"lettered" poems
It all started with..
"Watch your step when it comes, to finding true love.."
Oh girls like me may slip and fall,
If we don't dream so carefully i thought..
Well I'm a mermaid on the rocks with no feet at all..
Yet I'm running scared and I don't know, where to go..
But it's kind of exciting
I love the rhythm that flows,
in my writing
And you've got a hold,
On my rhyming,
I don't wanna let this, break..
(Oops)
See I love you,
how your 4 lettered name rolls off my tongue too,
I wanna dance to this song too,
I wanna be your day break now
There's a film in class which I think you'd like..
Well I'm just saying that because,
It's a rom com gangsta black&white;
Oh we're a silent film ourselves with lines of poetry as our speech..
And you're the heartbeat behind every piece I write and breathe
So can I stay for longer?,
I've been through heartbreaks before, & I've come out stronger
But you're not a heartbreak,
You're a Wonder..
A Scorpio Wonderland of stars..
Oh I love 'ya'
And I've got secrets to whisper at midnight,
I wanna see London light up only through your eyes
I'll be your special friend if you think that's alright..
It all started with;
A dreamer falling in and out of love..
But I'll be on the edge of the world with you if you ever wanted time to ever stop..
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 9:52 AM UTC
*** is a four lettered word
flaunted by very bad vowels
fevered to ecstacy
by all tangled-up adjectives
Then pounded into submission
by perverted nouns
that take their free liberty
of the subjective
Once surrounded
by the iniquity of the parentheses
you will only utter commas
at the Benediction
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 5:16 PM UTC
Now the dead past seems vividly alive,
And in this shining moment I can trace,
Down through the vista of the vanished years,
Your faun-like form, your fond elusive face.
And suddenly some secret spring's released,
And unawares a riddle is revealed,
And I can read like large, black-lettered print,
What seemed before a thing forever sealed.
I know the magic word, the graceful thought,
The song that fills me in my lucid hours,
The spirit's wine that thrills my body through,
And makes me music-drunk, are yours, all yours.
I cannot praise, for you have passed from praise,
I have no tinted thoughts to paint you true;
But I can feel and I can write the word;
The best of me is but the least of you.
5.7k
II
Blue base and pink hues, black lining, framing the face saw once in dreams, a face with a name that began with the letter M. The other painting – a hazy black, red lips, no eyes – is a man’s face. Flying across shadowed, spiralling stairs, I encountered exits blocked by chairs – all these impressionist paintings hanging along the corridor, where a painter was explaining to his students the woman he met in his dream… they all called to me as a dream factory, dream logic – where everything was bound and unburdened, and we were told to identify faces in these coffin paintings. All day we tried matching, mouth stuttering half-formed names, lost faces, amputated body parts, strangers’ fragmented memory. Then the old lady I was working with let out a wail. She bolted, I followed, and there we saw creatures known as man and woman – to the woman on the right, she greeted with the M-lettered name, and to the man on the left she pointed at the eyeless painting, said, stranger, this is you– and they wept together.
Apr 21, 2021
Apr 21, 2021 at 11:29 AM UTC
Her genre,
Honorable.
Her design,
Respected.
Her character,
Dignified.
Her pages,
Well lettered.
Her story,
Unread.
Like a book, mesmerising,
Yet too often judged by her cover.
Jun 9, 2021
Jun 9, 2021 at 12:45 PM UTC
Let the poetry of others repose in majestic halls:
My poems are filler for paper shredders,
For packing in shipping boxes,
And backing for flypaper sticky strips;
To wipe the muddy soles of shoes
That have seen too much of springtime
In the garden.
Others poetry fills the airwaves, and sits between the covers of books;
My poetry is for grocery lists,
And sudden messages you need to scribble while on the telephone,
And maps to undiscovered geneological treasures
That are only a township away-
To trace the faces of cool tombstones
Under a mid-day sun.
You won't find my poetry near any other kind of list
That doesn't say get bleach, dog food, and toilet paper.
Still, my poetry is from a well lettered life-
I have written all my heartbeats, and most of my sighs
Into sibylline hieroglyphics, from midnight initiations
In the secret brotherhood, of my own soul:
And I will die a freeman, because nobody
Will ever feel the need to own any of these words.
Mar 29, 2010
Mar 29, 2010 at 12:51 PM UTC
Psychopath, questioned and played with, complex mind games with
Paper fortune tellers and crystal ***** utilized by con artists.
Chrome decorated room filled with trippy, grippy, grabby men
With blue cats swimming around their head. Coherent words do not exist to them.
