"liquidised" poems - Hello Poetry

I sometimes have too much to think Mind liquidised by the blades of conflicting aims A maelstrom of ideas, words and feelings, Whipping up a sea boiled by emotional gales. The fine cutter of thought, though elegant Is tossed like a cork, compass spinning And can only weather such a storm Sails in tatters, with I strapped to her main mast. Only a vessel with the assured tonnage of true purpose can make headway here, And that, a rare ship in my oceans, So take me in tow, To a safe berth, Where this cutter might wait out the tumult And, unfurling new sails, take once more to calmer seas.

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Feb 10, 2012

Feb 10, 2012 at 10:32 PM UTC

rob

To think or not to think

I sometimes have too much to think Mind liquidised by the blades of conflicting aims A maelstrom of ideas, words and feelings, Whipping up a sea boiled by emotional gales. The fine cutter of thought, though elegant Is tossed like a cork, compass spinning And can only weather such a storm Sails in tatters, with I strapped to her main mast. Only a vessel with the assured tonnage of true purpose can make headway here, And that, a rare ship in my oceans, So take me in tow, To a safe berth, Where this cutter might wait out the tumult And, unfurling new sails, take once more to calmer seas.

14

*Poets you are in danger! Mortal danger! I feel funny. Strange. Is he still drugging me? This morning he force fed me liquidised Shakespeare. This afternoon it will be Chronicles of the Roman Empire. What did you do to him? Why does he hate you? I hate you too. But not as much as he does! Have you scorned him? Cast him out? Such is his venom? I am still wearing the long white nightie. My hair is loose now. He carries me in his big strong manly arms. It sets my heart racing. I belong to him. He belongs to me. I do not want him to hurt you. You deserve to be hurt for ignoring me but he can be viciously cruel. He has little effigies of all of you. He is a man with a plan. And it’s coming your way. Mortal danger. Poets you are in danger!*

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Feb 1, 2011

Feb 1, 2011 at 5:02 AM UTC

eve

My name is Eve - part 9

*Poets you are in danger! Mortal danger! I feel funny. Strange. Is he still drugging me? This morning he force fed me liquidised Shakespeare. This afternoon it will be Chronicles of the Roman Empire. What did you do to him? Why does he hate you? I hate you too. But not as much as he does! Have you scorned him? Cast him out? Such is his venom? I am still wearing the long white nightie. My hair is loose now. He carries me in his big strong manly arms. It sets my heart racing. I belong to him. He belongs to me. I do not want him to hurt you. You deserve to be hurt for ignoring me but he can be viciously cruel. He has little effigies of all of you. He is a man with a plan. And it’s coming your way. Mortal danger. Poets you are in danger!*

27

The clocks are quickly ticking, rushing me further onward, Yet nothing really seems to change aboard this grand train. The starting station is long a forgotten sight from afar, As a million only well-dressed people shut the curtain to hunt a star. No things will halt The Times today, or our most important endeavours Five down is completed now and – I stumble! (the train’s slowing judders) Christ, my leg! – it’s filthy down here…. And I find suddenly there's no time for care Glancing through the compartment door – no: I’m transfixed, and I stare Goodness. A gracious bombardment of purest light, Crystalline, through the porthole’s grime. Refracting into purples, and blues, and yellow sights! So this is how beauty blossoms, allowed time. Suits, ties, over-priced liquidised decadence Are overcome, barely visible, amidst her the flower’s resonance And blissfully reducing my colleagues to uttering, babbling nonsense Until I hear the gunshot crack The wheels regain motion Re-shredding morals to smithereens Though I cry, desperate to see her through bloodshot eyes She’s left me only dark red puddles though the doorway

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May 26, 2014

May 26, 2014 at 3:22 PM UTC

tim-bustin

The Great Western

The clocks are quickly ticking, rushing me further onward, Yet nothing really seems to change aboard this grand train. The starting station is long a forgotten sight from afar, As a million only well-dressed people shut the curtain to hunt a star. No things will halt The Times today, or our most important endeavours Five down is completed now and – I stumble! (the train’s slowing judders) Christ, my leg! – it’s filthy down here…. And I find suddenly there's no time for care Glancing through the compartment door – no: I’m transfixed, and I stare Goodness. A gracious bombardment of purest light, Crystalline, through the porthole’s grime. Refracting into purples, and blues, and yellow sights! So this is how beauty blossoms, allowed time. Suits, ties, over-priced liquidised decadence Are overcome, barely visible, amidst her the flower’s resonance And blissfully reducing my colleagues to uttering, babbling nonsense Until I hear the gunshot crack The wheels regain motion Re-shredding morals to smithereens Though I cry, desperate to see her through bloodshot eyes She’s left me only dark red puddles though the doorway

