"outermost" poems
A woman shouldn't be radiant outermost,
A woman should be dazzling intramural
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 3:02 PM UTC
Through the vales to my love!
To the happy small nest of home
Green from basement to roof;
Where the honey-bees come
To the window-sill flowers,
And dive from above,
Safe from the spider that weaves
Her warp and her woof
In some outermost leaves.
Through the vales to my love!
In sweet April hours
All rainbows and showers,
While dove answers dove,--
In beautiful May,
When the orchards are tender
And frothing with flowers,--
In opulent June,
When the wheat stands up slender
By sweet-smelling hay,
And half the sun's splendour
Descends to the moon.
Through the vales to my love!
Where the turf is so soft to the feet,
And the thyme makes it sweet,
And the stately foxglove
Hangs silent its exquisite bells;
And where water wells
The greenness grows greener,
And bulrushes stand
Round a lily to screen her.
Nevertheless, if this land,
Like a garden to smell and to sight,
Were turned to a desert of sand,
Stripped bare of delight,
All its best gone to worst,
For my feet no repose,
No water to comfort my thirst,
And heaven like a furnace above,--
The desert would be
As gushing of waters to me,
The wilderness be as a rose,
If it led me to thee,
O my love!
4.8k
a simile comparing my love to the explosion of a star as a supernova
have you ever seen a star explode?
do you know what a supernova feels like?
I've never seen a supernova, but I've felt one. I've fallen in love with the brightest stars and once they disappear, it's only a matter of time before it hits me. First the wind hits me from the outermost layer and I feel it but have no idea what's to come. Then the heat begins to consume me. It's hurting but I've not reached the point of rupture. And once I do my whole body collapses into the heart of a supernova. Watching the star burst into a million pieces all at once as if thinking about your own heart, feeling it do the same.
That's what it felt like loving you, you were a supernova that just completely decimated my world.
Dec 20, 2017
Dec 20, 2017 at 12:21 PM UTC
coffee tastes better in Spain
a simple hello is groundbreaking
comfort can be a warm bed or a “like” of a picture
the cold is different in the UK (you can feel it in your bones)
they will always give you a knife and fork to eat a hamburger
sometimes you need to eat at a Hard Rock in Lisbon to be reminded of home
if you eat the bread, they will charge you 1€
crying alone in a hotel room or at a Chinese restaurant in Italy is perfectly normal
never doubt the power of distance
now you can never say you didn’t try
just because you don’t speak the same language, doesn’t mean **** off” isn’t universal
sometimes sleeping next to someone who peeled your outermost layer off is the most intimate you need to be
“I’ll never see these people ever again”
have pride
ask me now what it is that I want
I have come to loathe all brown bags and black suitcases
vulnerability does not necessarily equal intimacy
remember that you pulled yourself out of the sea
your feet tread castles and cathedrals where thousands walked
art galleries are best enjoyed alone
now you understand when mom and dad don’t answer how agonizing it is
write it down if you want to forget it
acknowledge buried truths
eat paella and shnitzel and pizza and fish and chips and don’t think
go to movies at the tallest cinema
slip a little on the cobblestones
lay for hours on the beach
then
go home
be humble
remember
reminisce
teach
embrace
Glasgow – 1/8/15
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 12:36 AM UTC
The atoms that make up
The outermost layer of my skin
Repel yours the least
In some sort of metaphoric nuclear fusion
Though we may not release photons
With each touch
And we're not quite travelling fast enough
To create such an explosive reaction
In a physical sense
It seems that you still turn
my mass
into energy
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 4:27 PM UTC
Texas mud, a mud that cakes
A mud that strikes fear
In boots and trucks alike
After fresh summer rain
Billowy clouds rolling a long
Singing their thunderous song
Natures long cool drink
I was muddy once
Moms words i didn't hear as i hit the back door
Thoughts of squishy toes and big smiles
A freshly made mud pie for my sister
I was muddy once
To a boy of ten 2 acres goes on for miles
A whole mess a villains ever willing to meet
The business end of my B.B. gun
And the neighbors nurf gun
I was muddy once
From the trenches of France
To a foxhole on Mars
Only fenced in by the outermost stars
I couldn't be bested
Backyard hoops to creek jumping
Swing sets to sword fights
I was muddy once
The only thought of future
Was what tomorrow would bring
New adventures, new places to see
And all you can drink sweet iced tea
