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"littoral" poems
Extravagantly exorbitant mentality panacea Pretentious eidetic’s ubiquity mnemonics Extraversion embezzlement extortion mens rea Endergonic laconic cacophony phonics Preterite rendition enclitic equilibrist motion Mystic symbiosis dharma spiritual sky Brusque macabre abjections the gist of the potion Straight up forever ontology on high Obdurately abstruse vituperatively vociferous Juxtaposition apparition myriad avarice Orotund sonorous diction obliquitous Multifariously versatile nefarious nemesis Mirador bartizan phantasmagoria aesthetics Guidon gyration excursion integration Sorcerous alchemizing interstitial endemics   Chaos charisma objectified tribulation Conjurous apothegms clitoral apomixis Exude emote surrogate extrapolation Astral projection littoral hypotaxis Kinetic supremacy homogeneity gravitation Coercible coalescent cohesion dexterities Adjunct conjunction conjecture acuity Platonic pragmatic prosaic austerities Extemporaneous impromptu innuendo fortuity Propinquity habitation harbinger spectra Perplexing paradox tenacity rostra Intensely cogitational abstract mantra Penumbral exigency , umbrage per contra Theoretical incursion grandiloquent ne plus ultra Exogamy of homoplasy sic itur ad astra Quiescent serendipity surreal anestra
0
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 6:16 AM UTC
Asylum
"When a person is born it's a blessed time, Albeit a person is in love it's a splendid era, When that person perishes it is a bereaved era, Albeit Love of two people expires it's a cataclysm, Vestige as we used to sit there on the littoral, As the dusk of the winds would blow the sand, The sand pursues into your long black hair, Visage your dark green eyes and a beauty of a smile, All times I have enjoyed greatly also suffered greatly, Times you loved me and alone on the shore, It is an perpetual power that as my utopia, Is me ichorous of our love moments together, Afore us lies the port and a skimming ocean liner, As we slowly see an alluvion gloom in the darkness, Legions of souls drudged here in day and night, Above gusting drifts the rainy constellation of stars, As we gambol in our fervor of cognizance of love in our Utopia Ichorous" By Andrew Guzaldo 08/03/2018 © Posted HP/
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Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 10:10 PM UTC
“UTOPIA ICHOROUS”
Sun goes down the littoral, Painting shadows on the sky. If skies could tell stories, Tonight it's telling mine. The orange molds memories, Language of love, Beautiful stories, But swiftly slithering to mauve. The vast blue says torment, Rivers I've cried, Sleepless nights, Tears that have dried. But when the blue will turn black, It'll scream pain. As the memories erase, Loving I'll forsake.
0
Feb 20, 2023
Feb 20, 2023 at 5:37 PM UTC
If skies could tell stories
In the days of seafaring yore, in a candied littoral time, my parents shared a love for wingsails; propelling their craft on the surface of gentle waters. It was here my father navigated me into existence, by taking my mother for a long enchanted boat ride. And like a hook and eye, they so clasped and rowed into the boundless deep. The tender rhythm of their waves stirring a rivulet that would come to be called me. Floating in this colostrum bed underneath the heart's thicket, I settled to sleep; dreaming of cradle song and breastmilk. My unborn hands and feet routinely practiced swimming toward the open shore; until that day when a familial voice called. And there in the dilation of a growing current, I sprang forth; thirsting for their love from my very first cry.
0
Feb 24, 2022
Feb 24, 2022 at 7:15 PM UTC
This is Water
Cold and closed, each green tidal lull lingers over rocks. A line of pelicans heads home. Before you arrived, days passed slower. Th salt-grass, the anemone blossom in cycles set up by the moon. I wait like a spring tide. Photos will prove changes happen in increments. Birds wait for sand ***** limpets, littoral fish. You practice naming each in order.