Sucrose breaks you down, sweet creature, and thieves the antimatter in your empty scull.
Your favorite song no longer passes through your hollow ears.
Notes and the beats... A heartbeat. The thrum of a low piano key in a house supposed
To be isolated and abandoned. You are not alone here, child.
The demons summoned her because of the lettered board between a mattress
And box spring. The springs are broken from too much activity,
Don't jump on the soiled mattress. That's how you receive punishment.
But one without two does not match the storybook your mother read to you.
The nauseating tale of role,play and ********** Everyone knows the story, seen the Disney.
You can run, but you can't hide from the memories of horrible visions
Given to you by the gods. Hold on, child. You will grow to be a man one day
Despite the nightmare of being a wolf child who clawed his way out of his mothers womb.
Jolt and sweat, forgotten top bunk , and a concussion;
The dreams are back. The recurring realities of a twin long lost, but somehow inside.
Dream catchers don't make the callback list, can't act for the life of them, but
They are beautiful against the scenery.
A porcelain doll holds the demon that hacked my system and took controll of my history,
And once again, she takes my place, fooling everyone into thinking I am here
When, in reality, I am buried six feet under.
Blood dribbles from the letters chilled into my stone, I curl and let them add more letters into
My back to symbolize the life I led. The collection of poems I wrote about you are the ones they
Cut into the skin on my legs, permanent reminders of what I have felt.
"What have you felt?"
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 10:13 AM UTC
I want to tell the world of my joys,
I want my confidence to bleed into those I care about.
Let my light be what sparks the world on fire.
I am focused, I am brave, I will not falter.
No longer will I cower, I am a raging force,
A force of good, the spec of hope you drink in your coffee.
My words will ignite the passion in their souls,
Sunshine will sing from my eyes,
With promise of changing the world a smile at a time.
Shake the trees of complacency,
Let these syllables leaping from this page be your first step,
Step into the sunflower laced fantasy world that fills my mind,
The bubble lettered day dreams that drips with optimism.
Pinks, yellows and greens leak out into the desolate grays of this world,
Push passed the mundane repetitive cycles we live in,
Create something with color and vibrancy.
It is here in this state altruism I pull my strength and happiness,
So here my friends,
Borrow my point of view,
taste the delicious strawberries I painted with my tongue.
Dec 18, 2018
Dec 18, 2018 at 10:46 PM UTC
I write, edit, then post.
Delete, edit, then post.
My fingerprints are toast.
Spectral as a ghost.
I used to leave them
On things of ease,
But now they're stuck,
On lettered keys.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 10:22 AM UTC
A Woman of Many Words
I am a Woman of Many Words
I am drawn to all those places
That words congregate:
Libraries and bookstores
Road signs and billboards
Ticket stubs and subtitles
Nametags and license plates
Each one a journey driving inside me
I am a Woman of Many Words
I love the way the shapes feel in my mouth
The skittle taste of syllables
I am drawn to especially long words
With their phonetic entities stretching out like tentacles to reach new corners of pronunciation
Words like
Bibliophile and flippant-irreverence
Evanescent and Insouciance
Mellifluous and Effervescent
Mondegreen and Labyrinthine
Words like
Onomatopoeia and Tintinnabulation
I appreciate their weight on my tongue
The way my hands appreciate the thickness that is a fat book
I am a Woman of Many Words
I am attracted to their multitude
The space their figures take up on a page
The calligraphic punches
Typed up by keys
The carefully constructed
Brush strokes
Spouting
What is sure to be, nonsense
But I do enjoy the sound of nonsense in the morning
I am a Woman of Many Words
I cling to the lettered skyscrapers wherever I can find them
Because the familiar scent of scribbles across parchment is comfort food for me
I find them
On the backs of cereal boxes
And in Popsicle riddles
In fortune cookies
And alphabet soup
From magnets on my fridge
To junk food logos
And I hold on to them for dear life
For fear that silence should find me
And leave me empty
For fear it will take away the music of maracas
Made by words
Dancing the salsa inside me
I am a Woman of Many Words
because Words
Answer my Questions,
Soothe my fears,
and Humor my Whims
They are not always Right
But they are always Constant
They are not always Honest, in fact,
Mostly
They Lie
But ever so often
They tell such a Beautiful Lie
That you wish it were true
They sing from the rocks
offering Escape from
Terrifying,
Suffocating,
Mind numbing Silence
that echoes off my skeleton
I am afraid that silence will hollow out my insides
and leave me abandoned
with nothing between my Bow and Stern
my Forecastle all torn up
I am afraid of the skeleton inside me
So I am a Woman of Many of Words
For fear of silence
And contempt for truth
Because my words are sirens
And my shipwreck is home here
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 5:12 PM UTC
Today you wear a black sweater.