20

Liquid days when the morning Mist whispers and the woman's Touch softens in bed under The pelting romance of raindrops. Moist Earth of liquid hearts, when The solitude melts away from The the tumbles grey and the Light flashes across the myriad Of sky tirelessly crackles and lifts One out of the depression. Steaming Earth, when the body Is melting like clay in summer's Tears, when two become one in The moist of the Rivers, water turns Into life and the soul is freed In youth. Wet Earth when the Angel's tears Cry for their knowingness, Who wish to make the Fall And bathe in the love of man, Petrification of the motivated as The tears flow down un-sinning . Rain upon the Earth, Like a woman in her bath, The stress falling away with Each droplet, The edification of her day, The supplication of living water, Up on the squall we dance In thought ,inciting the flood Within a liquidised existence.

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Jan 27, 2016

Jan 27, 2016 at 11:09 AM UTC

dedpoet

Liquid Earth

Liquid days when the morning Mist whispers and the woman's Touch softens in bed under The pelting romance of raindrops. Moist Earth of liquid hearts, when The solitude melts away from The the tumbles grey and the Light flashes across the myriad Of sky tirelessly crackles and lifts One out of the depression. Steaming Earth, when the body Is melting like clay in summer's Tears, when two become one in The moist of the Rivers, water turns Into life and the soul is freed In youth. Wet Earth when the Angel's tears Cry for their knowingness, Who wish to make the Fall And bathe in the love of man, Petrification of the motivated as The tears flow down un-sinning . Rain upon the Earth, Like a woman in her bath, The stress falling away with Each droplet, The edification of her day, The supplication of living water, Up on the squall we dance In thought ,inciting the flood Within a liquidised existence.

31

I really truly don't know why some things under the sun and sky attract and catch my fancy Quite queerly they happen to be hot melting smelting solids that melt into exquisite liquids. Take for instance heated liquid gold molten glass or molten brass and to watch magma 'neath the earth's fold Ooh, I love just about any melting mass. With similar bizarre ecstasy and fascination I like to watch onscreen molten lava Gliding in serpentine turns, oblivious of my admiration Ah, I just love all that golden molten mass . Liquidised metal, liquid fire I just never ever tire Sometimes I even have such an eccentric craving to watch just any solid beauty melting smelting that I satisfy this craving by simply imagining the honey to be some liquid fire gold glowing in a crystal clear jar and liken it to metallic gold syrup in the furnace burning As if it were stagnant mini-lava right before me churning ! As for other mesmeric things that I find real eye- catching are those which everybody else finds ravishing. And they are in all shine, in heavenly mould and cast, magical celestial stardust or glittery terrestrial gold dust or dazzling diamond dust, in mankind's metallic materialistic lust.! Btw I am allergic to earthly dust!:)

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Aug 12, 2023

Aug 12, 2023 at 6:33 AM UTC

S-zaynab-kamoonpury5

Molten marvels mania

I really truly don't know why some things under the sun and sky attract and catch my fancy Quite queerly they happen to be hot melting smelting solids that melt into exquisite liquids. Take for instance heated liquid gold molten glass or molten brass and to watch magma 'neath the earth's fold Ooh, I love just about any melting mass. With similar bizarre ecstasy and fascination I like to watch onscreen molten lava Gliding in serpentine turns, oblivious of my admiration Ah, I just love all that golden molten mass . Liquidised metal, liquid fire I just never ever tire Sometimes I even have such an eccentric craving to watch just any solid beauty melting smelting that I satisfy this craving by simply imagining the honey to be some liquid fire gold glowing in a crystal clear jar and liken it to metallic gold syrup in the furnace burning As if it were stagnant mini-lava right before me churning ! As for other mesmeric things that I find real eye- catching are those which everybody else finds ravishing. And they are in all shine, in heavenly mould and cast, magical celestial stardust or glittery terrestrial gold dust or dazzling diamond dust, in mankind's metallic materialistic lust.! Btw I am allergic to earthly dust!:)

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