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Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 10:17 PM UTC
Before You (Anemone)
1 we ran outside           gathering the hailstones before they could return          to rain 2 spring thunder storms         refreshed the runoff ponds          the spring peepers         chorus chirps 3 soon, to be Indra, Lord of Heaven,         the God of War as well as Storms and Rainfall, starter of war a war which shall engulf      the planet and         perish all 4 in solid, ice        which shall melt and drown the littoral lands lands peopled in the         billions and so shall follow disease plague typhus dysentery death          in its many shapes and sizes 5 in drops        flows from your eye 6 according to religion         holy water
0
May 11, 2012
May 11, 2012 at 10:27 AM UTC
forms of water
Precious chance for a lonely thought, Loose, slip-fades sinuously free A melodious stream of nostalgic mist From a mug of Arabica sea. Curiously exhaled from dissonance In an amber lit café. He imagines himself a sojourner, A wayfarer without a way. Long shore drift en echelon Long minutes march by metronome Long is the spellbound beachcomber For an island all his own. Long is the dream of an inland man Lost to his seaside girl. Diver down where the standard waves Swimming dizzy for a polished pearl. Light from her eyes plays on sea glass chips Tumbled in the curling waves That crest and break on a beach that waits for a wish he once had made. The surf is heard like a lingering kiss breathing ripples on the smoothening sand And just as the whisper and simmering fades, Another promise swells, tumbles, and lands. The ocean is love running breathless, In a race between the moon and the sun, Causing tides to surge across the poignant curve Of an incandescent blue horizon. A tranquil star contracts and bursts In pulsing neon spires. There’s forever a star expiring While life glows from embers in a dying fire. If this writer could paint, it would be a portrait of the empty space beside him. Awaiting the image of a seagoing girl, He turns his canvas into a thirsting ocean.
0
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 5:12 AM UTC
In the Littoral Zone
L'heure verte The mountains. The heaps of their bountiful gravels, and earth, and soil, large oversized masses of half-frozen water teetering on the precipice of subzero masculine ******* Francophilic cleavage jetting out of this deserted white pastoral dressing. The inaugural bawl, wanton fixations of putting the imperialist foot on every spot of tree, each and every shrub, until the limbs' cast reaches each dimple that foliage braves, where that blue eagle of patriotism dredges its claws to form every river, rill, estuary, creek, channel, flume, littoral, and waterway where the iron-rich gullies once brimmed in the interamnian basins, rich crimsony waters riffling through fruitful and extravagant aquifers. Beyond that, where an inexplicably feral wind rips vines from their dendritic housings, where barely an eye can see, this place of exsanguination and abysmal phytocide. At the end of this lamentable torture, only a desert of human interest remains. There is no reason to laugh, or smile, or cheer, or put a leg up, to call on a friend, or to have ice cream. There will be no more ice cream. There is only the loathsome incredulousness and avarice in the semblances and familiarity of those with whom we thought we once knew. Little can ever be known, for there is much to gain in the absence of knowledge, and even greater that can be acquired in the alms of wisdom through patient examination and thorough silence. Here on the buttes and cornices, the thwacking gavels of evil power deities throw down their lust for more and soon become adjoined to these grand discrepancies greed mistakenly loses to a lack of awareness and to self-aggrandizement. Power is the weapon of inexperienced wielders. Passion is the immortal frequency that is worn by artisans and artists, poets and painters, it is the business of quietness to learnedly evolve to protect our tomorrows from personal needs, but to instead preserve the integral parts of society. The words of languages, artifacts, and cultures, rather than the skeletons of ****** and the deeds of possession. Each who sleeps knows their bedfellows to equally be at peace. For no wealth can exceed that of comfortable pillows, soft quilts, and sheets. We are all the same while we sleep.