Standing in the marshy December atmosphere
With a cigarette between your two most learned fingers
You do not take shame in such a habit
But you make it so appealing.
That day you wore a beige knitted number
I saw you at dinner, and recognized you right away
Your distinctive ****** features peeking out
Over the loosely woven yarn that hugs your torso
That face I still cannot quite figure out.
I watched that beige collared cloth
Hang down your back and angle at your neck
As you danced behind that girl I didn’t know
And then I watched that same sweater
Stumble on over to me, ecstatic to be there
I had no reason not to indulge you.
And when you wear your school’s sweater
I know you need to belong, and play a part
You’re a rugby star, a lettered fraternal success
But I also know that grey cotton crew neck
Clings closer to you, than I ever will.
Dec 22, 2012
Dec 22, 2012 at 8:09 PM UTC
In a second my life changed like i could never imagine
The world was all Topsy turvy
and i a floating object in the turmoil
A simple six letter word
Thats all it took to take my stable world away
Upon that fateful day I was 15 and the date was May 12 2008
My diagnosis Hodgkin's lymphoma stage 2 B
My freedom was stolen from me
School i could no longer attend
People i could no longer see
The world was shut away from me
Chemo and Radiation were my companions
Aiding me in my time of need
But the truth in that was they were killing me more than saving
Strong of heart was I
I would not be taken down
I tried to show no fear or sorrow
And now am thought a strong young lady by many others
The most glorious day was when the cancer went away
September 28 2008 i was told
After I regained the freedom i had lost
four months later did my true story unfold
January 12 2009 I knew something was wrong
I was right I had not yet won the fight
Hodgkin's lymphoma was back to greet me
This time worse stage 4 B had me captured
A junior in high school i had been
But now once again I could no longer attend
Chemo my friend, we were reunited
I guess it missed me
This time a new component was introduced
Bone-marrow transplant, Auto stem cell
After tackling these feats I met radiation again
September 2009 i was said to be free
it was like history repeating itself
But this time i was wary
now it is July 4 2010
I am heathy, I have graduated
but the damage my six lettered fiend has reaped upon me is still here
An immune system i no longer have
My life still on pause
But i do not care
Because i know what its like to have your life dissipate without warning
Life is like a flame it can be snuffed out in a second
So remember my words
Please
Dont let any regret into your life
Dont pass a single moment by
Live love and try
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 2:50 PM UTC
Under the kissing tree
Is where we meet
My love
Forever written
Lettered in gold
Arrowed be our heart
One kiss
Sweetheart's
Under the kissing tree
Our place to hide
Amongst weeping bows
Long kiss good night's
So young in our days
We sit
We lay
Watching shiny stars
Under the kissing tree
Where I spoke for tomorrow
Said words like
I love you
Fell on bended knee
My love
Come
Marry me
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 12:23 AM UTC
I didn't meet you that long ago,
But now the wind knocking rain drops,
From the tree tops,
Sounds like an orchestrated symphony.
But the long love lettered lips,
Tell me that in turn they push onto mine with passion.
Because you have my full and undying attention.
All do to one,
small,
silly,
Fluke.
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 4:20 AM UTC
this morning I awoke to find little lettered squares imprinted across the side of my face,
then didst I realize, that cyber space had finally done its number on me
slither slather blither blather slobbering cyber chopper
knee-jerk hackneyed pavlovian dog speak of impetuous heartlessness
stereotyping label blasting categorizing pigeon-holing generalizing
multi tasking bifurcating bloviating palaver, ever clingy maudlin inflamed impassioned souls
trolling the myriad disparate windows looking for some misbegotten stimulus
so invested in their hatred and fear that peace is the most threatening thing they can imagine ------ and me?
the sneering cynical maladroit among the masses of averageness and mediocrity...
