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"limber" poems
pinecones are childhood summers spent tripping over the syllables of dense forests folded somewhere between real world Europe and my very real imagination, nestled against each other on bookshelves made of pinewood - a childhood game of hide and go seek pressed in photo albums where a version of me lived; a version of me who delighted my mother and father, a version who to me remains a stranger - smiling gap toothed, shoes in snow boots, sticky fingers pressing pine cones against her nose - the present, a fragrance; the future, a rolling pine forest. pinecones are what the years between 17 and 19 felt like in perennial wanderlust, soul spliced into shards trying to make sense of everything I felt and everything I thought; everything I needed and everything I still want. pine cones perfume the edges of a dream dipped in the streams and stories of far-off lands, pine cones are the crutches of a crippled mind still building a new home for itself in the basements of other people’s hearts. pinecones are platforms which I danced from, leaping limber, slaying fear, the win always near; pine cones are a reminder that while a man can break his shoulder trying to tear one from the tree, the true mark of bravery lies in how well you can break free. pine cones are the skeletons upon which hang the colourless drapes of my future before stepping into galactic puddles that splash colour all over every unmade plan, memories’ strands shining technicolour through translucent skin - the touch of your fingers no longer feel like sins. pine cones are young green and supple, seeds of love lust and chance encounters that blaze into fiery shades of yellows and oranges, every colour turning a tinge darker, a daily time marker; pine cones are what remain, dark and unyielding after a lifecycle of fires starting and dying within the embers of consciousness.
0
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 2:56 AM UTC
sanchkay
pinecones.
pinecones are childhood summers spent tripping over the syllables of dense forests folded somewhere between real world Europe and my very real imagination, nestled against each other on bookshelves made of pinewood - a childhood game of hide and go seek pressed in photo albums where a version of me lived; a version of me who delighted my mother and father, a version who to me remains a stranger - smiling gap toothed, shoes in snow boots, sticky fingers pressing pine cones against her nose - the present, a fragrance; the future, a rolling pine forest. pinecones are what the years between 17 and 19 felt like in perennial wanderlust, soul spliced into shards trying to make sense of everything I felt and everything I thought; everything I needed and everything I still want. pine cones perfume the edges of a dream dipped in the streams and stories of far-off lands, pine cones are the crutches of a crippled mind still building a new home for itself in the basements of other people’s hearts. pinecones are platforms which I danced from, leaping limber, slaying fear, the win always near; pine cones are a reminder that while a man can break his shoulder trying to tear one from the tree, the true mark of bravery lies in how well you can break free. pine cones are the skeletons upon which hang the colourless drapes of my future before stepping into galactic puddles that splash colour all over every unmade plan, memories’ strands shining technicolour through translucent skin - the touch of your fingers no longer feel like sins. pine cones are young green and supple, seeds of love lust and chance encounters that blaze into fiery shades of yellows and oranges, every colour turning a tinge darker, a daily time marker; pine cones are what remain, dark and unyielding after a lifecycle of fires starting and dying within the embers of consciousness.
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42
Flexibility is the presence of structure In the absence of rigidity. Like the valves in my veins That keep my blood flowing in the Right direction. As limber beings we can sway and bend without snapping. Even under intense pressure, We are able to return to normal When we call upon our inner strength. Our minds, like muscles, Must be consistently stretched and tested To remain pliable. Allowing us to become more accepting of ourselves and others.
0
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 8:53 AM UTC
cellolove3
Flexibility
Flexibility is the presence of structure In the absence of rigidity. Like the valves in my veins That keep my blood flowing in the Right direction. As limber beings we can sway and bend without snapping. Even under intense pressure, We are able to return to normal When we call upon our inner strength. Our minds, like muscles, Must be consistently stretched and tested To remain pliable. Allowing us to become more accepting of ourselves and others.
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13
A sportin' death! My word it was! An' taken in a sportin' way. Mind you, I wasn't there to see; I only tell you what they say. They found that day at Shillinglee, An' ran 'im down to Chillinghurst; The fox was goin' straight an' free For ninety minutes at a burst. They 'ad a check at Ebernoe An' made a cast across the Down, Until they got a view 'ullo An' chased i'm up to Kirdford town. From Kirdford 'e run Bramber way, An' took 'em over 'alf the Weald. If you 'ave tried the Sussex clay, You'll guess it weeded out the field. Until at last I don't suppose As 'arf a dozen, at the most, Came safe to where the grassland goes Switchbackin' southwards to the coast. Young Captain 'Eadley, 'e was there, And Jim the whip an' Percy Day; The Purcells an' Sir Charles Adair, An' this 'ere gent from London way. For 'e 'ad gone amazin' fine, Two 'undred pounds between 'is knees; Eight stone he was, an' rode at nine, As light an' limber as you please. 'E was a stranger to the 'Unt, There weren't a person as 'e knew there; But 'e could ride, that London gent-- 'E sat 'is mare as if 'e grew there. They seed the 'ounds upon the scent, But found a fence across their track, And 'ad to fly it; else it meant A turnin' and a 'arkin' back. 'E was the foremost at the fence, And as 'is mare just cleared the rail He turned to them that rode be'ind, For three was at 'is very tail. 'Ware 'oles!' says 'e, an' with the word, Still sittin' easy on his mare, Down, down 'e went, an' down an' down, Into the quarry yawnin' there. Some say it was two 'undred foot; The bottom lay as black as ink. I guess they 'ad some ugly dreams, Who reined their 'orses on the brink. 'E'd only time for that one cry; ''Ware 'oles!' says 'e, an' saves all three. There may be better deaths to die, But that one's good enough for me. For mind you, 'twas a sportin' end, Upon a right good sportin' day; They think a deal of 'im down 'ere, That gent what came from London way.