0
Jan 9, 2017
Jan 9, 2017 at 6:52 AM UTC
L'heure verte
L'heure verte The mountains. The heaps of their bountiful gravels, and earth, and soil, large oversized masses of half-frozen water teetering on the precipice of subzero masculine ******* Francophilic cleavage jetting out of this deserted white pastoral dressing. The inaugural bawl, wanton fixations of putting the imperialist foot on every spot of tree, each and every shrub, until the limbs' cast reaches each dimple that foliage braves, where that blue eagle of patriotism dredges its claws to form every river, rill, estuary, creek, channel, flume, littoral, and waterway where the iron-rich gullies once brimmed in the interamnian basins, rich crimsony waters riffling through fruitful and extravagant aquifers. Beyond that, where an inexplicably feral wind rips vines from their dendritic housings, where barely an eye can see, this place of exsanguination and abysmal phytocide. At the end of this lamentable torture, only a desert of human interest remains. There is no reason to laugh, or smile, or cheer, or put a leg up, to call on a friend, or to have ice cream. There will be no more ice cream. There is only the loathsome incredulousness and avarice in the semblances and familiarity of those with whom we thought we once knew. Little can ever be known, for there is much to gain in the absence of knowledge, and even greater that can be acquired in the alms of wisdom through patient examination and thorough silence. Here on the buttes and cornices, the thwacking gavels of evil power deities throw down their lust for more and soon become adjoined to these grand discrepancies greed mistakenly loses to a lack of awareness and to self-aggrandizement. Power is the weapon of inexperienced wielders. Passion is the immortal frequency that is worn by artisans and artists, poets and painters, it is the business of quietness to learnedly evolve to protect our tomorrows from personal needs, but to instead preserve the integral parts of society. The words of languages, artifacts, and cultures, rather than the skeletons of ****** and the deeds of possession. Each who sleeps knows their bedfellows to equally be at peace. For no wealth can exceed that of comfortable pillows, soft quilts, and sheets. We are all the same while we sleep.
Continue reading...
4
The shallow waters pool between my toes shoreline shark vigils: hungry liquid shepherds. I wade past respectfully... I am no seal, to be broken littoral edges drawn crestfallen the point of no empyreal return. Crepuscular accession, immersion salt stinging my eyes as I gill bliss, pressure slowly crushing my lungs burst capillaries tandem, bones imploding in deep thought actinism. An organic plight to make the lost light.
0
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 2:07 PM UTC
Etheree #19 [Biolumin]
Extravagantly exorbitant mentality panacea Pretentious eidetic’s ubiquity mnemonics Extraversion embezzlement extortion mens rea Endergonic laconic cacophony phonics Preterite rendition enclitic equilibrist motion Mystic symbiosis dharma spiritual sky Brusque macabre abjections the gist of the potion Straight up forever ontology on high Obdurately abstruse vituperatively vociferous Juxtaposition apparition myriad avarice Orotund sonorous diction obliquitous Multifariously versatile nefarious nemesis Mirador bartizan phantasmagoria aesthetics Guidon gyration excursion integration Sorcerous alchemizing interstitial endemics   Chaos charisma objectified tribulation Conjurous apothegms clitoral apomixis Exude emote surrogate extrapolation Astral projection littoral hypotaxis Kinetic supremacy homogeneity gravitation Coercible coalescent cohesion dexterities Adjunct conjunction conjecture acuity Platonic pragmatic prosaic austerities Extemporaneous impromptu innuendo fortuity Propinquity habitation harbinger spectra Perplexing paradox tenacity rostra Intensely cogitational abstract mantra Penumbral exigency , umbrage per contra Theoretical incursion grandiloquent ne plus ultra Exogamy of homoplasy sic itur ad astra Quiescent serendipity surreal anestra
0
Dec 15, 2016
Dec 15, 2016 at 12:37 PM UTC
Asylum
Toi et moi irons au bord de la mer Toi et moi fuirons le froid de l’hiver Pour habiter sur les belles plages Ou dans les vagues des rivages. Toi et moi rêverons ensemble chaque soir Toi et moi vivrons sous les nuages dans le noir Toi et moi coucherons avec nos oreillers Sur le sable blanc dans la chaleur de l’été. Toi et moi parcourrons tout le littoral Chaque soir nous rêverons à la belle étoile **** des amis, sous le ciel tropical Pour voir le départ des chaloupes à voile. Au bord de la mer, nous vivrons nos vies Dans la paix, l’harmonie, et **** de la frénésie Toi et moi vivrons au bord de la mer Dans l’amour, sous le ciel bleu et clair. Copyright © Décembre 2019, Hébert Logerie, Tous droits réservés Hébert Logerie est l'auteur de plusieurs livres de poésie.
