"murmer" poems
I hate when I’m trying to be handsome,
and a more handsome man stands next to me and handsomes harder than I can.
''Surely you can handsome somewhere else,'' I say in a handsome passion, to the man dressed in ridiculously good fashion.
But he just stands there, handsoming harder than I could dare.
Even if I were wearing some Prada underwear.
So I turn up my nose and ''hmmph'' out aloud,
then handsome off to a less handsomeable crowd.
''Oh, what a success I've found,'' I say in a handsome murmer,
before handsoming away to be handsome further.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 8:54 PM UTC
the scent of incense
hangs heavy in the air
the constant murmer of voices
comes crashing like waves
but your eyes meet mine
and the faces disappear
the voices die,
all that remains
is an unspoken invitation
from my lips
willing yours to kiss them
and yours happily
meet their request
leaving our love tasting
like oranges
tenderly plucked
from moonlight lips.
Sep 20, 2019
Sep 20, 2019 at 10:22 AM UTC
Her fingers were covered in corn.
the corn after chewing, broken
pierced, churned- it could spread as butter
thick on stale toast, if needed
"it's fine, don't you worry, we'll get you all cleaned up"
she stared indifferently
Strings dangled from her mouth, unswept
full of necessary greens ---"mhm there there, this will give
you so much energy" --- drags of breath,
half inhale half choke. nothing to look forward to,
not the next soaking glob, not the cursing woman
in the bathroom, not the spill of light to her eyes
Where are the ladles, Did you check on it? The key? Just moved, most the suitcases aren't there yet. Remember to bring the Did you check on it? pay attention. Have you seen my grand kids?
who are you?
Sunday's are for the active ones
The games down the hall are too far. Why worry with legs, if she could just adjust to the left
the world could sag into an ongoing dream- No demands, no games, no movement.
The nurses hair net had more presence than the splotch of gray against her peeling itchy scalp. Drool leaked from leather lips, dampening the collar of her two month sticky blouse. Arms curled and locked,displaying under the wax skin cranberry patches-
she never wiped them off. Always the soft murmer of
a snore, always the smell of unbrushed teeth and hampers.
"Did you touch those where don't touch me scott scott scott leave my things alone thevenin I need a stop lying I want to go scott, scott? scott. I can't remember any"
I said my name four times before she heard me, knew me
I fixed her pillow and my sister marked off the day on the calendar.
We told her about school, the marching band, each word
filled with forced enthusiasm. She bobbed her head in circles, lazily
rolling her eyes, the curtain shading the empty space. We spent 30 minutes precisely.
She was more than I realized.
I never knew she had horseback riding, violin playing days. She traveled and hiked. We could have been close. Unraveling with the mystery, I felt the lateness of my curiosity.
It was 30 minutes precisely, always.
We acted as strangers, reciting routine and wishing each other a happy day and a quiet love you
Sep 9, 2012
Sep 9, 2012 at 5:21 PM UTC
"I wish the rain would pass us by,"
They say as droplets fall from high
I nod my head as if to say
I think so too, but as it may
I love the rain, the life it gives
The way it makes me want to live
Inside my head, so deep inside
I murmer out an "I don't mind,"
"This freezing cold is hard to bear,"
They say with hats upon their hair
I smile back, pretend to be
What they seem to expect of me
But where the cold is colder still
Inside my mind, the freezing chill
I whisper back my icy side
"But I don't mind, no, I don't mind,"
"I can't stand when I'm all alone,"
They cry out with a striking moan
I laugh inside but nod my head
(Their trifling ways are better fed)
This time I whisper oh so slight
An, "I don't mind, no I don't mind,"
These people, they don't understand
That life does not go as it's planned
And we can choose our path we take
And sometimes ones that we don't make
So take your path, and you will find
That you don't mind, no, you don't mind
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 11:12 AM UTC
you, you make my bones murmer.
you make em burn.
you make them yearn.
you make me afraid to sleep.
you make me afraid to steal.
you make me afraid to hurt people.
