"lethologica" poems - Hello Poetry

He’s doing a crossword, I’m doing the dishes. “What is that word?”, he asks, “the one that means given to incessant laughter”. “Joyful, gleeful, cheerful?” ‘No that’s not what I meant” “Mirthful, merry, enjoyment” “That’s just not it” “Well, how many letters is it?” (Now I’m getting interested) “Eight” “What does it begin with?” “I haven’t got that yet, but it does end with a N” “a N…Hmmm..Oh! I’ve got it” “What?” “I can’t remember-but its on the tip of my tongue” “That’s not helping”, he adds with sarcasm “I’m giving it all I’ve got but the word just won’t come” *“Try saying it in your mind, what does it sound like?”* “Aquarium” “So, its starts with an A?” “Yeah, that’s for sure” “We’ve got to find this lethologica of yours a cure!” “I’ve got! I’ve got it! Abderian is the word!” Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish

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Sep 13, 2012

Sep 13, 2012 at 5:00 AM UTC

vijayalakshmi-harish

Lethologica

He’s doing a crossword, I’m doing the dishes. “What is that word?”, he asks, “the one that means given to incessant laughter”. “Joyful, gleeful, cheerful?” ‘No that’s not what I meant” “Mirthful, merry, enjoyment” “That’s just not it” “Well, how many letters is it?” (Now I’m getting interested) “Eight” “What does it begin with?” “I haven’t got that yet, but it does end with a N” “a N…Hmmm..Oh! I’ve got it” “What?” “I can’t remember-but its on the tip of my tongue” “That’s not helping”, he adds with sarcasm “I’m giving it all I’ve got but the word just won’t come” *“Try saying it in your mind, what does it sound like?”* “Aquarium” “So, its starts with an A?” “Yeah, that’s for sure” “We’ve got to find this lethologica of yours a cure!” “I’ve got! I’ve got it! Abderian is the word!” Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish

25

Fog Happens Yup. Not profound, even Jung, Kant and Freud, wouldn’t deny their eyes, would no doubt disagree with symbolic, philosophical implications, and the head banging ramifications for the immediacy of the spiritual impact while driving in this grey **** Fog differs every time, and on an island, that’s for **** sure. Today’s incarnation, the fog comes over the water, but respects the man-made, timbered, bulkhead, so the yard, with its circus of ravens, crows, and other invisible birds, insects, rabbits, is visible, but absent the inhabitants who are smarter-than-humans, they remain aboded thinking, only stupid humans believe they can navigate and forage, in a fog penetrating in air that is 97% humidity and 100% peas soup thick skinned. The time? Of course. It’s 7:36 AM on the East Coast, and beyond the lawn lies a brackish bay that will lead you to the Atlantic and north to the Titanic, direction Newfoundland. Not enough info to geo tag me, but those who know me, knowledgeable in my early mornings scribblings, know my whereabouts, my telephone number. Do you? Fog Happens to everyone and at random intervals, Nope. Not thinking of the brain clouds of ordinary Lethologica and Lethonomia. (Sunday lazy so just look it up and say out loud, gotta remember them words and laugh out loud cause you ain’t gotta a prayer.) Fog Happens in the heart, spreading north to the consciousness, and the lethargy of movement impeded by the lighthouse bells tolling “danger is about,” our light stolen, but you need to know, you’re perilously close to danger. Any action taken when heart-fogged can have awful consequences so stick close to bed, yank out your tablet, write a poem, listen to sad love songs on that Pandora Station, or send GIPHYs and emojis to your six year old granddaughter who is 108 miles to the west of where you both hide beneath coverlets, and laugh out loud with her like the bells chiming outside, and that helps move that heart~fog hanging low, out to sea. YUP. Fog Happens Fog Passes