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Nov 27, 2024
Nov 27, 2024 at 7:45 PM UTC
Au Bord De La Mer
Long elective count to meager As thought throughout the countless, eager. Wanton cast and a dredge of river Sometime past, came to crab and sliver . Wrought the rest carried littoral to rocks Bent on the watch to release limbs of locks. Sought abreast a squirmish glean of hand Slaved to field, a dry-mouthed harrow of land. Trees come forward to shade separation We seep, never coward, to breathe such placation.
0
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 5:53 PM UTC
The Search
Cold..,so cold.. Snow falls in mid february You'd think like any other winter day but no.. It falls sharp it falls fast it hurts me a sting as if my skin is being cut into and making me simultaneously hot and cold making sure i don't know which or how to feel about it that's when i realize snow is not sweet and fluffy like the memories of your childhood pet laying against you under the summer sun or in a cozy home with the fire burning as she's tucked under her fleece blankets snow is nothing but ice sharp thick and dangerous like the chef knifes of infomercials that you'd watch because it's the adult thing to do That you'd buy because it was the adult thing to have days as these are when we realize reality is not your childhood memory Reality is the grinch whos heart was 2 sizes to small because the heart shrinks as the mind and body grow It is cooties turning into kisses Kisses into *** *** into broken hearts and tattered bodies Reality is school going from learning colors and 123s to trigonometry and stressing to the point of suicide Yet they yell words of compromise thinking you're no big deal Whether your words are littoral or figuratively speaking Yet don't they kinda go hand in hand Reality It is from your worse problems being if you had a nightmare at five to living a nightmare not that of monsters under your bed but of the monsters in and out of your head That make every step harder like they wanna build you up with lead And making every hour longer adding sand mans sand to your eyes instead of your hourglass Wishing you could just wipe the weary out of your vision because you aren't getting any more time Everyday working schooling caring to death Reality is like snow. It's a memory from your childhood thinking it'll be light and fluffy When it's really ice piercing your skin making you realizes that childhood memories stay that way for a reason
0
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 11:14 AM UTC
Situation: Reality
Cold..,so cold.. Snow falls in mid february You'd think like any other winter day but no.. It falls sharp it falls fast it hurts me a sting as if my skin is being cut into and making me simultaneously hot and cold making sure i don't know which or how to feel about it that's when i realize snow is not sweet and fluffy like the memories of your childhood pet laying against you under the summer sun or in a cozy home with the fire burning as she's tucked under her fleece blankets snow is nothing but ice sharp thick and dangerous like the chef knifes of infomercials that you'd watch because it's the adult thing to do That you'd buy because it was the adult thing to have days as these are when we realize reality is not your childhood memory Reality is the grinch whos heart was 2 sizes to small because the heart shrinks as the mind and body grow It is cooties turning into kisses Kisses into *** *** into broken hearts and tattered bodies Reality is school going from learning colors and 123s to trigonometry and stressing to the point of suicide Yet they yell words of compromise thinking you're no big deal Whether your words are littoral or figuratively speaking Yet don't they kinda go hand in hand Reality It is from your worse problems being if you had a nightmare at five to living a nightmare not that of monsters under your bed but of the monsters in and out of your head That make every step harder like they wanna build you up with lead And making every hour longer adding sand mans sand to your eyes instead of your hourglass Wishing you could just wipe the weary out of your vision because you aren't getting any more time Everyday working schooling caring to death Reality is like snow. It's a memory from your childhood thinking it'll be light and fluffy When it's really ice piercing your skin making you realizes that childhood memories stay that way for a reason
Continue reading...