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 9:34 PM UTC
harp and round edges of frames make
hard thumps
bumps in your chest that fall
into your stomach balling-up
as you might in a woman’s four-lettered
sphere of a gut
which opens my barren
heart to the other
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 10:55 PM UTC
12:53am, January 3,2025
New York City
<>
*A Traveler notates these words to my attention, but only because I make myself
a convenient target, for truthfully,
it is addressed to one and all,
to the royalty of:*
We,
*who speake out loud, to all those who ***** these damp woods full of wet words, that spring up overnight, ripe for the plucking, there for the taking, an exacting where & when they did not even exist
the twenty four prior*
These purloined overnight creatures are
white and black
*lettered truffles, like the pages on which we inscribe, the letters raw, exquisitely tasty, shaved, measured in grams, but only when shared with others, in the privacy of our open minds, after being spooned from within us with exquisite care upon the pages that decorate our lives, sprinkled
with great care and cunning*…
*but when consumed, our five senses rage with aromatic pleasured pain, for these letters, so tiny, so powerful, grow only when
combinatory, individual bitty granules,
but when leavened, they enhance, provoke!,
they sauce, the*
flavors of the ordinary
*of our experiences,
creating the extraordinary
when interacting upon
our five robust senses*
*for without the spaces of delineation,
our jumbled words are but the
random jingle jangle of the sounds
of night winds, rustling a tune
pleasant but incomprehensible*
*Here I take your leave,
with the liberty taken
for speaking in all our names
to a Traveler
who so succinctly captures our work,
the glue of our interactive Us,
Our,*
Collective of Individuality
Jan 8, 2025
Jan 8, 2025 at 9:20 AM UTC
Lust can be the cruelest thing
It tricks you
Mind ***** you
The weak lust can give you
That wild, filthy,
Animalistic ***
The kind where two bodies
Are so defiled
There is no turning back
And scars remain as evidence.
The strongest lust
The most dangerous,
Turns on you
It ravages you,
Engulfs you completely
And pushes you
Towards that dark corner
It takes your hands and arms
From shielding your face and
Forces your eyes open
It takes your bodies for the ride of their lives
The one they most feared
Now it engulfs you both
Wrapping around you
No longer forcing you
You willingly, sickeningly
Look into each other's minds
And that lust,
That cruel lust swirls around you
Changing into the other
Four lettered 'L' word
Filled with more sins
Than both your bodies
Could ever create together
And that one that will drown you
Into inevitable destruction.
Your bodies: ******
Your minds: ******
And now your hearts:
Forever unfixable.
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 12:46 PM UTC
I took to the shore my final day
my final few hours
the Sun was low and the breeze had a coolness
though it was blistering hot earlier
I was watching an osprey returning from the ocean
a sizeable fish in it's claws
the beach was sparse this late
I relaxed and enjoyed the sounds and sheer beauty
of the Outer Banks
from my left I heard a light gasp that startled me
as I hadn't noticed her approaching
she spotted a lettered olive
as the sea gently lapped the shore
it was rolling back towards the next wave
but she managed to grab it just in time
a look of delight crossed her face
glowing like the Sun itself
'Nice find
those are tough to come by in that condition' I said
'they are my favorite' she responded with a smile
her eyes sparkled blue and her auburn air
tied in a bobble hung far down her back
'nice to meet someone who still appreciates
the beauty of a sea shell'
I was hoping for a name but one didn't come
instead,
she sent a gaze that ignited not shivers
but an energy down my spine
'If only everyone knew the beauty that lives here
It's nice to meet another who sees as well'
I started to respond, but she turned and continued down the beach
her white kimono gently flowing with the ocean breeze
appeared to be from a time past
I turned my attention briefly to a group of pelicans
playing 'follow the leader' just above the waves
I could not let her go
I gathered enough courage to continue this chance meeting
but when I turned, she had disappeared
impossible
we are no less than 50 yards from the path off the beach
I just saw her less than 30 seconds...
I called out...but felt foolish
I tried to gather my thoughts
a light voice...or thought came as the breeze quieted
my name is Eve...
I walked the shoreline until it became too dark to stay
bewildered...I bid goodbye to the ocean and turned to leave
something caught my eye in the sand
amongst the thousands of shells on display
there lay a beautiful, perfect lettered olive
I will hold onto this one
Jun 7, 2022
Jun 7, 2022 at 7:32 PM UTC
An eighth
lettered
literary
Value you
I want you
I like you
I need you
I love you
Also true
You hate I...
Mar 5, 2018
Mar 5, 2018 at 5:28 PM UTC
A kaleidoscope
Of your hair, lips, eyes
Is all I see
Laying in the cool grass
Enveloped in a curtain of night
Twinkling stars that
form constellations in my heart
and resonate in my chest,
Are honey drops
of your laughter
Gravity loosens its hold,
I lose my breath and
the world tilts
When the scent of your skin
Seeps through my pores
Under my fingertips
You,
Ignite the sun's never ending ember
that flows through me,
Melting the moon
And the taste of you darling,
melting in my mouth
oh so sweet,
leaving a trace
of the milkyway
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 11:20 AM UTC
i am made of...
thought...
ink and pen and paper... and so much more.