you make my main muscle twist.
your easier to love than any empty building or
endless railroad or
highway at dawn or
or sewer with lifewater.
i have walked around hours and hours before
just looking for a place to rest.
that feeling i got when i knew that a particular
place would do
thatd id be safe for a night
without anyone to creep on me or
rob and **** me or
call the cops on me.
when i lay down my head and i am
falling asleep surrounded by rust and
the smell of mildew
and ****
a place where my memories wouldnt flood me
to the point of insomnia
and i could finally sleep
with no guilt or
regret or
fear.
you are that place.
a safe place to rest
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 10:19 AM UTC
Twenty men stand watching the muckers.
Stabbing the sides of the ditch
Where clay gleams yellow,
Driving the blades of their shovels
Deeper and deeper for the new gas mains
Wiping sweat off their faces
With red bandanas
The muckers work on... pausing... to pull
Their boots out of suckholes where they slosh.
Of the twenty looking on
Ten murmer, "O, its a hell of a job,"
Ten others, "Jesus, I wish I had the job."
1.3k
there is a seperation
a pain of seperation
such as a seperation
that only lovers specialise in
where the prevention of thought
is like a fortress overrun
where trampling terrains of concern
stampede upon the praire of the mind
transforming it into a soft savanna
of wating engagements
that murmer with comforing enchantments
lays upon such pain of seperation
as that of a perforated scar
seared across the heart
bringing tickles of soft warm tears
to the cheeks
the happist time becomes
a chasm only conquerd
by that gulping unification
of embrace
where soft burning lips
meet in that unknown
but express language
of clasped reunion
it is that pain, that awful pain
that only lovers know
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 6:25 AM UTC
i am nine
and learning
by osmosis
secret women's business or
the art of pie making
production line style
to the uniniated
i sit perched on a stool
in the corner, out of the way
boxed in by fruit
it is a heady place to be
as scents of apricots(bought)
blackberries and apples mingle
sweet woody and exotic,
with the citrus tang
of zested lemon that sits
in an ever growing
pryamid on the table.
ginger and cinnamon motes
float in the oven warm air
and flour clouds the room
and settless in drifts
and dusts the collection of bowls
on the table
my mother aunt
and mrs blunt,the neighbor,
bustle about the room....
my aunts girth designates her as chief baker
and she rolls out pastry with
gusto...fat arms swinging
penduously, humming to herself.
mrs blunt is the pie filler
adept at judging the mix
and making the gelatonious
gooey syrups filled with sugar
and spice, chopped crab apple
and lemon zest.
mother is the friuter, she peels
destones and cores
chopping up apples, apricots and peaches...
leaving berries and cherries intact(sans pips)
and then later she mans the ovens
watching for the golden crust
and bubble of pie juice...
before removing
them to cool on poppa jacks
old oval dining table...
me I sit in wonder,
snacking on fruit,
and balls of leftover dough
swooning with the smell
of stewing friut.
Next year my true apprenticeship will start....
Until then, I listen to the murmer of gossip
the passing of secrets,
the bonding of these women....
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 5:00 AM UTC
The caricature of a drip.
Defining in it the sum of a short existence. A life.
Wet and alive and pendulously hanging.
I stare up from the caged depths, my eyes eagerly alive
as it drips down in a cascading spiral
less destructively than I have dripped.
A drip to know and to watch like the T.V. (that's never off).
To see the freedom in its fall.
But once dripped, dies alone. Ripped out.
Disconnected from the unsurviving cloud.
Unpoured, it seems, I murmer out loud.
I watch another drip. My reflection watches back, I'm sure.
I wish for it to break, so I can close my eyes
and hold, for a moment, a friend. A life.
And to feel the dependence of the drip's lullaby.
Does nothing more than a drip make sense?
I gasp as they escort my back.
And does it listen when I tell it of my life
before it drips out of me like freedom in fashionable attire?
Redder than the red-lipped mouth of a liar
concerned with "family matters" and saying "sign here".
Lies that drip out of them like foolish wars.