28
“Recognition that you are here, Final adjustment mending next to me, A breath of your warmth upon my skin, Exchanges of the single ember within still burns, As I hear whispers in the wind, Rustling through the formulations, I've sketched in encroaching the littoral, To the special one to claim these pages came, Interpretation existing of years passed, The circumspect to go diligent stride, To a worn and tattered old ideal, Hero from the ancient bindings of a book, Haunting whispers in the Zephyr, Rustling through the formulations, Breaching the palisades of time, This the whispers in my mind” By Andrew Guzaldo © 04/30/2022
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Apr 30, 2022
Apr 30, 2022 at 2:10 PM UTC
“Whispers of the Zephyr”
Extravagantly exorbitant mentality panacea Pretentious eidetic’s ubiquity mnemonics Extraversion embezzlement extortion mens rea Endergonic laconic cacophony phonics Preterite rendition enclitic equilibrist motion Mystic symbiosis dharma spiritual sky Brusque macabre abjections the gist of the potion Straight up forever ontology on high Obdurately abstruse vituperatively vociferous Juxtaposition apparition myriad avarice Orotund sonorous diction complicitous Multifariously versatile nefarious nemesis Mirador bartizan phantasmagoria aesthetics Guidon gyration excursion integration Sorcerous alchemizing interstitial endemics   Chaos charisma objectified tribulation Conjurous apothegms clitoral apomixis Exude emote surrogate extrapolation Astral projection littoral hypotaxis Kinetic supremacy homogeneity gravitation Coercible coalescent cohesion dexterities Adjunct conjunction conjecture acuity Platonic pragmatic prosaic austerities Extemporaneous impromptu innuendo fortuity Propinquity habitation harbinger spectra Perplexing paradox tenacity rostra Intensely cogitational abstract mantra Penumbral exigency , umbrage per contra Theoretical incursion grandiloquent ne plus ultra Exogamy of homoplasy sic itur ad astra Quiescent serendipity surreal anestra
0
Jul 15, 2021
Jul 15, 2021 at 9:18 PM UTC
Asylum
for E. M. A. <•> a conglomeration, a pastiche, two  Italian words affixed, without hyphen, space, signaling unity, a merger of a perfect sensory morsel, every language unicorn unique with overlapping skin cells, entangling roots, so do not be surprised when you, who speaks not Italian, yet the brain reverses the words in your eyesight and is instantaneously understood I love this letteral literal littoral literacy connective tissue that is a humans binding, and oneof my greatest lessenings, is that never achieved real fluency in my cousined romance languages, though oft inserted in my scribbled poesy, for the emphasis of satisfaction when saying certain words in a related language carries a style, a tune, that elevates its conceptually so friend, multi lingual, aware of my affection for mixing, mining words of multiplicity, makes, creates a new word just for me: which deserves a plain old perfect WOW! poetfriend friendpoet will never sound as rich, inherently musical, poetic as saying: Amicopoeta
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Dec 17, 2024
Dec 17, 2024 at 8:27 AM UTC
Amicopoeta (Friendpoet)
Darkness wriggles in my body like grape vines, With their skin not so pellucid And eyes all bloodshot, They cosset my body gently, Only to inspect my phizog bounteous with torment. Bucketing their malevolence charisma into me, They beam. I could feel my heart crushing And my breath slowing down. I try to breathe Only to find myself Choking into the deadly littoral of darkness. -Khushi:)
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Jun 27, 2018
Jun 27, 2018 at 5:30 AM UTC
Darkness
Fading apricot sky Paints the wet sand The sharpest silver and romantic mauve. Angry incoming waves Turn to lace agate For a perfect moment Only to return again. A sooty oystercatcher Warbles Always keeping one eye on me. It is, after all, his littoral arcadia. Sea mist coats my skin Speckled sand whips at my skin Claggy dread claws at my skin While I write And write And write.
