"octagonal" poems - Hello Poetry

Sandblasted red, octagonal glass dangling from black twine a gift from you, long gone, that is mine and I cherish it more than my dwindling stack of cash, more than my beat up car, more than my only guitar, more than my favorite scars, because it was crafted by your hands, since turned to ash and spread out over the rocks and valleys, I love you still Eddie

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Sep 22, 2013

Sep 22, 2013 at 12:41 AM UTC

daniel-magner

Necklace

Sandblasted red, octagonal glass dangling from black twine a gift from you, long gone, that is mine and I cherish it more than my dwindling stack of cash, more than my beat up car, more than my only guitar, more than my favorite scars, because it was crafted by your hands, since turned to ash and spread out over the rocks and valleys, I love you still Eddie

22

Seven days spent lost in the rogue North Octagonal windows framed a snowed in view. In the kitchen, sun soaking in like honey, The kids sat eating oranges. Two cats humming and a sheepdog dozed Under a thick maple table, flavoured as last nights fresh game Lullabies deep as eyes were heavy Fire stoked and a Mickey Mouse Christmas shining brightly, playing cards, I laughed that it was just November. Two sets of ice blue eyes, no blood in between. And six sets, shades of green-blue-brown, Each the nicest pair you'd ever seen. I fell in love with the eight, Always their eyes first I'll admit. And now my heart lay in A long house, teepee on the dock. The purest cold blue I'd ever know To crash upon iced rock. All the trees you would ever need, A conglomerate of green; Until the day I die, the holiest place I've been

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Nov 29, 2013

Nov 29, 2013 at 4:19 PM UTC

samantha-18

Canada North

Seven days spent lost in the rogue North Octagonal windows framed a snowed in view. In the kitchen, sun soaking in like honey, The kids sat eating oranges. Two cats humming and a sheepdog dozed Under a thick maple table, flavoured as last nights fresh game Lullabies deep as eyes were heavy Fire stoked and a Mickey Mouse Christmas shining brightly, playing cards, I laughed that it was just November. Two sets of ice blue eyes, no blood in between. And six sets, shades of green-blue-brown, Each the nicest pair you'd ever seen. I fell in love with the eight, Always their eyes first I'll admit. And now my heart lay in A long house, teepee on the dock. The purest cold blue I'd ever know To crash upon iced rock. All the trees you would ever need, A conglomerate of green; Until the day I die, the holiest place I've been

21

at the cafe on ruby toes and sugar pinch, we consent and reap the valdez of our perpetual cud. we sip from octagonal spoons. there, we suture the fiend to the deed and the rail to the runaway train. how else would you explain your dashing about in the chum of our castanet. we cast our nets in the epibenthic fumes of our unusual loveliness and sweat the little things that vanish from the canon our interesting. hup to it. vie for the offshore drill. suppose you grow a dead thing and keep it astonished with flashcards and nobody says a thing ?

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Jan 26, 2013

Jan 26, 2013 at 9:20 PM UTC

third-eye-candy

the valdez of our perpetual cud

at the cafe on ruby toes and sugar pinch, we consent and reap the valdez of our perpetual cud. we sip from octagonal spoons. there, we suture the fiend to the deed and the rail to the runaway train. how else would you explain your dashing about in the chum of our castanet. we cast our nets in the epibenthic fumes of our unusual loveliness and sweat the little things that vanish from the canon our interesting. hup to it. vie for the offshore drill. suppose you grow a dead thing and keep it astonished with flashcards and nobody says a thing ?

8

Everyone has a tell an insignificant twitch a slight change in demeanor a subtle physical distortion Two dime-sized octagonal flaws flushed pink appear just southeast of my left eye after the water ceases to flow leaving only a riverbed salt in its wake Pulled together Faking poise and doing it well *Those two **** dime-sized octagonal flaws* give me away.

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Aug 13, 2013

Aug 13, 2013 at 8:57 PM UTC

alaina-michelle

Tell

Everyone has a tell an insignificant twitch a slight change in demeanor a subtle physical distortion Two dime-sized octagonal flaws flushed pink appear just southeast of my left eye after the water ceases to flow leaving only a riverbed salt in its wake Pulled together Faking poise and doing it well *Those two **** dime-sized octagonal flaws* give me away.

