"longitudinal" poems
I love your curvaceous contours, whilst physiological precipitations calmly shoot their nectar across longitudinal and latitudinal expressions of ontology.
How seductive are your displayed features of blatant enticements.
I truly give thanks for your explicit revelations, where blatancy and discretion collide with dialectical icebergs.
So, my friend of uncertain deliberation, put it on the altar of sacrifice where botanical skies of elliptical infernos resound throughout the classical universe.
I love this revealing and scientific corridor of acknowledgement.
Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 11:50 PM UTC
The professions of our leaders are paraded across longitudinal and latitudinal vistas. However, I have to ask: Whatever happened to the possession of that which is professed in our contemporary shell of delusion?
A princess may depart from her Celtic docks in order to sail back to her Anglican roots; and the fabric of high society may display an appealing veneer which covers explicit nakedness in the name of mass psychology.
So, my articulate propagate of conformity, I urge you to don the profound tuxedo at your avoidant desire. But please do not seek for me to enter into the denial of our core identity.
For those who are willing to rock this boat of ludicrous salesmanship, I raise my glass to testicular rectitude which transcends gender stereotypes.
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 9:55 PM UTC
building purist æsthetic
proselytizing solar-powered heliolatry
commemorating historic concert
sensing dark forces
fokken lekker antwoord
pumping sensory overload
featuring high-tech dee-jay
admiring gelato micro-truck
laxing laying lazing
"doing something nasty"
continuing quality content
entering another cathedral
journeying without borders
"exactly one year
since visiting vatican"
appreciating full-time gigasphere
awaiting pyongyang performance
depicting unlikely crowdsurfer
foreseeing exponential improvements
furthering esoteric agenda
sensing profound incompatibility
data-mining people's infidelities
anticipating futuristic caffeine
perfecting invisible propaganda
researching mind-control techniques
polishing psycho-social weaponry
sensing social embargo
flourishing frantic fanfare
admiring longitudinal monument
parodying marketing slogans
cycling through österreich
eyeing dystopian disneyland
streaming crosswords extended-play
herding glass kittens
deleting idiosyncratic fragment
loremipsum-ing laconic loudmouth
receiving ultramodern telegram
eigo-ga wakarimasu ka?
guzzling duck-fat fries
encouraging panic selling
(juxtaposing past incarnations)
getting black-and-white privilege
renewing boutique account
relishing cinema poutine
re-entering hibernation mode
opening old windows
continuing zoo motif
absquatulating excessive excesses
nullifying originality claims
proliferating protean persona
disappearing sidewalk alphabet
shrugging opprobrious moments
enjoying vertical alignment
re-entering cyberpunk paradise
approaching island sun
soaring beyond monoliths
trivializing extraneous argy-bargy
decreasing character limits
dumping generic accounts
uglifying commit message
escaping into idiosyncracy
moonshining great lake
exuding idiosyncratic propaganda
living nineties' dreams
making occidental cuisine
envisioning idiocratic president
expropriating your time
ascending homely helix
singing fat lady
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 12:12 PM UTC
They link together,
number and days,
strings of value
punctuated with semicolon winks;
(and consonant curved smiles.)
A grand unifying theory
hanging Baubles, Bangles
and bright shiny Beads.
The impulse Force of changing
momentous Month bending
light years in frequency of days,
mega-Hertz too compressed
up longitudinal mornings
and down transverse evenings
of negative pressure silence.
>intercorrelate.sync.JPC.+.FB
Feb 9, 2013
Feb 9, 2013 at 10:23 AM UTC
In dreams
Allowing oneself
To be
Within
Without interruption,
Without distraction,
Without aberration,
Without confusion,
Is to dance among with stars of space
Void of the fear of the death.
In dreams
Swimming among the
Stellar ethers
Of interplanetary mysteries,
We see all that
Was,
All that can be,
But not,
All that will be.
Here we theorize
Or potentiality
Floating in the first and last
Of
Spaces.
But,
Because of fear,
We see such places as Death.
The deepest oceans
Hold monsters beyond imagination.
The darkest caves
Pits of fall jagged, wet, and sharp.
The dankest of houses
Holds pasts too painful to see.
Because of the fear of Death
We hold ourselves back
From being free.
A light in the dark
Is but
A comfort.
Trust oneself.
See through the dimness.
Let go.
All angels who have been
And are and will be
Have walked the dark road,
Washed in light when they arrive.
Are they they?
Are we we?
Am I you and you me?
Can it be
That we are the same,
Just molds of longitudinal and longitudinal
Circumstance?
Close your eyes and become
What you see.
Feel the cool water brush
Under your fingertips.
Above, the clouds break.
A shot of light.
Presence of a million souls unite.
We have been.
We are.
Do not let
The Fear of Death
Tell us
We Will Not Be.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 12:07 PM UTC
I'm falling by the wayside
I'm part of the up and coming coalition
Trying to get this contraption up and running
That will do away with paint realities
Chapter 11
Section 8
Stake-less bets and crucial moments
I am the noble savage
I can see the focal point
In my peripheral vision
I see a pesky pescetarian
Tarnishing reputations
Varnishing them with rumors
Serving them with an appeasing garnish
That's their claim to fame
My left and right brain have their held thoughts
I know there is no "I" in "team", but there is one in "time" and you're wasting mine
I want to take the whistleblower and carry her over the threshold
-Tommy Johnson
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 3:53 PM UTC
I am made for love
simply to be swallowed
inside flame
but without burning
too crisply
feeling just east of
too much pain
I would **** it all down
I would take it all in
I would ingest that
subtly powerful potion
fling inhibition
to the winds
run through storms
and swim through
murky, wild ocean
I would don both wings and
antler, or horns
just to show you my
animal instinct
I would sniff you out
in a hidden thicket
of thorns
even if physically
it's distant
I would sway my hips
join the gypsies
in their dance
I would get naked
in the river,
hypnotized by the moon's
seductive trance
I would cross the
longitudinal division
to cup my hands
around your face
slice through ********
with quick precision
if it threatened
our sacred space
I would take my sword
and cut any signal
that destroyers
laid in path
I would challenge
the logical probabilities
of looking into your eyes
or placing my hands
upon you
(so **** what if it defies
the math)
The glorious point
of what I am saying
as I trip myself
through you and
fully live it
is that my stars ignite
the power
of this
liberation of
tightened,
connected spirit
and I am not giving up
I am not succumbing
to the sirens' call
of demise
Just watch me
bound out
from behind
the slippery
precipice
and see
my spirit rise
May 28, 2016
May 28, 2016 at 2:44 PM UTC
belly to belly
we lay...