I wanted to be something great when i was a kid
I wanted to be great
I wanted to be a paleontologist, doctor, lawyer, cop, superhero, captain of a yacht, a and mountain man, and never wanted to get married cause girls had cooties and dolls
As it turns out I am none of those things
As it turns out, what i needed most
Was i ran rarest away from
I became something i never thought i would be
I became something i never thought i could be
I am becoming a servant of the King
The mud which once covered my hands
Bound my heart in a thick, clogging bog
Only when i thought no longer of receiving glory
I began to poor grace out from this imperfect jar
Glory pored to a being more eloquent than I
Who hath poured mercy like wine
Love as a fire
Turning my so called foundations into Texas mud
Turns out God doesn't want me to be a doctor
Turns out God wants the willing not the able
i found something bigger
Than the thoughts i thought i knew
How glorious days of old
A tear to my eye and a distant memory
To stretch and grow is one thing
A loss of splendor another
When others think of yesterday,
Dream for tomorrow
Dream and dream big,
For God is bigger still
He rejoices in imagination
Delights in the mind of a child
Reclaim that which we've lost
For you were muddy once
I was muddy once
Apr 12, 2011
Apr 12, 2011 at 1:30 PM UTC
the girl took a long shower
she scrubbed until her skin turned red under the too-hot water
she scrubbed so she could feel clean again
she scrubbed away his fingerprints and his warm breath on her neck
but when she had scrubbed away her outermost layer
and stepped into the cold air
waiting to be the old her again
she still felt wrong
instead of clean she was raw
every inch of her skin fire, every nerve ending feeling too much
she climbed back into the water
she started again
she scrubbed so she could feel the same as before
the time never came
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 3:14 AM UTC
"BUG"
I saw a Bug Battle,
in the cracks of the street Blood and Struggle
Their plastic screams and cellophane curses were almost like yours and mine.
Until a brave one crawled to my ear,
and he told me of his trial in the street crack theater,
I grinned as if I cared, he smiled like he had the time
He said "in whose camp does your banner fly, and can I have you on my side?"
He loaded a Pistol while I replied:
I said: I'm anti-pro no shout catechist, so keep your pamphlets political activist,
You take your cause for lack of a purpose in life,
pursuit of happiness, "eudemonia" good spiritedness
you're living proof that ignorance aint bliss
Pray "Libira nos a malo!" and Free Tibet!
But you never prayed for the souls with affixed Bayonets;
so I wave like the man being shot from the cannon;
born on this chunk of warm rock hurling through nothing;
who only on the front of spirit can fight;
Storm the Bastille of desperate life;
and dance in the street every night till the day I die.
The Bug Replied:
Know All, Know all, in the dialog to win,
two grants are a Franklyn one Lincoln's just a fin?
Posit value for this bug since you're so well balanced,
gaining perspective from the outermost valence;
you never killed what you eat and confuse "labor with action,"
but you think you're to evolved to fight for my faction;
We're currency baby as we live and breed,
BASTILLE for you ATTICA for me!
better get in the frae my anti anti teacher
before it ***** you along with every other fighting creature;
I'm going back to me cell where I breathe a little freer;
but let me give a final though like I'm Jerry Springer:
If happiness is purpose than you can call my purpose love,
to survive I fight the Battle and to me you're the bug.
Thunderstruck, I sat on the curb,
realizing I could be a "social surd;"
then I saw my small confessor get killed in a raid;
I would have stomped out his assassin if I wasn't so afraid;
instead I rose to my feet, and walked straight home,
locked myself in, and wrote out this song,
I think of the bug while I'm dancing in the street,
every time my neighbor throughs a sneaker at me;
I feel his wrestles spirit longing to fight,
while I'm drinking and singing in the middle of the night,
than it hits me:
The bug was right
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 9:04 PM UTC
Suddenly
I remembered,
I could indeed fly.
I showed it
in the middle of the gathering,
where you first looked
astonished at me,
but then
as if you had seen the devil.
I flew away.
In the large apartment then
not without fear
of unrecognized angles.
But at the border of the apartment
and at the same time
in the midst of it,
with both feet yet
in the own home
standing:
a large, powerful,
noble portal.
The doors made of heavy wood
and framed by
hosts of angels
carved in stone
– each angel
a few candles guarding.
I flew up.
To set fire to all
and which burned down
let shine again
by new form.