16

I'm tired of this honeycomb 8 layers of ferns and pollen I cannot keep these stings from getting in My lungs are full of honey As long as the nights are silent, And the days are sunny I will always be your worker bee Through the octagonal valley We never flew And we never existed

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Feb 23, 2014

Feb 23, 2014 at 8:10 PM UTC

christianpv

Never Flew

I'm tired of this honeycomb 8 layers of ferns and pollen I cannot keep these stings from getting in My lungs are full of honey As long as the nights are silent, And the days are sunny I will always be your worker bee Through the octagonal valley We never flew And we never existed

10

The coffered ceilings of cathedrals hum... their octagonal scenes are dreams of extracted nectar. I'm reminded of a dead bee I parted from a flower...it was already so much more the bee, so much more the flower. Its non-doership loved to death its doing.

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Dec 23, 2016

Dec 23, 2016 at 12:27 AM UTC

Onoma

Octagonal Scenes

The coffered ceilings of cathedrals hum... their octagonal scenes are dreams of extracted nectar. I'm reminded of a dead bee I parted from a flower...it was already so much more the bee, so much more the flower. Its non-doership loved to death its doing.

12

The garden dwellers are in revolt. there, a chrysalis on a twig shoot and a lorry train of ants dragging that dead body of a beetle but it is not the body that is dead, it is only a skeleton, a hollow casing pulled along the highway lines of the octagonal pavement to the nest that stands like the Dahshur pyramid. The Queen is carried on the backs of slaves. Is it dangerous to walk there, down that thorny avenue of roses? reminiscing over the regret of a lust for death what is it, absent, another layer of displacement as you dig beneath, this garden, this prickly avenue the soil is drenched with autumn leaves and deepens, it is dangerous, I am buried in it.

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Oct 14, 2016

Oct 14, 2016 at 3:59 AM UTC

shoki

Myrmecology

The garden dwellers are in revolt. there, a chrysalis on a twig shoot and a lorry train of ants dragging that dead body of a beetle but it is not the body that is dead, it is only a skeleton, a hollow casing pulled along the highway lines of the octagonal pavement to the nest that stands like the Dahshur pyramid. The Queen is carried on the backs of slaves. Is it dangerous to walk there, down that thorny avenue of roses? reminiscing over the regret of a lust for death what is it, absent, another layer of displacement as you dig beneath, this garden, this prickly avenue the soil is drenched with autumn leaves and deepens, it is dangerous, I am buried in it.

14

Twelve to six to three Twelve to four to two Divided and separated Stark white eggs stored cold in fibrous cardboard trays Warm eggs, just laid, strewn among the damp straw Twist a plastic tray, it cracks and squeaks releasing ice-cubes Chunks of ice kicked along a frozen asphalt road A rusting metal bolt from an unknown car, sits against the curb A drill-bit bores through metal revealing shining inner steel Razor sharp shavings curl from the oily machine Thorny thistles offer velvety wisps of cotton White drifting seeds float on a warm spring wind Sticky sap from a tree trunk you touched for balance Fuses to your skin and tries to stick your fingers together. Five ten fifteen twenty Twenty forty sixty eighty Tiny black seeds like pepper scatter on the snow From a hard octagonal pod that cracked between your fingers Black hockey pucks spill out of a bag upon the ice for practice Players spill out of a gate onto the ice to take their sides Spectators spill out of the small arena into a parking lot A new snow during the game has left it covered in a white blanket. One hundred two hundred five A thousand a million a billion Stars pour out across the sky Clustering sometimes thick as milk Sometimes scarce and as black as molasses Thick and deep and going on and on forever.

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Sep 22, 2014

Sep 22, 2014 at 4:34 PM UTC

ottaross

Our Everything

Twelve to six to three Twelve to four to two Divided and separated Stark white eggs stored cold in fibrous cardboard trays Warm eggs, just laid, strewn among the damp straw Twist a plastic tray, it cracks and squeaks releasing ice-cubes Chunks of ice kicked along a frozen asphalt road A rusting metal bolt from an unknown car, sits against the curb A drill-bit bores through metal revealing shining inner steel Razor sharp shavings curl from the oily machine Thorny thistles offer velvety wisps of cotton White drifting seeds float on a warm spring wind Sticky sap from a tree trunk you touched for balance Fuses to your skin and tries to stick your fingers together. Five ten fifteen twenty Twenty forty sixty eighty Tiny black seeds like pepper scatter on the snow From a hard octagonal pod that cracked between your fingers Black hockey pucks spill out of a bag upon the ice for practice Players spill out of a gate onto the ice to take their sides Spectators spill out of the small arena into a parking lot A new snow during the game has left it covered in a white blanket. One hundred two hundred five A thousand a million a billion Stars pour out across the sky Clustering sometimes thick as milk Sometimes scarce and as black as molasses Thick and deep and going on and on forever.