Or the painted affections for a newborn child.
Oh such terribly dreadful dripful lies they are.
Down. Down. Down.
I'll fall down the endless corridor away from them all.
And drip beneath the cementum cracks of the floor.
I'll hide with my drip.
I'll drip with my drip.
I'll sip it a bit. Bitter, but I sleep better, I think as I slip away.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Even after I'm gone.
May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 6:08 PM UTC
In your skin
I am demented
An animal that only desires
To breathe and taste you
In your skin
The ache of my need
the delicate whisper
Of my sigh,
The murmer of night
Is lost in the savagery
Of your love
In your skin
The glint of candlelight
The lick of waves
The velvet undulation
Pulse in surging rhythm
In your skin
I am consumed
engulfed
overcome
--
In your skin
The trembling surges,
Writhes,
Wanton and whimpering,
Wishing only to be
In your skin
Again
and
Again.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 1:14 AM UTC
On a night like this
with murmer of prayer,
the nightbird stoked in me a tremor
so slight in degree i didn't dare
open an eye to the dream
unfolding before me under
blackness ever so unkind.
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 2:21 PM UTC
"You're an angel"
He says.
"My angel."
I squeeze both of his hands a little tighter and plant a kiss on his pale wrinkle-plad cheek.
His lips mimic a smooch-
Looking more like a puckering goldfish than anything else.
I smile that smile only he can bring to my face,
As if I were the sunshine that lights the blue sky's of his eyes.
I wrap my arms around him, burying my face into his sleeve.
"I love you" I say.
"I love you too... Angel" his lips murmer as they continue to sputter out kisses.
Remember.
We don't use that word much here.
Tomorrow he will forget that I love him so dear.
But as long as his smile still shines and his eyes gleam bright blue,
I will never forget how I love him so true.
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 4:11 PM UTC
My heart is gravity
My heart pumps Pb
Our weak ventricles murmer
Our bloodlines muddle
All is as it should be
With a strong sad smile
A short wink hooded
Our precocious Facebook children
With mutant gifts crinkling
Brow concentrating in deep
Play practicing trying catching
Pokemon policy phrases
Riffs to redeem siblings lost
Down Kentucky mine shafts
Yet tribal rite remembers
How blacken heart recapitulates
In our habitual memory
We abdicate poetry
We abhor progress
We abjure peace
Jan 25, 2017
Jan 25, 2017 at 7:01 PM UTC
I go to work each day to tiny hands and welcoming smiles, I claim to have seventeen. I tend to live vicariously through my preschoolers and my brothers four.
I spend my week in the busy classroom, and then my weekends engulfed with them too. But I go home alone.
Most days I'm okay, I'm strong, I'm confident, I'm okay.
I lay here this Saturday morning listening to the crunch of tiny cerial bites, and the quiet murmer of the Lego cartoon making a Melody I've often begged for but never told a soul.
I lay in bed, the three of us, and watch quietly as he stretches and rolls my way, he wraps his tiny arms around my arm and pulls me close. Unbearable, yet I contort and mold to his liking. Your wish is my command, say and I'll do.
And then it's 7:30 and I grab my purse. I pull out a little white pill and my mouth is instantly dry, unwanting. I reluctantly swallow it and lay back down.
And then your dad opens his eyes and they meet mine, and just like that I'm fighting tears. I close my eyes in an attempt to fake sleep, I roll slightly so my tear trickles to the pillow without a trail.
I don't even know how to start that conversation, or if I should, so I write.
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 11:36 AM UTC
They ****
They Mame,
They steal,
They play,
They laugh,
They covet,
They test
Hell as an oven!!!
They backstab,
They backbite,
You pulleth and grab,
They moan in delight,
They cheat,
They lust,
They thrive,
Of bones and of dust!!!
Their uncharitable,
They murmer,
Their a narcotic using world,
Their explorers,
Their punks,
Their freaks,
Their madmen,
Their geeks!!!
Their warlords,
Their pacifists,
Their hatred,
Is all nonchalant!!!!!