In the stone arch
sitting,
with the aim and
the strenuous attempt,
to achieve so too
the outermost candles,
suddenly became so heavy,
as if I had forgotten to fly,
for fear of falling down.
Some down there,
on the other site,
notice the solemn lighting
and
looking up to the lights,
which in the middle of the day
and in middle of the night
are shining.
The one is happy
about the festive light,
the other worries
about my strength.
Even
if I should fall
and
become too heavy to fly:
I would come back,
to light too
the last candle.
© Barbara-Paraprem – 2.9.1993
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 1:47 AM UTC
Sorry I can't say anything.....
Sorry I can't say anything.....
Uptill now I think about you are only mine
But after listening your new theory.
Sorry I can't say anything...
Please atom attach me with you with the help of your covalent bond.
Please can't energies with your friends(electron) and your mind(nucleus) and repell me in your outermost orbit
Only you are my hydrogen and I am your single electron
Please you not make yourself as helium lithium or any other
Only remain hydrogen for my whole life....
After somedays we make our dutarium and tritium and enjoying our joyful life
Please you can't try to stable...
Please remain unstable as my hydrogen forever.....
Sorry I can't say anything.....
Sorry I can't say anything.....
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 11:17 AM UTC
- Start by caaaaarefully removing your outermost layer of flesh - lather generously; rinse passionately; re-evaluate your life with a fine-toothed comb and carefully remove the parasites of your predetermined partiality
- String them up with clothespins to wither and flake in a badly scorched sky
- Acquire an ice pick of high quality, frosted on memories of all your ex-lovers and their numbing tongues. Begin to chisel at your own very delicate bone structure. Cease action only when the jawbone resembles the claws you disregarded in your 3 AM awakening punctured with crrreeeeaks and hazy in a soft red fog
- Dust your eyelid with arsenic until they're heavy enough to crush a small child. Tell a good joke, or two - which part of a vegetable are you not supposed to eat again? Might as well eat all of it, him, her, them - but not the wheelchair. In retrospect, pull all of your eyelashes out as well - no sense in prolonging the sought-after blackness
- Tie your lover's ruptured spleen around your waist to add a few pounds - god forbid you get too twiggy and crackle and fall into an inevitable pit of self-loathing. Stick straws through puke green nostrils and **** maggots out of gaping eye sockets. Line your lips in borrowed blood.
- Embroider your initials onto my skin and never forget where you came from.
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 11:01 PM UTC
They look and see
The quiet surface of me,
Slight waves of personality.
They don't know what I hide
How strong my tide.
The depth of my sea,
They simply cannot see.
They will never be
able to swim to my depths,
or reach my upmost steps
Couldn't possibly stay afloat when I've wept.
To see what lives in the deep darkness of me,
There is not enough breath to explore beneath chest.
I am a labyrinth.. I confess.
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 4:13 PM UTC
Sverre's morning-affirmation
I soar above my own boundless
Imagination
Looking down onto areas I visited
In dreams from as long ago
As my faintest childhood
I remember everything
This is myself seeing the
Sense in it all
It all
I am large enough to eat
Universes
Strong enough to rip black holes
In the fabric of time and space
I laugh with the gods
I am the only
Border
I own the edge of everything
I am innermost and outermost
I know not how to
Talk down to
Myself
In all I see
In this world
I see me
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 10:44 AM UTC
Lost; Lost in her Massive beautiful eyes
Oh Bianca, My Seraph in disguise
her skin has diamond patterns
Her voice like my dear own Mother's
For her I lay Spineless for her heart is my own Metropolis
When She feels lonely I will not leave her in Isolation
I reckon she does not feel the same way
I hate my own premonitions
This love For her does not make me wary
Oh Bianca You are my Sanctuary
and when life gets meaningless you are my Dictionary
You are so Unique! Your Vogue and your Face, none can compete
You make my outermost shell complete
Please do tell me, does Noble love exist?
Oh Bianca, You I can't resist
Your body is so Luminous and you light up my entire Universe
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 6:09 AM UTC
A sheer pink lip balm
A harsh light bulb-lit reflection
Deep, tired, dark circles
That outermost omnipresent aloofness
Dark 00's and midriff
The cold, 6:00 am, hollow and dim living room
Seriously demeaning and only aware introspectively
Noble-felt, harshly observed silence
First, the summit most deeply craved and sensually submissive to
Clarity and optimism
Motivation and kindness
But impending soon after
A permanent loneliness, soullessness, sadness and a vast emptiness
The every day conscience
Hours spent absorbing the stillest silence possible
Not being able to think full thoughts or talk to oneself
All that's distinguished is feeling paralyzed in the mind
Harsh bathroom lights
Loud, rough water filling the bathtub
Staring as the repetitive breathing moves the water line back then forth
Up then down
Slow moving and eerily melancholy
Continues
2 am... 3 am... 4 am...