28

I care so much, I care yet little It drives me mad, it drives me mad, it drives me ten chimps pulling dresses off the walls of a posh octagonal hall six taps left open, and drain holes, four, spurting and clogged with thickets of hair and dirt— all ugly and bold and alive alive too, like a screaming, this home I know, I know to be carved out of stones— of stones that silenced the noises of time now chattering, chattering, alive alive; dishes scarred and stained— sleek with remnants of hungers strange a fish bowl lonely and cursed with obsolescence; poked twice with feathery causality and now it bleeds, and wilt the books, the dusty books Oh! I have too heard of the quiet sky, it’s body carved like a zero— even and smooth— I have too! In here, but in here I care— a glass-jar, its mouth like the mouth of a fish spilling, twice, spilling alive and bottles breaking, of young wines, of cinnamon and salt four spices that sting and bite like slaughter I care yet— a taut-skinned cat mewling by the greasy kitchen window and six locks with key-holes jammed with rust that comes and comes in crowds like gusts to chew on metal's ****** sweetness It is wild— I stumble around the echoes of a gathering of chimps a key grinding and twisting in eight stubborn walls yearning for the quick clack that would open me up all answers and answers, easy and slow all simplified for introspection— and me and it is choking frightening I lurk from doorway to shadow to the wet rug by the shelf counting, recounting the bruises of a house untouched by all but me— ten then! on, on—

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Nov 15, 2021

Nov 15, 2021 at 9:26 PM UTC

Ayesha

A gathering of chimps

I care so much, I care yet little It drives me mad, it drives me mad, it drives me ten chimps pulling dresses off the walls of a posh octagonal hall six taps left open, and drain holes, four, spurting and clogged with thickets of hair and dirt— all ugly and bold and alive alive too, like a screaming, this home I know, I know to be carved out of stones— of stones that silenced the noises of time now chattering, chattering, alive alive; dishes scarred and stained— sleek with remnants of hungers strange a fish bowl lonely and cursed with obsolescence; poked twice with feathery causality and now it bleeds, and wilt the books, the dusty books Oh! I have too heard of the quiet sky, it’s body carved like a zero— even and smooth— I have too! In here, but in here I care— a glass-jar, its mouth like the mouth of a fish spilling, twice, spilling alive and bottles breaking, of young wines, of cinnamon and salt four spices that sting and bite like slaughter I care yet— a taut-skinned cat mewling by the greasy kitchen window and six locks with key-holes jammed with rust that comes and comes in crowds like gusts to chew on metal's ****** sweetness It is wild— I stumble around the echoes of a gathering of chimps a key grinding and twisting in eight stubborn walls yearning for the quick clack that would open me up all answers and answers, easy and slow all simplified for introspection— and me and it is choking frightening I lurk from doorway to shadow to the wet rug by the shelf counting, recounting the bruises of a house untouched by all but me— ten then! on, on—

59

"Wine is the mirror of the mind." The cut glass fluorescence of sloe gin and ***** cuffed to my wrist, scours the tabletop with self-cruel smiles. In the convex glass I'm wearing a robe of pills. In the convex glass my hand's curve strangles a joy back down to size with forced sleep. Dizzy on the bird's chop-wing of couch, half-tapped glasses lose the day to the little white discs laboring to lift me roughly into the spaces between the stars. The octagonal glass is so empty.

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Nov 21, 2019

Nov 21, 2019 at 4:47 PM UTC

EvanS

Vinum Animi Speculum

"Wine is the mirror of the mind." The cut glass fluorescence of sloe gin and ***** cuffed to my wrist, scours the tabletop with self-cruel smiles. In the convex glass I'm wearing a robe of pills. In the convex glass my hand's curve strangles a joy back down to size with forced sleep. Dizzy on the bird's chop-wing of couch, half-tapped glasses lose the day to the little white discs laboring to lift me roughly into the spaces between the stars. The octagonal glass is so empty.

25