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Styles Oct 2015
This desire, writhing inside me,
like a hunger; I covet thee.
Yearning for your taste
to quench my thirst for your flavor--cleansing my palet of such cravings.
Poetic T Jul 2016
A kaleidoscope' of wonderment
eclipses senses, fabrication on the
universe is sewn in hued shades.

I want to embellish myself within
this abstract motion that is a million
pixels of time there but now expelled.

A mirage of bewilderment, of eyes open to
a universe of woven pieces that linger in
lifetimes of curiosity, and we always look up.
Amanda Jul 2013
Love is….
The feeling you get when your stomach suddenly becomes an expert gymnast doing expert somersaults.

The sound of your heart beating a million miles a minute echoing the raindrops in a monsoon.

The sight of beautiful eyes, the eyes of your dreams, wanting yours to meet theirs.

The smell of a man, in all his forms, radiating from his arms wrapped around you.

The taste of the future, the texture of happiness, upon the palet of forever
Francisco DH Dec 2012
Art is like love
with cerulean swirling around
leaves that are gracious green on a canvas
and with a magenta sky
touched by the amber sun
upon the endless horizon
With brushes dipped into golden yellow
and gently stroked onto the canvas
to show the beauty of a star

Art is like love with colors that bring happiness and joy

Art is like love
with black smeared and splattered
With angry, fiery orange thrown across a page with a palet knife
With rosy pink covered harshly by blood red as it drips off the brush

Art is like love with colors that bring only despair

Art is like the act of love
expressed by colors of emotions
That wash over us
and with desires that move us
written by me of course and by the help of my good friend Katherine Pena :)
We debated on the title and the use of the word cerulean instead of blue but hey we got one done together so who cares
midnight prague Dec 2010
you represent everything that is most sincere
back in days of kings foul tongue
rapture never exsisted in those black hearts
only the words of the innocent

hands  slowly ajoined
streching out slowly like the rose's pedal in her sleep
red and bloodlike
faint like and love like
your gunshot swastica hanging over the bitter palet of my tongue
words spat like fiery arches just go ahead
go along darling
run
run

escape the white fire its thickness
filled with your anomisty
joy
joy

weakness though belittles others
manipulates itself into a indominable
creature in my fists
hung tight
breathing slowly; and my knots
they untwist
I look at the fading blue lines
in these pale wrists

wake up in the mornings
smile, easy brushes of colorful paint
all over my face
strocked down my body and my chest
naked
plundering
blistering
withering
into these sentimental peices
of execution watching the tunic
spots in my vision
creating the resolutions
for a unkept land of twisted
mahogany and trees that
are just too young for me
dirt not ***** enough
you see
my lavender mixes with the wetness
elsewhere and manifest
this purity
female waiting at the end
calmly
lock the heart and rid the fury

I fathom the day shall come
when transgrations are thrown like
hurdels of ordinary minds
refinment and so far away
from you and I
I will wait on my bedded thrown
bleeding, wounded, stabbed and
alone
inject myself over and over
with this temporary happy vaccine
until I am king
and you are
Queen
Shelby Murray Dec 2013
Shocks of purple on
My palet. Watercolours
Seep close together.
The blue comes into
Play and sends the paint away.
Green and yellow here
To stay. Orange has
Nothing left to say. Splashes
Of them all race in
A neverending
Whirlpool of emtion and
Thoughts that create a
Startling panic
That can only be silenced
By the sweep of my
Brush. Quietly I
Put paint to paper and pour
Whatever I have
                                                      
                                                          Out.
Rj Sep 2017
I may have taught you to dance
To put yourself in the headlights
How to laugh and be seen
But you reminded me how to dream
How to love myself, let alone
How to love someone else
You are my first text good morning
My last text goodnight
You clothe yourself in humility
And you stare through fogged lens
Perhaps that's why only you
Can make me so happy, yet so angry
That someone as fluorescent as you
Cannot see the bright colors they emit
You call yourself grey
But I call you a painters palet
The world is a muddy muddy place
And it'd be that much harder to live
Without seeing your tracks in the dirt
You've taught me that as hard,
And as challenging life can be,
It's all worth the low melodic vibrations
That create a beautiful unified hum
And without your hum, and without mine
*The world would be that much quieter
Happy birthday
Sin Dec 2015
Upon this scorched earth I stand
One life just a man
Looking at the baron waste
The bomb that dropped
Now in haste

No food or water bequeathed to us
Scavengers we have become
And brown and baron greets my eyes
The palet of colours far and wide

No love or companion to guide me on
Left to roam this place
That once was home
Emptiness I feel so strong
Fighting back tears as I move on

Why was the world so greedy
Didn't even have time for the needy
Wealth and treasure's was what counts
Now just dirt and filth amounts