Physically exhausted and still
Lethargic bones
Mentally continuous, even rapid, and imaginative
Consisting of only slightly heavy, controlled breaths and an idled pause
Everything is paused except the mind
The body goes without
Naturally retracting from the mind
Counting the minutes until the alarm goes off
Arises to feel disoriented
Resolves with more
A light-dark shimmer and brown boots
Perfectly placed lips
A sharp nose and a sunken aura
That craving, comfortable normal attained
It all resurfaces
The smell of that time
The mentally formed associations
Cold like the winter, early mornings and the fluorescent light
Cigarettes like the emptiness, somber, bitterness and silence
Oppressive but so liberating
Depressive but so enthralling
It smells malignity pleasure-filled
A sheer pink lip balm
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 3:58 AM UTC
A name,
A face,
More ripples
In the lake.
I've never seen this man,
But I'll never be the same.
I am not the faintest ripple,
Though we've never met,
Though we're only close
In the second degree, if that;
Though I might sleep tonight
While others won't.
Those outermost waves
Are the ones for whom
He is just part of a number
Of casualties in the Middle East.
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 4:51 AM UTC
parallel sympathy endeavor
peaceful and untroubled
achieve ballerina twists
comforting serenity
pull a fast one on
elixir sip sucker stiff
tiny hornswoggle mulct
grandfather clock rich rock
chimney chalk ziggy pop
sirius kid dolls cudi feet tall
artists whirl revolution vet
wolf convincing sheep curve
non believers starting flames
horrid instant ways even livid
fears queen fairy dust spiral
wick gladness warlock king
abide nostrum wake flesh
archangel passion feans
world web crack addicts
mankind teach nine
nail soundness round
raiden uppercut fortify illegitimate
swine heedless being being beaten
headless ***** eyes hub pivot
nerve endings eager enthusiasm hitch
pitch outermost central swain free gist
intrigue archbishop market black illicit
red hot chili peppers implicate explicit
inundating problematic seniority cast
systems hook boom haze tomb prune
embrace bravehearts impale in arms
side by side shield elastic coats grace
Aug 25, 2016
Aug 25, 2016 at 8:19 PM UTC
I can't come back.
Sorry, pastor, I can't come back.
Sorry mom and dad.
I can't come back.
I have seen crippled men beg for pennies outside the mile-high walls that guard the glittering, gem-encrusted Vatican.
But I haven't seen Christ.
I have seen good men's funerals picketed by angry mobs all swearing to be the hands of God.
But I've never met the rest of Him.
We've seen holocausts, crusades and conquests **** millions in his name.
But I have never heard His voice.
And I think those men holding those guns missed the point as far as his commandments go.
But that's not why I can't come back.
I ducked out from under the umbrella of religion and I felt the rain
And every day since I've been learning to take the wet with the dry rather than seeking shelter in what's comfortable.
And what's more, I've gotten a clearer view of the sky than ever before
And without that umbrella
I have seen something.
Or the outermost edge of something-
Something unimaginably large
Something not only too big for words, but too big to see all at once.
Something bigger than me and you and god and everything.
And I can't unsee that.
I've surrendered to the fact that not I, my children, or their children will be able to fully comprehend the vastness of everything,
But I am willing to die incomplete before it.
So sorry mom and dad.
Sorry god.
I found my own truth.
and that’s why I can’t come back.
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 3:32 PM UTC
you continue on the outermost experience of stimuli
consuming with poor digestion, your surrounding world
you continue on the premise of emotion and nothing more,
no analysis, no insight, you exist as a simpler species than
those who do analyze, are insightful and it is only negative because
you are inefficient and infectious in your inefficiency, less energy is
required to live as you do but you are not progressive, you do not offer
this human species anything but a vector for dna, an avenue to perpetuate;
and you are this way by choice -- you possess potential to have potential
but you do not engage and in consequence, you are ignorant and malignant
to our human species and perhaps I am a misanthrope or perhaps I am a
realist but you will only hinder the most capable of us unless you cease to
continue on the outermost experience of stimuli; you are inefficient with the
potential, a resounding potential, for efficiency and if only you would wake from
this superficial condition our species would gain advantage in survival but I
suppose it is irrational to wish for such things, as we are inherently flawed and
perhaps our concentrations should not be on perpetuating the human species
but rather giving rise to an organism more evolutionarily advanced -- more efficient;
more perfect.