recently connected
and entwined
now spent....complete.
lips to lips we murmer
our gratitude...
as you slip from within,
i mourn that small loss
of contact....everytime.
our eyes meet... and speak
worlds of migration,
taken, together....
we have collided again
....and small continents
have shaken and quivered.
lassitude overcomes,
the earlier...longitudinal
display....
and the mountain, sleeps
as the valley cleft.....watches.
we lay...
belly to belly...replete
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 9:31 PM UTC
The utter lack of words
That no longer flow freely from my tips
Astounds me
For the very fact that I can never shut my rambling lips
I find myself questioning what is it that I have to give?
Cause if you asked to pay rent to live,
inside of this head
Every month would be free
I would ask nothing of you to give
For you would live amongst riddles,
and secret coded messages
I have been trying to decode like latitude
and longitudinal grids
Nothing; if not now or ever
Would make the least bit of sense
© 2013 Christina Jackson
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 3:55 PM UTC
Time:
We can never truly,
Never fully
Grasp the subject.
We can measure Time,
But we really don’t know.
What is Time?
The tick tock clock
Gives just inkling.
We hear. We see.
We are aware.
Sequence—
An essential piece of definition—
Yet, a bare fraction,
Sliced off with a
Bare bodkin,
Scraping Shakespeare’s
Lyric-perfect bare bottom
For inspiration, I suppose.
But I digress.
Time: longitudinal?
The model--of course—for all
Correlational research.
Repetitive observations
Of the same variables
Over long periods of time,
Often many decades--
Our lives:
“Just one **** thing after another.”
Quantum mechanics, be ******
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 1:15 PM UTC
I called the University of Khartoum, Faculty of Administrative Sciences Last Year I am now 85 longitudinal burly Black Color
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 9:55 AM UTC
The peril of this thing is to imagine you in the
word marvel.
Anything that must point towards the Sun
must be tender with meanings
in the dinnerless evening
of the leaden chapel of silence there is always
a fury in its own movement say,
a touch of a hand on my svelte upholstery,
machination of an enigmatic discourse towards
fluidity of bedazzlement simply by saying
you want to go out in the center of which
pulses with a different life but with the same name,
or to briefly wonder
if the word marvel is its own fault and
accurately measured in longitudinal fashion,
so innocent on the passenger seat now groping for
some warmth from the black subcompact with metronomic sounds,
the mechanical work of this droning disfigurement
is that even in wings
you are relentlessly going and going
crossing points and delineating crosswalks
with more x-ed angels lamenting their able wingspan.
Unable to give birth to new conflagration – grace of prayers is nothing but
sadness stilled in sandalwood and simply this poem,
a letter of intent to crush your face and fracture your bones the same
way you do with mine, in every evening where
the final squall of the throbbing moon is a realization of the answer:
I am the one who wants to drown you in total darkness,
and my final word wanting to scar.
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 1:16 AM UTC
On a solo flight long along the longitudinal
Her, his? scouting mission made a stop along this forest openings way.
Low cloudy day gray skies
as a quiet woman planted seed.
Her circling, I'll call her a her,
as we girls keep our eyes on survival at all times,
rounding and then slowing
while her flapping wings settled her in for a landing.
A landing I'm most certain all aviators study.
She called out through the wilderness,
calling every gander and fellow goose,
"I've found this settlement, this safe place,
with gentle whispers of the wind in the pines."
She waited, paddled, then lifted to flight.
Away, she'd made this known.
The day ticked onward, sun rolling down the sky,
clouds swelling thicker, rolling lower into fog.
The gardener girl gazed up from her work,
listening to a cry flying in from the North,
laughing at the new arrivals, two this time,
welcoming them in to this summer home.
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 10:07 AM UTC
We were walking on the street, hands brushing against each other every now and then. We shared knowing smiles and it was all about youandme. I forgot who initiated it, but I remember walking slower and closer to you with our hands intertwined.
It was so crowded, people kept pushing, but we knew it was us against everyone. We held hands so many times that day. You have two identical moles on both hands, near the longitudinal arch of your ring finger. We Googled that term up together.
We held hands so much every time.
Feb 3, 2019
Feb 3, 2019 at 12:17 AM UTC
The plenipotentiary Three Sisters
Urbanities upwelling fate
Never ending, still beginning
Never done but ever ongoing
Like the Web of Penelope;
Succouring the leftmost invulnerable
Vanguardist, Seirizzim, hermeneutically
Succinct sowing the longitudinal
Herald wind of talaria auguring
Newly the rogatory long finger
Of cephalomancy reaping
Harmatiology's whirlwind-
Word for word and letter for letter.
ELEETE J MUIR
Jun 16, 2019
Jun 16, 2019 at 8:21 PM UTC