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3.6k
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
'Ware Holes
A sportin' death! My word it was! An' taken in a sportin' way. Mind you, I wasn't there to see; I only tell you what they say. They found that day at Shillinglee, An' ran 'im down to Chillinghurst; The fox was goin' straight an' free For ninety minutes at a burst. They 'ad a check at Ebernoe An' made a cast across the Down, Until they got a view 'ullo An' chased i'm up to Kirdford town. From Kirdford 'e run Bramber way, An' took 'em over 'alf the Weald. If you 'ave tried the Sussex clay, You'll guess it weeded out the field. Until at last I don't suppose As 'arf a dozen, at the most, Came safe to where the grassland goes Switchbackin' southwards to the coast. Young Captain 'Eadley, 'e was there, And Jim the whip an' Percy Day; The Purcells an' Sir Charles Adair, An' this 'ere gent from London way. For 'e 'ad gone amazin' fine, Two 'undred pounds between 'is knees; Eight stone he was, an' rode at nine, As light an' limber as you please. 'E was a stranger to the 'Unt, There weren't a person as 'e knew there; But 'e could ride, that London gent-- 'E sat 'is mare as if 'e grew there. They seed the 'ounds upon the scent, But found a fence across their track, And 'ad to fly it; else it meant A turnin' and a 'arkin' back. 'E was the foremost at the fence, And as 'is mare just cleared the rail He turned to them that rode be'ind, For three was at 'is very tail. 'Ware 'oles!' says 'e, an' with the word, Still sittin' easy on his mare, Down, down 'e went, an' down an' down, Into the quarry yawnin' there. Some say it was two 'undred foot; The bottom lay as black as ink. I guess they 'ad some ugly dreams, Who reined their 'orses on the brink. 'E'd only time for that one cry; ''Ware 'oles!' says 'e, an' saves all three. There may be better deaths to die, But that one's good enough for me. For mind you, 'twas a sportin' end, Upon a right good sportin' day; They think a deal of 'im down 'ere, That gent what came from London way.
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56
I If seasons all were summers, And leaves would never fall, And hopping casement-comers Were foodless not at all, And fragile folk might be here That white winds bid depart; Then one I used to see here Would warm my wasted heart! II One frail, who, bravely tilling Long hours in gripping gusts, Was mastered by their chilling, And now his ploughshare rusts. So savage winter catches The breath of limber things, And what I love he snatches, And what I love not, brings.
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3.4k
Thomas Hardy
The Farm Woman’s Winter
I If seasons all were summers, And leaves would never fall, And hopping casement-comers Were foodless not at all, And fragile folk might be here That white winds bid depart; Then one I used to see here Would warm my wasted heart! II One frail, who, bravely tilling Long hours in gripping gusts, Was mastered by their chilling, And now his ploughshare rusts. So savage winter catches The breath of limber things, And what I love he snatches, And what I love not, brings.
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18
Once upon a monkey In a tree so high Lived a little baby blue bird As blue as the sky. The monkey oh so limber And the bluebird oh so blue Lived together nicely In a tree made for two. So if you ever see a bluebird Perched upon a monkey's shoulder Just know it's only temporary Until bluebird's a little older.
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Jul 21, 2016
Jul 21, 2016 at 10:26 AM UTC
kathy-steen-dillard-bailey
Once Upon A Monkey
Once upon a monkey In a tree so high Lived a little baby blue bird As blue as the sky. The monkey oh so limber And the bluebird oh so blue Lived together nicely In a tree made for two. So if you ever see a bluebird Perched upon a monkey's shoulder Just know it's only temporary Until bluebird's a little older.