The finger that pressed the big red button
Safe in the knowledge they will be forgotten
Never to answer for the crime
Of killing this world and all mankind
Al Apr 2017
I didn't kiss him because I loved him
But because I've been doing everything possible
to cleanse you from my palet
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2020
my neighbour is having a solitary moment
with a wee bonfire in the backyard...
don't ask me... i watched his father trim the grass
a few hours ago...
maybe he's burning that...
or... whatever the reason... it's in the corner
of my eye... and the flame is big...
and small enough... that.. if warranted...
would make a great... theatre of soliloquy...
i'm yet to see a shadow enlarged
and gesticulating that it's talking...
with a raised arm... the other arm playing
the gratified ballerina when the applause comes...
hand entombing the heart...
      i'm yet to see a skull hamlet & co.
             "moment"...
                       so that's my neighbour...
i'm perched on a windowsill sitting on a folded
leg...
           and trying to crackle my throat
like a perched crow...
                the jay bird is of the same family...
        it's a crackle... i'm pretty sure the bird becomes
its new: "revised" distinct when bound to flight...
it's very hard to find...
boredom and existential exhaustion as...
synonyms... however back you look down the
entymological route...
   i couldn't have scribble: if only...
     i couldn't have scribbled this out of...
borne from a compliment to make "boredom":
a necessity...

          perhaps i am... existentially exhausted...
wouldn't you be?
if i were drinking some kalimotxo...
               or 20 beers... there would be an incremental
effect being felt...
which is what makes drinking a fun:
a social... something to borrow from:
"celebration": disinhibition?
                           only because of this one series
drama: sharp object... which made...
led zeppelin somehow "cool" again...
   in the evening... which didn't make it to...
the: the best of - led zeppelin double **** album...
either...
           so my neighbour is having a bonfire...
and there's nothing eerie about the silence...
esp. when there's a humming...
a fire is talking... but it's not the sort of fire
most associated with pine needles...
pine cones... and ancient oak...
           so he's doing that... i'm smiling... perched...
and drinking ms. know-it-all *****...
and... that's the problem with *****:
you have to wait for it... then again:
merely waiting is not a desirable affair...
and preoccupying myself with: "something else"
for a span of 20 minutes...
       waiting for a k.o. instead getting to play
the fiddle of grand itch-maestro with...
a if it isn't a cat nicknamed by schrodinger...
then all bets are on Pavlov...
                   but it's such a tiresome debacle...
had i made a video and had it... (x, y, x) of traction...
yadda-yadda...
          all the drama: soap-opera i could have
enjoyed... an imaginary street...
with imaginary squabbles...
        but none of the very translate-worthy
orientations of minor frictions...
         the bonfire is dying off...
the fire hasn't been fed dry pine needles...
or pine cones... or merchant oak retelling the story
of marco polo and... to the fire with me:
none of this... mahagonny sheen:
i fancy... a rough stone turned into a marble-esque
sheen?
                         it might just serve
a wooden hammer... to tell the difference between...
well... my initial presumption...
should lady justice be coupled with a gorgon?
lady justice and medussa?
  iustitia (who holds a sword and scales)
& prudentia (who holds a mirror and a snake)...

perhaps if Iustitia is blind-folded...
prudence can have her mouth stitched up?

but i'm still waiting for the ***** to kick in...
and so much for "fun" trying to find oneself:
with all the readily available knowledge and...
not... not: plagiarizing...
     or "jumping ship"...

   there truly isn't some sort of worthy compenation...
the served platter: the swedish table of...
all the foods presented... and you come
and stab at the nibbles... in a congregation of
those: given the advent of eating where:
no heart or its content is of a debate-worthiness...

beside the ancient roman glutton...
and... the well trained oesophagus...
          and regurgitation... and what was once
the celebrated icon: the snake...
would sooner or later have to be replaced
with a tapeworm...

    the serpent has had its day... and marble...
time... for the lesser creature... then again: perhaps not...

in "celebrating a drink of *****":
well... so much for... hunting a mammoth...
or... sitting beside a bonfire and...
telling stories or: dancing ****-naked
and dancing...

         i see no circus(es): beside the heaps and
heaps of bread: a character "assassination"
in writing...
sooner i'll catch a glimpse of a ballet choreographer
pirouette...
than know the difference between:
spinning an uncooked egg...
an egg soft-boiled and an egg: hard-boiled...

a racing track... equivalent to...
being hypnotized by... a spinning vinyl...
because... yore! that beacon of yawn rummaging
in the background of ambience...
and refrigerator drizzle of:
when falling rain became infused with...
electricity...

