read a bad book
in your name
than a good book
in someone else's,
I know
that I was looking
at a landform
and not a landmass,
a being
more
than a thing,
what I want to know,
is why we leave each other alone
when no one
is an island
and there are no boatless
harbors?
I'd rather capture
your laughs
as I cup my ears,
and your tears
in the stern
of my fears.
I'd rather be
a relic
and possibly
a fuel
rather than
a nautilus
with nothing in its shell
to give.
I've taken the boat out
and the oars
trip up on grass
as I paddle through the bay of the asylum
across lime oceans
contracting scurvy
from too much fertilizer
and not enough fruit.
Feb 13, 2012
Feb 13, 2012 at 8:20 PM UTC
Sudden
Abrupt
Unexpected
These words describe a sensation
A sensation that fashions the soul
Molding, sculpting
The person I am today
Hyperventilation
Nausea
A sudden rush
Adrenalin
Slamming doors
Crowded, congested
Populously packed into a box
Air tight
Repetitiveness is a quality this one sensation possesses
Repeating
Over and over
Repeating
Fearing it
Fearing it's repetitiveness
Repeating all over again
Preventing me
From opportunities
Simple, basic, opportunities
While I'm still stuck
In the box
That populously packed box
All alone
Shouting
Till my larynx
Rip and tears
But I'm left
Abandoned
With no response
This sensation
The panic
Has no end
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 3:26 PM UTC
My favorite quote would describe knowing even one life breathed easier because you have lived;
The meaning of life.
But when do I breathe easier?
How can CPR be performed if the life guard has no breathe?
Surely resuscitation would fail.
Yet, laughter originates from the larynx;
Our primary source of sound production.
Cords vibrating as air passes,
Laughter production.
Laugh often and much,
We are breathing.
Resuscitation!
Share the breathe,
Share laughter.
This is to be a success,
To resuscitate
leaving the world a better place
By whatever necessary method.
Ralph was right,
Just resuscitate when needed.
Dec 24, 2012
Dec 24, 2012 at 3:48 AM UTC