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12
Its funny, as I am sitting here in the back of the auditorium, listening to all my friends on stage. The song is The Nutcracker, and suddenly it all comes back. As the bass thrums in my ear and the trupet blares loudly across the audience, I remember those winter day where She would take me to The Nutcracker. Two young girls in tow, She would cart us around, another venue every year. It was grand, the high light of my season. I could watch women with long limber legs and men in their toy soilder costumes, prance gracfully across the stage in time with th music. As I sat in that darkened auditorium it all came back to me. She used to take me to see this, to listen to this music. I had the urge to laugh madly, and cry out in anguish. Its a funny thing how precious things become long after they have ended. When the memory still stands while the erson fades. In that darkened auditorium I felt a pang of sickening nostaligia and longing. For She is dead and I am still here, and now I have no one to take me to the Nutcracker
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Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 10:46 PM UTC
quincie
There Are Three Movements In The Nutcracker
Its funny, as I am sitting here in the back of the auditorium, listening to all my friends on stage. The song is The Nutcracker, and suddenly it all comes back. As the bass thrums in my ear and the trupet blares loudly across the audience, I remember those winter day where She would take me to The Nutcracker. Two young girls in tow, She would cart us around, another venue every year. It was grand, the high light of my season. I could watch women with long limber legs and men in their toy soilder costumes, prance gracfully across the stage in time with th music. As I sat in that darkened auditorium it all came back to me. She used to take me to see this, to listen to this music. I had the urge to laugh madly, and cry out in anguish. Its a funny thing how precious things become long after they have ended. When the memory still stands while the erson fades. In that darkened auditorium I felt a pang of sickening nostaligia and longing. For She is dead and I am still here, and now I have no one to take me to the Nutcracker
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1
Unanswered uncertainties limber up Unwanted confrontations cumulate Passion deliquescing over unexplored reason Unacknowledged, ignored, overwritten and dismissed Without consideration for his fragile heart The answers flow broiling him, wearing him down Scorn rejection, When trust is misplaced, And she exfoliates to true skin Hatred smothers over her love act Bogs him down by the shoulders All seems empty, all is empty Toyed with, lied to and used up He is a clock rigged for self destruction With no actions that lead to consequences The reason seems bleak and obvious His respect for her dies, His respect for her other doesn't exist She is not the one he loved, she is not the one that he knew A younger him he sees in her other Making the same mistake he did, mislaid trust The multifaceted chameleon that she is The other doesn't see Pouring his heart out and defending her wrongs The other starts to undermine and ignore him Move on they say, Only his heart is too heavy Forget her they say, Only she was a perennial settlement in my memory, he thought Hate her they say, Only he hates himself more for trying No one understands him Everyone tries, but no one understands He loved, he was back stabbed He suffered and suffocated under the blanket of secrets Lighten your heart brother, the mascot of a good soul You will be alright.
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Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 11:17 AM UTC
parasuram-dora-hanumanthu
One Sided.
Unanswered uncertainties limber up Unwanted confrontations cumulate Passion deliquescing over unexplored reason Unacknowledged, ignored, overwritten and dismissed Without consideration for his fragile heart The answers flow broiling him, wearing him down Scorn rejection, When trust is misplaced, And she exfoliates to true skin Hatred smothers over her love act Bogs him down by the shoulders All seems empty, all is empty Toyed with, lied to and used up He is a clock rigged for self destruction With no actions that lead to consequences The reason seems bleak and obvious His respect for her dies, His respect for her other doesn't exist She is not the one he loved, she is not the one that he knew A younger him he sees in her other Making the same mistake he did, mislaid trust The multifaceted chameleon that she is The other doesn't see Pouring his heart out and defending her wrongs The other starts to undermine and ignore him Move on they say, Only his heart is too heavy Forget her they say, Only she was a perennial settlement in my memory, he thought Hate her they say, Only he hates himself more for trying No one understands him Everyone tries, but no one understands He loved, he was back stabbed He suffered and suffocated under the blanket of secrets Lighten your heart brother, the mascot of a good soul You will be alright.
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36
Elusive elephant elegantly eating. Lioness learning landlocked locales. Limber leopard leaping lightly. Intimidating irate iridescent iguana. Exercising eel elongating effortlessly
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Mar 26, 2013
Mar 26, 2013 at 12:52 AM UTC
darrell-wade-elverum
It will be okay!
Elusive elephant elegantly eating. Lioness learning landlocked locales. Limber leopard leaping lightly. Intimidating irate iridescent iguana. Exercising eel elongating effortlessly
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5
UPON thy purple mat thy body bare Is fine and limber like a tender tree. The motion of thy supple form is rare, Like a lithe panther lolling languidly, Toying and turning slowly in her lair. Oh, I would never ask for more of thee, Thou art so clean in passion and so fair. Enough! if thou wilt ask no more of me!
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2.5k
Claude McKay
Flirtation
UPON thy purple mat thy body bare Is fine and limber like a tender tree. The motion of thy supple form is rare, Like a lithe panther lolling languidly, Toying and turning slowly in her lair. Oh, I would never ask for more of thee, Thou art so clean in passion and so fair. Enough! if thou wilt ask no more of me!