Jul 5, 2017
Jul 5, 2017 at 1:49 PM UTC
How many times will my name be called within one day?
From the depths of my conscious to the outermost membrane,
It's a situation I cannot just walk away from,
And the insinuation that I'll give up only in my dreams,
Just makes me want to go even more,
For you believe I'm not me,
For you believe that I'm a liar and a manipulator.
If I'm just that fake I might as well go,
Leave my stuff here before I sink further,
And the temptation to bury myself in toxic waters is great,
Nothing you've ever felt will compare to the hurt,
In my chest and in my cords,
So take my hand before I say goodbye.
Before I say goodbye.
Spend some time with me,
Sit with me and laugh out the fears,
The fears that life has no point and I have no purpose,
It must be tonight and If He was real then I'd use that as my pedestal,
I wouldn't care if I was called fake cause if It keeps me awake then so be it,
Spit out your truths; do you believe I will make it in life?
I'm tired of being told I cannot,
That I cannot start this life off or make it with the dreams that I have.
If I'm just that fake I might as well go,
Leave my stuff here before I sink further,
And the temptation to bury myself in toxic waters is great,
Nothing you've ever felt will compare to the hurt,
In my chest and in my cords,
So take my hand before I say goodbye.
Before I say goodbye.
And the poison on my wrist,
Seeps out once again and into the air it dissipates into gas,
Enough for me to inhale and drink,
Drink until the world is fuzzy and grey,
Don't care, Don't care,
It's this pointless verb of dying that won't carry me on,
Don't care, Don't care,
Just believe in me, Just believe in me.
If I'm just that fake I might as well go,
Leave my stuff here before I sink further,
And the temptation to bury myself in toxic waters is great,
Nothing you've ever felt will compare to the hurt,
In my chest and in my cords,
So take my hand before I say goodbye.
Before I say goodbye.
Oh and before I say goodbye,
Place a rose in my hands,
With the name I was given but not the name I received,
***** you if you think I'm not me,
***** you if you think that this is manipulation,
Do you realize how much I drown in your hate?
I want to thrive and I want to strive for more and more,
It's just before I say goodbye,
I'll be watching for a way to survive,
You wrought hope and said I'd be living mediocre,
Did you realize that I don't care?
It's something I need before I say goodbye,
Before I say goodbye.
Before I say goodbye.
Before I say goodbye.
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 12:34 PM UTC
Plaque..
lingering on the
outermost surface of
my fingers,
palms,
skin.
nothing new.
coming of age
in an era
of grease, oil
***
patriarchs,
the third wave,
followed by
a tsunami,
soon to come,
earthquakes are
too prevalent
for this not to be.
my hands will soon
be washed clean of
the sin that was placed
on them,
--not on
my own accord,
but on theirs.
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 3:12 AM UTC
yes, only the paper will listen when
called upon
for what is a clean sheet but only our reflection
human
it:
crinkles
wrinkles
folds and bends
yellows with old age,
can always be changed
and always constant if unaltered
it:
speaks in words
embraced with lip kisses
can be cherished
can be destroyed
ashes to ashes
just like a human
print this poem:
place it in your everyday purse
of all things valued, kept upon
your person, close by
for comfort
for reflection
amidst the haste
the paper preserves:
your glory
your memory
your secreted confessions,
an exposure of your nakedness
your innermost outermost
the paper is skin:
can be scarred
held close by
shelved to be avoided
shed cells, store cells,
can be blood stained
can keep lipstick witness
dry tears, elicit tears
when we pass:
we leave behind
progeny
objects of valuable
meaningful to our unique
and papers
papers:
of legitimacy
of illegitimacy
of recollections
future predictions
remnants scraps
full books
our product
on this earth
the paper always listens,
patiently awaits our impatience
our truest friend, confidante
who can be confidently be trusted to
reveal our confidences
the clean sheet listens
as we part with thoughts
that can only be entrusted
to ourselves, our limbs
our entirety castoff
our entirety sustained
3:47am 11/29/19
Nov 29, 2019
Nov 29, 2019 at 4:06 AM UTC