They get high to get what they want,
Their complainers,
Their lazied!!!
Their pilled out,
Junkies,
Crazy!!!!
Their low,
In disguist,
They use perfumes of sixty dollars of more!!
A delightful expensive musk!!!
Their cheap,
Penny pinchers_
Their losers,
Their winners_
Their warriors,
Their jocks,
Taking selfies of shame,
Of perverted stuff!!!
Their tounges are asps,
Their hands are weapons,
They'll meet you in hell,
I looketh forward to heaven!!!!
Their babies,
Scaby infested,
Some get off on ***
Others love molestation!!
Their racists,
Their rapists to!!!
Of mother earth,
And mankind's tombs...
They turn on each other,
Sister and thy brother,
They gaze in mothers purse,
As with dad arguments stay cursed!!!
They are disobedient,
Disloyal in their love!!
No god do they worship,
Just Shaitan's to Satan's club!!!
They eat on organics,
They eat pesticide!!
Some live on freely,
Others seek thy easy way out(suicide)
The have no one to turn to,
Except their vain imaginations,
Their nonhumble,
Proudfully tumbled!!!!
Their fall is bound to occur!!!!
These are the humans!!!!
Welcome to earth!!!!
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 9:04 AM 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
Ever since you left
Angels keep appearing to me
and the iridescence of the snowflakes settled on their wings
never fails to entrance me.
And while I admire the starkness of the white in which they're clothed,
And the brutal honesty
Of the contrast between them and me,
They fall to their knees begging me to answer what they were sent to ask.
And it's become my burden to send angels with skinned knees back to God with no answer of why you could no longer love me. And I suppose understanding would not make living without hearing you murmer constellations in your sleep any less painful, but not even God himself was prepared for this and I think I'm forgetting how to breathe.
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 10:55 AM UTC
A bard ran fleet of foot across the bridges
That span the mighty trees of Greater Fay,
To keep a tryst to meet his fairy mistress
And strum his lyre, delivering his lay:
*"Oh maiden of the forest, thou are sweetest
Of all the maids of thine, the fairest race;
Thy eyes are wisps of greater lightstone riches,
Thou sets my heart to beat at Selo's pace.
If I should roam from Everfrost to Freeport,
From Qeynos Hills through all Karana fields,
No one shall ever keep thee from mine own thoughts,
For love of thee my heart forever wields."*
She looked upon her minstrel with a sadness
And told him that their love could never be,
She closed her eyes and left him in the darkness
To mourn for e'er the love he could not see.
He searched afar to find her wisp eyes gleaming,
He slaughtered all who dared impede his stride;
He marched to Crushbone where the Orcs were screaming,
But none could stand before his Elvish pride.
Until one day he chanced upon a river
And saw his maiden swimming in the flow,
His song was lost within the water's murmer
And diving in, his head was ****** below.
He floundered as the currents gripped him firmly,
And rocks appeared to smash his flailing limbs;
He felt a darkness take him with a warmly
Caress, and heard a choir of Faydark hymns.
He woke upon the bank beside the water
And met her eyes of gleaming wisp-filled light,
And thus the tale of bard and forest daughter
Is told to children each and every night.
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 11:53 AM UTC
8-28-13
Cloudy night
Making my own clouds
I put it down
Making my own winds
Tornadoes turning into mushrooms
They remind me of Hiroshima
My hands go through the metal nets
Why am I here?
No breeze
Just the slight murmer of stories untold
I'm alone in my own thoughts
Remembering the pain I went through
Wanting to get up
Wanting to leave
But I'm surrounded by black lines
Lines made of steel
Too close together
So, here I wait
In my own little world
Half-listening to stories
That will never make it out of here
Stories that no one else will ever here
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC
Ever since he left
Angels keep appearing to me
and the iridescence of the snowflakes settled on their wings
never fails to entrance me.
And I'm a little bit drunk.
And while I admire the starkness of the white in which they're clothed,
And the brutal honesty
Of the contrast between them and me,
They fall to their knees begging me to answer what they were sent to ask.