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8
Dream for me a Savannah, a sestina in reds at Pandora’s threshold, clothed in bludgeons of light and these tears are nothing but the nightingale’s burden, the words laden and livid as storm across the mauve wasteland unfolds, the sky in its deceit, promises rain, delivers nothing, in this room the light will ruin me, the squall of glass slippers overhead, on my knees, now the abstraction of the body, opaque I write in the limber whisper of fingertips, deep villanelles about love, restless love on the skin of your back, histories annotated by gestures of supplication, I drag fingernails across a fairytale and out falls a wide-eyed harem, April-blue veils trail their blood, narrowing the flagrant staccato echo in my sternum, A palm reader warns of conduits and spells, the darkness that puddles like lake water in my mind, moths of Summer a fragrant blue, restless blue notes like scorpions scurry beneath the blankets, strands of hair, stained sheets this vacancy glows through the shears I forget, how early, and still the night falls here, as how early it fails.....
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Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 5:07 PM UTC
janette
Dreamscape:
Dream for me a Savannah, a sestina in reds at Pandora’s threshold, clothed in bludgeons of light and these tears are nothing but the nightingale’s burden, the words laden and livid as storm across the mauve wasteland unfolds, the sky in its deceit, promises rain, delivers nothing, in this room the light will ruin me, the squall of glass slippers overhead, on my knees, now the abstraction of the body, opaque I write in the limber whisper of fingertips, deep villanelles about love, restless love on the skin of your back, histories annotated by gestures of supplication, I drag fingernails across a fairytale and out falls a wide-eyed harem, April-blue veils trail their blood, narrowing the flagrant staccato echo in my sternum, A palm reader warns of conduits and spells, the darkness that puddles like lake water in my mind, moths of Summer a fragrant blue, restless blue notes like scorpions scurry beneath the blankets, strands of hair, stained sheets this vacancy glows through the shears I forget, how early, and still the night falls here, as how early it fails.....
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38
lunar luminance lights his lucent lordly lair. leaden legs languish lazily as he lay, laconic-- lexical loquaciousness long lost. his latent lupine lust lignifies and lengthens, longing lonesomely for his lovely limber lioness. with lips of luxurious labial liquer, and licks lapping like lashing lingual lightning, liquifying his lavish lover, luscious lyrical lubrication.
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May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 1:14 AM UTC
cody-veal
long
lunar luminance lights his lucent lordly lair. leaden legs languish lazily as he lay, laconic-- lexical loquaciousness long lost. his latent lupine lust lignifies and lengthens, longing lonesomely for his lovely limber lioness. with lips of luxurious labial liquer, and licks lapping like lashing lingual lightning, liquifying his lavish lover, luscious lyrical lubrication.
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8
We will know no sorrows here.. Dark matter poured taut in ebon plastic, elegent, limber, perched on spikes. Confined in chosen monochrome, so lithe in gritted temper. Full fraught on waves of jaw - smoke, tumble nails from this wretched pelt. Enscribe my will on soft , ribbed, levees Spread and buttered oysters downed , your earthy spices ground against my viscid grin. Now raise the dead in frantic transport Sound the depths of this cracked voice Imagining.... We will know no sorrows here.
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May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 5:16 PM UTC
alistair-william-bullen
Lazarus
We will know no sorrows here.. Dark matter poured taut in ebon plastic, elegent, limber, perched on spikes. Confined in chosen monochrome, so lithe in gritted temper. Full fraught on waves of jaw - smoke, tumble nails from this wretched pelt. Enscribe my will on soft , ribbed, levees Spread and buttered oysters downed , your earthy spices ground against my viscid grin. Now raise the dead in frantic transport Sound the depths of this cracked voice Imagining.... We will know no sorrows here.
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17
When I breathe my body is relieved. Where once timber, now limber. My posture is vibrant and silent. I'm cleansing my Violet. Violet where once crown, no longer a frown because I'm grounding, I'm grounding until my soul is unbound. I'm breathing, and when I'm breathing laughter reveals me but I focus, I focus and I don't let it seal me. I'm cooling, I'm cooling, and soothing my soul, so that it may stay open for one and for all. I meditate I abbreviate, small glimpses of light. So that the sugar of my solar may fall out - from my sight. I am serious, and my breath is sinuous. It awakens my mind, But these competitive thoughts: they do not oblige. So I keep breathing and breathing for full conscious feeling and through this procession my spirit is right. Spirit pouring out of my pores. I am rich with inner vision. What sun shall I bring up to clear division. What light shall I pour out tonight, Oh Sun I am ready to stand up for what's right.