scribbled phrases on diner napkins.
post it notes stuck to walls.
scrawled doggerel in bathroom pens.
phrased ideology in lined notebooks.
spinnered words on lazerprinted A4.
scraps of inklings, on ripped butcher's bags and wrappings.
condolences in funeral books.
ideas capital lettered on cards,
pinned to cork boards.
epitaphs stonemasoned
into granite blocks.
fury arranged just so,
on parchment.
newsprinted with loose blurry, black ink on broadsheets
scribed by pointed stick on
firm wet sand.
notes on heavy cards, of love
and light bright shiny stuff.
discarded sentence startings, left crumpled, lost in a bin.
loss, written with red wine on white table cloth.
art, etched on vellum anciently old, suprisingly relevent.
tapped into tablets both stone
and techview.
blue and red markers squeaked onto white boards.
daubed on canvas with a fine sable brush.
tatttoo-ed upon ones flesh.
carved into wooden school desks.
pressed into moist clay by delicate fingernails.
marked so deeply upon a soul.
chalked to cement,
to stay for...
but a short season.
written for some very, (un)important reason.
courage to speak, sing, whisper, shout, cry, laugh, observe and ponder.
this is me....
i am a word written down.. any word, any word.
i am undeniable, desirable often incomplete
always open always waiting
for some one...
......just like you ...
to open your heart let me in
to recognize a new start
to have a play, a scribble,
doodle, pen jive. to become
alive.... to thrive,
just begin with a single letter.....then another,
go on be brave...
..........grant me liberty....
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 2:50 AM UTC
If I am an
attention seeker,
let me carve the
words into myself like a
label,
a definition of a
four-lettered name.
I am more than
nights of spinning and
contemplating,
razor in my hand,
moving like a silver
dancer through my fingers,
but there it is,
tracing my veins as a
pencil traces paper,
drawing patterns up and
down my arms in permanent
red paint.
Let me tie a
hairband around my
wrist and snap it until my
veins fashion welts,
red over blue on
placid skin,
vines through to my
fingertips, thorns under my
nails with ******
red blooms like
cigarette burns.
Let me cry underneath street
lamps, audible to the
world, open and
vulnerable like the
new cuts on
my skin.
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 9:35 PM UTC
If you ever glanced at me you’d see
My pained eyes that silently scream
The utter helplessness of being in love.
You may give yourself into the arms,
Of another man and he may in turn,
Walk out on someone like you,
Reminiscent of the autumn clouds
That are made of our dreams,
Delicate as the wings of butterflies
That are lettered with our wishes
Their wistful glory is lost palpably
In some mysterious dimension,
For all things are ephemeral.
And so in the end, it doesn’t matter
If you belong to me or to him
But you must belong to poetry,
Your inimitable essence worded,
Which forever defies the cold rains
Poured from the urn of timeless Time.
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 6:39 AM UTC
read this aloud, mind the punctuation,
and, finally,
enjoy.
amethyst eyes alight with nighttime lightning, clapping lashes spark ruminations rumbling across the savannah of memory imprinting in me the afterimage of Now. Now, Now makes me hers -- though i’m more willing a captive than she imagines: imprisoned in the present, tasting the electricity resounding in this soundless cell () deafeningly solid --
she grooves before me.
slowly rolls me
me rolls slowly
molasses boiling tongues twisting towards me
ba-da doom ba-doom doom doom.
i don’t know if it’s the fireflies caught in midnight-amber jars suspended by strands of suicidal curls tumbling down the pitch of your back,
or
your touch, come tentatively, but nonetheless titillating, for it softly pleas me to get grounded, stay a while in the timbre of warm fireside conversation and cocoa,
or
your teacup of a navel compelling i to lift laughter, fish up reminiscences, and transcend time,
or
when you lean close and lick me with your eyelash, as if a butterfly’s kiss,
or
your soft voice smoothly singing songs of four-lettered blues . . .
. . . my god you’re gorgeous.
dance with me, Now for two more turns of the moon let’s defy posterity and traverse the curves of each other’s words and purge our selves of self let’s anesthetize Now, marinate in the moment, savor the silence and become sap-trapped fossils left for the future let’s live a lifetime together in two more turns of the moon, Now, so that I may memorize every quark of every electron of every neutron of every proton of every atom of every ion of every molecule of every cell of every sinew of every tissue of every ***** and every system of all your beauty, Now, you are perfect because you are am is and will never be anywhere else but here and nothing else but Now.
feel me?
feel her?
feel here?
Now.
Feb 2, 2010
Feb 2, 2010 at 12:06 PM UTC