And it's become my burden to send angels with skinned knees back to God with no answer of why he could no longer love me. And I suppose understanding would not make living without hearing you murmer constellations in your sleep any less painful, but not even God himself was prepared for this and I think I'm forgetting how to breathe.
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 9:33 PM UTC
I watch the minutes
Slip into silence
As the river thunders dull
Outside my open window
Cracked wide a mirror for my heart
The pieces which you care for subtly
Murmer in the late night breeze
Your lips painting pictures for my body to fill in
You are lovely
Lively, you rush through my veins like the river
Dull to all except me
I can feel you deep in my bones
Your soul kissing mine under wide open skies and I am lost in the adventures found in your horizons
And all I want
Is a simple call
But instead I watch the minutes
Slip into silence
And the memory of your touch grows fainter
Dull
Like the river roaring
Outside my window
And all I want is to tell you
i love you
And you will be mine
At least in my mind
Forever
Even as your touches grow fainter
And your body colder
Farther from my heat
i love you
i love you even as the minutes
Slip into silence
i love you even though
You're gone
Aug 28, 2016
Aug 28, 2016 at 1:21 AM UTC
That bloodied unpasteurized murmer
In mine solicitude heart
Trepidates in beasting screams
I cryeth out for more
The amour' to be more than just dreams...
As many dont like putting labels on a title
I guess I'm just one who likes labels I guess
Tis,
Just who I am
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 10:51 PM UTC
What I Want
I want to be
a breath eternized,
a harmonious duel
of notes colliding;
a deep hum like rain pounding on your roof.
I want to be
your familial need,
your strong cavalier,
and yet impuissant without caring.
I want to be
the sound of your seascape and
the harrowing experience
that brings your feet slapping again on my floor;
the sublimation that makes
me your chéri once again.
I want to be your car whizzing
through the slush on my road,
and your air as you breathe in slumber.
I want to be your remembrance.
But this? This is just doggerel my love,
empty tapping on a darkened window.
The Dance…
The sound of harmonizing guitars fills my dreams,
a sound to eternize in my memory.
Their duel of fancy is poetry sounded
in the chalet of pressing bodies.
Feet slap the floor to the sound,
in the familial dance of human experience.
The murmer of voices are impuissant when faced
with the strength of those strumming guitars.
Cars whizzing through the slush
announce the departure of
those with faces trapped in a cavalier facade.
For the rest,
the music sublimates the reason of the mind,
driving out thought like the sound of breathing in the night.
The doggerel of the world is left at the door
and the snuffy exterior of life is quickly forgotten.
Only the music remains,
its meaning an elusive longing,
and the desire to dance until the sun
drives out the shadows.
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 12:04 PM UTC
...or--what?
(sonnet #MMMMMMMCDXXXII)
Rain trips so lightly in the hallowed sense
Of keener silence listning to that frail
Step traffic rushes heedless through. Birds hail
With merry notes and fragile, as from hence
Lo, crickets murmer like for all intents
The solemn ghost of patience walks here, pale
As Sunday's dimmer eye. Clouds' masque the veil
Oer all, an airplane's voice sifts through, and whence?
Oh! how the maples' boughs rock, tinged as twere
By orange' first warnings of that rendezvous
With Death. Winds caller as they whisper through
This calm, wool, tights, and tweed now, are not poor.
And if I mourn that I've ne lover fer
Whatever, somehow even that's not new.
07Oct18a
Oct 13, 2018
Oct 13, 2018 at 3:57 PM UTC
and so the rains have come again dripping from the leaves
in rythms of incoherant sync, listen closely, the voice
soft, yet rambling, as if to call the gulls to the sea
find me another, bring back whole this time
restless hearts sleep in the day, the night is full of prey
in the shadows, full of grace, glowing eyes, lead astray
watching with intent, never a murmer, wasting time
the voice now useless, slumber back to were you came
perhaps the gulls will find you another
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 9:37 PM UTC