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Jul 25, 2021
Jul 25, 2021 at 12:10 PM UTC
memories
Violet Night
When I breathe my body is relieved. Where once timber, now limber. My posture is vibrant and silent. I'm cleansing my Violet. Violet where once crown, no longer a frown because I'm grounding, I'm grounding until my soul is unbound. I'm breathing, and when I'm breathing laughter reveals me but I focus, I focus and I don't let it seal me. I'm cooling, I'm cooling, and soothing my soul, so that it may stay open for one and for all. I meditate I abbreviate, small glimpses of light. So that the sugar of my solar may fall out - from my sight. I am serious, and my breath is sinuous. It awakens my mind, But these competitive thoughts: they do not oblige. So I keep breathing and breathing for full conscious feeling and through this procession my spirit is right. Spirit pouring out of my pores. I am rich with inner vision. What sun shall I bring up to clear division. What light shall I pour out tonight, Oh Sun I am ready to stand up for what's right.
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20
Deer leap clear across the field Elegant and graceful, Beautiful and limber. The beauty of the open grass, the feeling of freedom, outweighs the threat of danger. The hunter stalks his prey, hidden by the the grasses. The very grass that lures the deer to freedom, also leads the deer to it's death. The hunter is filled with power, arrogance filling the hole virtues left. He takes his aim. He shoots. The once limber deer is dead.
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Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 9:32 AM UTC
maxime
Deer and Hunter
Deer leap clear across the field Elegant and graceful, Beautiful and limber. The beauty of the open grass, the feeling of freedom, outweighs the threat of danger. The hunter stalks his prey, hidden by the the grasses. The very grass that lures the deer to freedom, also leads the deer to it's death. The hunter is filled with power, arrogance filling the hole virtues left. He takes his aim. He shoots. The once limber deer is dead.
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15
Dancers must have two extreme qualities Intense desire , gritty fortitude , and raw courage . . . . one two three , OK , dancers must have three extreme qualities . Dancers actually do break a leg upon the stage At parties they are the flight of the hummingbirds . Amazing what they do . Their tight limber bodies often make me wonder how I would do in bed with them My ambition was always tied to a rope that held me back Because when I danced (after twenty-four bottles of beer) It was on my face I always fell flat
0
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 9:17 PM UTC
South-by-Southwest
Dancers
Dancers must have two extreme qualities Intense desire , gritty fortitude , and raw courage . . . . one two three , OK , dancers must have three extreme qualities . Dancers actually do break a leg upon the stage At parties they are the flight of the hummingbirds . Amazing what they do . Their tight limber bodies often make me wonder how I would do in bed with them My ambition was always tied to a rope that held me back Because when I danced (after twenty-four bottles of beer) It was on my face I always fell flat
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9
*the lotus floats on waters silhouettes dance in spastic-joints a sombre-figure with a spiky do cavorts behind invisible-mirrors which reflect the lost motions of unchaperoned-pedestal in corrugated-shadows* don’t forget to lift that hem a little higher, lady and give over to the pulsing rhythm undo your leather-strap, it’s enough to whip out some frenzy do what you want: you’re not awake, anyway what have gone and done, dear girl? is true-love to be found in the arms of a bearded Japanese? yes, open that white blouse of yours with the silky-buttons on while your eyes pearl-glaze over attending-cliffs hold that slow-unfolding palm over your breast and let busy aglet-fingers shake loose some nuciferous-reward stems hold up sweet-flora and its waiting-petals the gyrations match the ripped-space in your ceilinged-heart slow-motion coy-boy on stand-by in heated-debate             where stickety-words carry the burden                            of                                        knock-out honeyed-pleasure high-pitched comes and you know there’s nowhere else you’d rather be than to fit your explosive jigsaw-piece up my nostrils so that I can finally breathe lithe and limber *later, when you nod off your dreams’ll take care of lost-thread and thorough-floss your mind yank off the binding-straps take it down muddy-banks into pools of upside-down sky and the only light will be the reflected-glint of moon as it winks its very firm OK* S T – 21 nov 13
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Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 5:48 PM UTC
st64
lotus-gift
*the lotus floats on waters silhouettes dance in spastic-joints a sombre-figure with a spiky do cavorts behind invisible-mirrors which reflect the lost motions of unchaperoned-pedestal in corrugated-shadows* don’t forget to lift that hem a little higher, lady and give over to the pulsing rhythm undo your leather-strap, it’s enough to whip out some frenzy do what you want: you’re not awake, anyway what have gone and done, dear girl? is true-love to be found in the arms of a bearded Japanese? yes, open that white blouse of yours with the silky-buttons on while your eyes pearl-glaze over attending-cliffs hold that slow-unfolding palm over your breast and let busy aglet-fingers shake loose some nuciferous-reward stems hold up sweet-flora and its waiting-petals the gyrations match the ripped-space in your ceilinged-heart slow-motion coy-boy on stand-by in heated-debate             where stickety-words carry the burden                            of                                        knock-out honeyed-pleasure high-pitched comes and you know there’s nowhere else you’d rather be than to fit your explosive jigsaw-piece up my nostrils so that I can finally breathe lithe and limber *later, when you nod off your dreams’ll take care of lost-thread and thorough-floss your mind yank off the binding-straps take it down muddy-banks into pools of upside-down sky and the only light will be the reflected-glint of moon as it winks its very firm OK* S T – 21 nov 13
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33
What I have is a pitch angled at nothing and I envy the limber crowd of bees, and I envy the spider’s easy meal. The low hum of a wash cycle competes with, then dislodges my dirge, gradually builds a golden, natural looking wan expression. Diffident? Go out and meander content to accept the indifference of meaning. This walk is not a protest. This work was only ever play. Suitable for all skin types our explanations can’t help themselves, run like British accents on trade and explain away any need for help. Non-streaking conceits you know best how much you are worth.