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Jun 25, 2023

Jun 25, 2023 at 8:00 AM UTC

nat-lipstadt

Fog Happens

Fog Happens Yup. Not profound, even Jung, Kant and Freud, wouldn’t deny their eyes, would no doubt disagree with symbolic, philosophical implications, and the head banging ramifications for the immediacy of the spiritual impact while driving in this grey **** Fog differs every time, and on an island, that’s for **** sure. Today’s incarnation, the fog comes over the water, but respects the man-made, timbered, bulkhead, so the yard, with its circus of ravens, crows, and other invisible birds, insects, rabbits, is visible, but absent the inhabitants who are smarter-than-humans, they remain aboded thinking, only stupid humans believe they can navigate and forage, in a fog penetrating in air that is 97% humidity and 100% peas soup thick skinned. The time? Of course. It’s 7:36 AM on the East Coast, and beyond the lawn lies a brackish bay that will lead you to the Atlantic and north to the Titanic, direction Newfoundland. Not enough info to geo tag me, but those who know me, knowledgeable in my early mornings scribblings, know my whereabouts, my telephone number. Do you? Fog Happens to everyone and at random intervals, Nope. Not thinking of the brain clouds of ordinary Lethologica and Lethonomia. (Sunday lazy so just look it up and say out loud, gotta remember them words and laugh out loud cause you ain’t gotta a prayer.) Fog Happens in the heart, spreading north to the consciousness, and the lethargy of movement impeded by the lighthouse bells tolling “danger is about,” our light stolen, but you need to know, you’re perilously close to danger. Any action taken when heart-fogged can have awful consequences so stick close to bed, yank out your tablet, write a poem, listen to sad love songs on that Pandora Station, or send GIPHYs and emojis to your six year old granddaughter who is 108 miles to the west of where you both hide beneath coverlets, and laugh out loud with her like the bells chiming outside, and that helps move that heart~fog hanging low, out to sea. YUP. Fog Happens Fog Passes

23

A way so light, yet Globes of misery Bring a new flavor, A new scent In the bland world we live in. There is no way to know the sweet without it.

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Jun 17, 2014

Jun 17, 2014 at 7:01 PM UTC

aeyajj

Lethologica

A way so light, yet Globes of misery Bring a new flavor, A new scent In the bland world we live in. There is no way to know the sweet without it.

6

How do I explain that sometimes, the night sky stops existing above my head and instead opens up like a gaping chasm in the bottom of my rib cage scraping my skin from the inside / i press my hand to my chest and for a flicker of a moment imagine ripping it open, watching inky black and Scarlett red pour out that fear has found lodging in my larynx, trapping my words in a steel safe, my mind desperately works to puzzle out the code but it changes faster than I can input it / i raise my finger to my lips and imagine for a second what my words would look like if given physical form. blood blocks my airways and spills between the gaps of my teeth that sadness circles around my wrists and fashions itself into a bracelet, locked and chafing, itching when the sadness grows and calling for relief/ i rub my wrists together and wear wristbands to distract the phantom feelings from the real ones. It’s doesn’t take as much imagination as it should to picture how sadness looks when I pull it out of my skin that exhaustion sits so heavily on my mind that it’s seeped down my spine and coated every vertibre with its tar-like embrace/ for a heartbeat i picture my gasoline-covered-bones burning like a sick science project - How can I explain that oblivion lives in my chest and fear in my throat, sadness keeps me in cuffs and exhaustion cements my skeleton

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Feb 27, 2019

Feb 27, 2019 at 6:10 PM UTC

Espressopatronums

Lethologica

How do I explain that sometimes, the night sky stops existing above my head and instead opens up like a gaping chasm in the bottom of my rib cage scraping my skin from the inside / i press my hand to my chest and for a flicker of a moment imagine ripping it open, watching inky black and Scarlett red pour out that fear has found lodging in my larynx, trapping my words in a steel safe, my mind desperately works to puzzle out the code but it changes faster than I can input it / i raise my finger to my lips and imagine for a second what my words would look like if given physical form. blood blocks my airways and spills between the gaps of my teeth that sadness circles around my wrists and fashions itself into a bracelet, locked and chafing, itching when the sadness grows and calling for relief/ i rub my wrists together and wear wristbands to distract the phantom feelings from the real ones. It’s doesn’t take as much imagination as it should to picture how sadness looks when I pull it out of my skin that exhaustion sits so heavily on my mind that it’s seeped down my spine and coated every vertibre with its tar-like embrace/ for a heartbeat i picture my gasoline-covered-bones burning like a sick science project - How can I explain that oblivion lives in my chest and fear in my throat, sadness keeps me in cuffs and exhaustion cements my skeleton

6

I've forgotten & remembered you again It happens so often these days I fear one day I'll forget To remember -- c

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Apr 4, 2018

Apr 4, 2018 at 4:51 PM UTC

onhiatus

Lethologica

I've forgotten & remembered you again It happens so often these days I fear one day I'll forget To remember -- c

7

When words are often things to stumble on And fly when touched to far away dark caverns There is no witches broom to sweep The sentence fragments into something sane. ljm

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Feb 22, 2021

Feb 22, 2021 at 5:35 PM UTC

LoriJonesMcCaffery

LETHOLOGICA

When words are often things to stumble on And fly when touched to far away dark caverns There is no witches broom to sweep The sentence fragments into something sane. ljm

5