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Nov 5, 2020
Nov 5, 2020 at 6:02 PM UTC
Arcadia
“Raging waves of the sea foaming out shame, Wandering stars above to which is reserved, As my obscurity shall befall me perpetually, I know not how to contain me in this macrocosm,      As a quavering adumbration quirks my hands,         The hard brisk hour of night falls upon me quickly,         The swishing foam of the sea sashes before me,           My first vision in all my nights will forever be of her,   The barren quays at eventide feathered varmint gather, If I were to think with acrimony of this once realm, Of foremost loves that has passed me through my life,   She has left me at the fringe of the sandy littoral, As I have decided to leave my heart felt altruism, It is my hour of adieu oh me the dissipated one, Her coiffure her guise of such charm lips of lust, I adored her all this love will never be restored, A  Poet’s words of love penned on tattered paper, All the words of love and pain that many fear of, Expressed in through the ink drafted on paper, Poets die but their words anamnesis is perpetual”                    By AG 05/29/2018 ©
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May 29, 2018
May 29, 2018 at 4:35 PM UTC
“Anamnesis Perpetually”
“Littoral of living onto the pelagic is of the lifeless, Every sea squall dead leaves fall reminding of seasons, Ocean dreams between mix utterances of thoughts, Crossing over where you once started out from, The cape laid far ahead and high upon it a continent, The sea waves rose like white columns as it breaks, Never knowing which way is easy to forget the afore, Which coast has wavered upon the next victors horizon? And which one may rise to meet you in the dusk of eve, And the days lay are so many dark and unpropitious, Huge surging blissful waves rising on the blue sea, The sprays from ocean waves like falling torrent fog, One’s life on the sea is oh so cold and inauspicious, And yet some place within the deep my shallow awaits, Evening now upon the shore and in the fading Another day bloom and resurrects from the abyss Sunset as the blackbirds come flying above, Coruscation of sunset evanesces into the night of my Archipelago azimuth” By A. Guzaldo 07/23/2018 ©
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Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 11:47 PM UTC
“ARCHIPELAGO AZIMUTH”
my healthy body, mind and spirit triage progression, initially sans just an innocuous psychotic spur severe psychoneurotic manifestations didst rupture whence me childhood's end as a psychological postfracture catastrophically highjacking (via overpressure) donned with gay incognito vis a vis sans tartan Scottish Harris (Boss) tweed welcome mat plain as day affliction obvious nondisclosure whip saw mental health pubescent misadventure with deleterious, hellacious, and lecherous mailer daemons indelibly etched within mine kempf nightmare nonfictional sigh hick locust plague odious autobiographical literature at that perilous juncture when all of a sudden onslaught germinated feelings deeply rooted finding shattered, leveled, and fractured flintstone bedrock viz yours truly insecure pestilential, kickstarted littoral heretical, diabolical pernicious, insidious, and avaricious cerebral heady hot house embedded, fixated, grafted "horticulture" sowed "Kudzu" tendrils analogous to Oriental gravure immune to organizing, strangling, wrangling foreclosure, essentially usurping, torquing, stagnating, rotting prepubescent healthy development.
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Jan 31, 2018
Jan 31, 2018 at 2:53 PM UTC
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder Capstone To Joyous Boyhood
paned curved waves crack and smash foaming frothing smeared about water blues and greens commingle savouring basking in littoral shingle
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Feb 21, 2019
Feb 21, 2019 at 5:23 AM UTC
paned waves
“As I watch her words undulate off her tongue, As words gyrate like raindrops upon my brow, Our plight embrace shall never be severed, We are driven fervently with passion as we gaze, As we embrace in an avidity of passion, With deep fervor engulfed with luminance, Caressing soft silky innuendos of lasciviousness, A gulp of cloying surrender of fiery passion, Always be with me the in littoral of my anamnesis, As Neptunian waves ripple along the shoreline, Standing obscure vigilance on the shores anamnesis, Even though we look as tides drift to our costal shore, As the immenseness of the sea allures to its depth, As does your soul allures me to the fervor abyssal, You emerge as my vitality as the chimera of lust, Now dissipated of your caresses have sealed my love, With no contrition we ardently agog to embrace as one, To be consumed with an Avidity of Passion” By AG 4/18/2018 ©
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May 17, 2018
May 17, 2018 at 3:51 PM UTC
“Avidity of Passion”