0
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 9:02 AM UTC
simon-leake
Albion Din
What I have is a pitch angled at nothing and I envy the limber crowd of bees, and I envy the spider’s easy meal. The low hum of a wash cycle competes with, then dislodges my dirge, gradually builds a golden, natural looking wan expression. Diffident? Go out and meander content to accept the indifference of meaning. This walk is not a protest. This work was only ever play. Suitable for all skin types our explanations can’t help themselves, run like British accents on trade and explain away any need for help. Non-streaking conceits you know best how much you are worth.
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18
Grounded root thrumming spiral down Kundalini into rich darkness the end is here as is the beginning I find I am Free At Last having grasped at the edge of reality and lost my fingerhold before I know what it is to fall into madness Here here in this soul music I find I am hovering instead my breathing steady and cool my muscles warm and limber the fatigue passes I float I am pulled and ****** allowing each note and beat to guide my body my mind is elsewhere I am entranced - I detach from time and space my breath and touch show cold yet I am on Fire I see all the nonsense in front of me and cut the ties suspended within the music I leave the edge of reality my embedded fingerprints visible now and continue to dance I see all the ******** around me and cut the ties this is Not madness, it is true sanity it is my arrival to Home and I continue to Dance. I see the confusion, pain and hurt within me and cut the ties insanity leads into pitch black nothingness This leads me into infinite light still, I dance. - pushing through the darkness leaving the illusion of this world behind I have come to the other side there is no edge to fall from there are no bindings of obligation the chains have always been self-imposed easily escapable why did I not shed these long ago? I am taken through lifetimes and back I am ****** I am ***** I am Moon I am Earth I am the First Woman and the Last I Am One. This all within my full mind, sober, unaltered the answers are right in front of me all I have to do is open my soul and see for this I do my Cosmic Dance.
0
Sep 24, 2010
Sep 24, 2010 at 9:35 AM UTC
r-moon-winkelman-1
Cosmic Dance
Grounded root thrumming spiral down Kundalini into rich darkness the end is here as is the beginning I find I am Free At Last having grasped at the edge of reality and lost my fingerhold before I know what it is to fall into madness Here here in this soul music I find I am hovering instead my breathing steady and cool my muscles warm and limber the fatigue passes I float I am pulled and ****** allowing each note and beat to guide my body my mind is elsewhere I am entranced - I detach from time and space my breath and touch show cold yet I am on Fire I see all the nonsense in front of me and cut the ties suspended within the music I leave the edge of reality my embedded fingerprints visible now and continue to dance I see all the ******** around me and cut the ties this is Not madness, it is true sanity it is my arrival to Home and I continue to Dance. I see the confusion, pain and hurt within me and cut the ties insanity leads into pitch black nothingness This leads me into infinite light still, I dance. - pushing through the darkness leaving the illusion of this world behind I have come to the other side there is no edge to fall from there are no bindings of obligation the chains have always been self-imposed easily escapable why did I not shed these long ago? I am taken through lifetimes and back I am ****** I am ***** I am Moon I am Earth I am the First Woman and the Last I Am One. This all within my full mind, sober, unaltered the answers are right in front of me all I have to do is open my soul and see for this I do my Cosmic Dance.
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65
Just hanging around stuck in the background where Echo and the Bunnymen sing sad songs,they're not funny men and I'm not one too. Going to take my Queen and fulfill a dream,dine in style at Mile End,wend my way down to Nandos,pay for chicken,sticking less to the plan because I'm only a man I travel to Hackney where the wild men of Shoreditch come out to attack me with rolled up newspapers,their capers amuse me until I blink twice, and I see, that my Queens seen it all and goes off in a huff, Puffs of smoke are no joke when you're born as a bloke because the magic don't last,blast it nearly passed it,the turn off for middle age,junction twenty six on the revolving glass mirrored stage,but I made it and now I'm back in the sun waiting for my Queen to come,my apology accepted along with the promise of a day trip to Poundland,stand and deliver while we shiver our timbers and limber up for the party on interstate four, sore from the laughter we take a bath shortly after because we like to stay clean,my Queen thinks I'm ***** and men go that way after thirty but I'm not so sure. I have pure intentions and clean underwear,does she care? I think so but it's so hard to know what she's thinking,she tastes of melons when I'm drinking her in. In this flotilla where the will of the one doesn't win,we all stick together, whether it's a good thing or not, but I've got a plan and because I'm only a man it's a good one and so I carry on and she carries me,I meet her mum and she marries me..sounding obscene,I mean I married my Queen,not her mum. It's all in the spaghetti which I'm sure that SHY YETI'S BEST OF BRITISH - PART 1 doesn't cover,so it won't keep me warm but no harm in me looking through this facebook and cooking a dish,should I wish, for some it's back to interstate four,where the cops will be waiting with a ticket to the potteries and a fine for the finder of the stopped timex watch winder. where was I in Mile end? yes, going to spend but stay lean as I talk with my Queen, and so it goes on.
0
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 7:30 AM UTC
john-edward-smallshaw
Shy yeti's get everywhere.
Just hanging around stuck in the background where Echo and the Bunnymen sing sad songs,they're not funny men and I'm not one too. Going to take my Queen and fulfill a dream,dine in style at Mile End,wend my way down to Nandos,pay for chicken,sticking less to the plan because I'm only a man I travel to Hackney where the wild men of Shoreditch come out to attack me with rolled up newspapers,their capers amuse me until I blink twice, and I see, that my Queens seen it all and goes off in a huff, Puffs of smoke are no joke when you're born as a bloke because the magic don't last,blast it nearly passed it,the turn off for middle age,junction twenty six on the revolving glass mirrored stage,but I made it and now I'm back in the sun waiting for my Queen to come,my apology accepted along with the promise of a day trip to Poundland,stand and deliver while we shiver our timbers and limber up for the party on interstate four, sore from the laughter we take a bath shortly after because we like to stay clean,my Queen thinks I'm ***** and men go that way after thirty but I'm not so sure. I have pure intentions and clean underwear,does she care? I think so but it's so hard to know what she's thinking,she tastes of melons when I'm drinking her in. In this flotilla where the will of the one doesn't win,we all stick together, whether it's a good thing or not, but I've got a plan and because I'm only a man it's a good one and so I carry on and she carries me,I meet her mum and she marries me..sounding obscene,I mean I married my Queen,not her mum. It's all in the spaghetti which I'm sure that SHY YETI'S BEST OF BRITISH - PART 1 doesn't cover,so it won't keep me warm but no harm in me looking through this facebook and cooking a dish,should I wish, for some it's back to interstate four,where the cops will be waiting with a ticket to the potteries and a fine for the finder of the stopped timex watch winder. where was I in Mile end? yes, going to spend but stay lean as I talk with my Queen, and so it goes on.
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13
They Say the Grim Reaper collects death, but he harvests the soul to a better place, if theres anything left to save and harvest... The body will carry on, but that motivation, the man behind the machine can die long before the body does. I am whats considered a black Dracula, a man with out a purpose to **** the dark lifeless soul out of a body, the part thats left before I drain all hope for a future. My job is to make the people around me, friends, family, associates alike happy and comfortable in the way life is, while slowly putting down there hopes and dreams. The sun is not my enemy, nor a wooden spike, but a hard life lesson on pain amd broken heart.  Im not pale to the sunlight, I blend right in, I walk among you, showing you everything is beautiful in this world, so a hope of an afterlife, paradise of the heavens, is lost to the cavities of your mind. My broken heart drives me to this madness, numb is my body, but fresh and limber is the pain of a broken heart that still lingers. My monster inside has consumed me, but I write this as a warning for all to read, to save yourself one last chance at happiness.    Love her unconditionally.          Respect her for every little strain of         her life she can produce.              Her beauty only matters on the inside for it is ageless. Cheating on the one you love never goes away with time. Her eyes will haunt your dreams, your memories, and your life, till the black Dracula consumes you too. Be good to her always, fights, loss, and loving moment's, she is yours to take care of forever. Lastly.. You only get on life to live with a great loving woman, dont spoil or settle for less because you cant handle her beautiful flaws that set her apart from everyone else.
0
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 1:44 AM UTC
blackhat13
Black Dracula
They Say the Grim Reaper collects death, but he harvests the soul to a better place, if theres anything left to save and harvest... The body will carry on, but that motivation, the man behind the machine can die long before the body does. I am whats considered a black Dracula, a man with out a purpose to **** the dark lifeless soul out of a body, the part thats left before I drain all hope for a future. My job is to make the people around me, friends, family, associates alike happy and comfortable in the way life is, while slowly putting down there hopes and dreams. The sun is not my enemy, nor a wooden spike, but a hard life lesson on pain amd broken heart.  Im not pale to the sunlight, I blend right in, I walk among you, showing you everything is beautiful in this world, so a hope of an afterlife, paradise of the heavens, is lost to the cavities of your mind. My broken heart drives me to this madness, numb is my body, but fresh and limber is the pain of a broken heart that still lingers. My monster inside has consumed me, but I write this as a warning for all to read, to save yourself one last chance at happiness.    Love her unconditionally.          Respect her for every little strain of         her life she can produce.              Her beauty only matters on the inside for it is ageless. Cheating on the one you love never goes away with time. Her eyes will haunt your dreams, your memories, and your life, till the black Dracula consumes you too. Be good to her always, fights, loss, and loving moment's, she is yours to take care of forever. Lastly.. You only get on life to live with a great loving woman, dont spoil or settle for less because you cant handle her beautiful flaws that set her apart from everyone else.
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14
The first hint of power whispered through the twilight riding the cool evening breeze.   Lighting here and there, touching, tasting, searching.   Power... looking for a place to call home. The pink serpentine mist crackled with blue and lavender sparks as it made its way through the ancient grove of Aspen trees meandering toward the creek Water... always attracts life and life generates power. Power yawns stretching its long limber tentacles deep into the early morning light The crackle of excitement lingers... as power slides... forward toward its destiny.
0
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 9:50 PM UTC
suzanne-penn
Power...
The first hint of power whispered through the twilight riding the cool evening breeze.   Lighting here and there, touching, tasting, searching.   Power... looking for a place to call home. The pink serpentine mist crackled with blue and lavender sparks as it made its way through the ancient grove of Aspen trees meandering toward the creek Water... always attracts life and life generates power. Power yawns stretching its long limber tentacles deep into the early morning light The crackle of excitement lingers... as power slides... forward toward its destiny.
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27
i leaned against my mother's kitchen sink crying           six shots of whiskey deep at half passed noon      and both mutts came running leaning their limber legs against mine a heart-felt interspecies hug ready and willing to catch my salty tears upon the bridge of their snouts      so this is true love
0
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 2:30 PM UTC
Sparrowfreckles
copper flanks and freckled muzzles.
i leaned against my mother's kitchen sink crying           six shots of whiskey deep at half passed noon      and both mutts came running leaning their limber legs against mine a heart-felt interspecies hug ready and willing to catch my salty tears upon the bridge of their snouts      so this is true love
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9
His moods are made of earth, Silent laughter bounds through him Like lithe and limber creatures, Creeping, crawling, Slithering through woods, Then breaking into the electric chase For playful eyes, Staring with a wanting gaze Through deep, dark pools Of liquid love.
0
Jan 10, 2011
Jan 10, 2011 at 12:30 AM UTC
sequoia-holland
From Your Secret Admirer
His moods are made of earth, Silent laughter bounds through him Like lithe and limber creatures, Creeping, crawling, Slithering through woods, Then breaking into the electric chase For playful eyes, Staring with a wanting gaze Through deep, dark pools Of liquid love.
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10
So You've found a girl who can hold your gaze You've found a girl with those sinful curves                 that    girl    with the     lips     that you want sayin' your name Oh she's beautiful alright.  How did you get so lucky? Maybe you're not as lucky as you think you are? Does being     luscious, limber, lavacious, and alluringly lustworthy make up for being     lewd, lethargic, and a lackadaisical liar? So what that she's     ogle-worthy, optically pleasing, orgasmically ideal if she's     offensive, ostentatiously ornate, and overbearing? She may be     vivacious, voluptuous, and sexually voracious She's also      vain, vapid, vacuous, a vengeful ***** Don't let her    exotic, ****** efficaciousness Blind you to her   egocentric, evasive, envious  nature    Those lips won't look so   enticing   when they're spitting poison barbs into your heart Wouldn't you rather  have a girl Who is likeable? Who is original? Who is vibrant? Who is enough to make you happy? It's all you need Do I have to spell it out for you?
0
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 8:56 PM UTC
j-a-doetsch
It's all you need
So You've found a girl who can hold your gaze You've found a girl with those sinful curves                 that    girl    with the     lips     that you want sayin' your name Oh she's beautiful alright.  How did you get so lucky? Maybe you're not as lucky as you think you are? Does being     luscious, limber, lavacious, and alluringly lustworthy make up for being     lewd, lethargic, and a lackadaisical liar? So what that she's     ogle-worthy, optically pleasing, orgasmically ideal if she's     offensive, ostentatiously ornate, and overbearing? She may be     vivacious, voluptuous, and sexually voracious She's also      vain, vapid, vacuous, a vengeful ***** Don't let her    exotic, ****** efficaciousness Blind you to her   egocentric, evasive, envious  nature    Those lips won't look so   enticing   when they're spitting poison barbs into your heart Wouldn't you rather  have a girl Who is likeable? Who is original? Who is vibrant? Who is enough to make you happy? It's all you need Do I have to spell it out for you?
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