- alt. to "say" shish-kebab (let's be swabian...
and... "forget" the hyphen...)
like a toothless dog...
indeed... sometimes the tip of the tongue
teases the palet(t)e... hard or soft...
but sometimes the tongue-tip teases the top
frontal incissors: teeth...

where is the concept of the: rhapsodic...
the rattle-R... the quick... imitation
juggling of the tongue against the palete...
where the breath that involves
the uvula to swing like:
"for whom the bell tolls"?

                   do you see anyone taming
a ******* coch draig... anywhere?
this? this being "this"... "vicinity" of da-sein?
there-being: there's (there is)...
          on the moon... the alpaca trail...
in el dorado... in how the zulu tribe announced
a pristine: sod it...
          if only bulls were used instead
of horses: all that grit and armour...
notably of the cataphract...
                       if only bulls were used...
but: who's here to "rewrite" history
of that already, past... and inevitable?

the terrible has... already happened...
               í hiechyd ac tragwyddoldeb!
                          to health and eternity!
chiral: no...
     cheaper: no...
              i will find the "hark"...
   chosen... no no no...
                    similar (soft) to kid...
hybrid esque...
                 that "h" is not a surd...
verbatin 'e hie'....

                Olav! Dmitri!
Igor! meine hoonds!
                  ч - cheap... ah... roaming
in and around Midlothian...
                    loch ness! no prefix to suit up
a tux into... comes as a "surprise"
with the suffix: a loch...
                       х: hardly... k, s or c... or z...
xenophone: yuppy... aye aye...

              trag-wyd-dol-deb!
  zee velsh: sometimes the added same,
consonant... nurse! scalpel...
makes way for perfecting the syllable
incision... like so... trag-wyd-dol-deb!

   the lights have been dimmed on the tablet...
the battery life's longevity: expoinential explosion...
it takes so much little electric conversion
to feed the sap of sound...
that it takes to create blinking
and not blinking: murmur:
picadilly circus phantasmagoria of u.v. -

you can be crowned king deaf...
fall asleep with the radio... when the lights
are dimmed...
       no sooner me: no sooner you...
but... i'd much prefer the sound
of a fox at night...
than teeth gnashing... frothing: idly hungry...

all and no science: "or"...
all and no politics... "or" all of politics and all
of science... and most probably:
when the priest would wear a gown...
and the vatican remained neutral...
      
       etc. etc.              beside the vote:
or: woe... or woo...
        and such is the suffix association
with:      -man...
                    that there's some sexually
pervasive: attachment of either:
wooed by woe...
or... or...           to be woed by a woo...
  the beta gang would be singing:
bigmouth strikes again in a placebo
rendition...
                 because when you want to pirate
the original: it better sound just
a little bit more than then most...
    effeminate male available...
a morrisey will do jack ****...
you have to go full-tilt hindu and back
into transgender with
                                  a brian molko...

or at least that's how i concern myself
when managing to sit through
a production of tchaikovsky's ballet...
   beside the feet: what am i looking at?
spandex... the bulge?
     like it might be some covert name
for a battle, crisp on a piece of paper:
before the puff of a battle of crisps goes: pop!
in between the fudge of marrow
and the shrapnel of bone...
              here... i find my throne...
in a memory that's at best:
an amnesia...

             and somehow lodged in:
the... would-be... renting bums of dreams...
the squaters... the dream circuit...
when... in 1973... england drew 1 - 1
with poland...
                when being... just 7 years old
from 1966... an epitome for a very befitting
ending...
a closure... like any other...
             grandp'ah once said... once said...
and great-grandp'ah once said... once said...
sure as **** the logbow men of the 100 year war
weren't english... last time i heard
that churchill "mishandled" his V...
the original V voz viz zee velsh...
             index and ******* at
the fwench knights... since... if caught...
they'd cut 'em off!

                 V-salute! salute!
                           the blitzkireg overture...
         compound! no spaces in between: no hyphens!
der blitzkriegouvertüre...
        
   "together" come "together:... the disenfranchised
speculation of... what it was like...
to borrow from the first sequence
of the 20th century...

       and pass it into... what was it like...
acid neon: blonde... the culprit of bringing
the "congregation"
   past-participle: a romania a yugoslavia...
and a poland... nerve-riddled lithuania
and whittle estonia: etc.

      that grand boag bear o' ruzzia...
             wit' its ever persistent euro-fetish...
windows! windows! we need to see!
kandinsky translated into wind!

       on this democratic canvas...
           on this democratic canvas...
einz! zwei! drei!
     raz! dwa! trzy!
                   hey presto:
               on this demokratischleinwand!
meine stimme...
   meine: boo!
              meine: ghulrückzug!
               ich: bin zu sein gehört... ja?!
  
          this grand idea of a(n) european family:
get together...
   under the banner of: der VierteReich...
                the penned scribbles of
could always replace the boom-boom-'ombs...
and the brit-thai... would sit it out:
gob-smacked into shackles
and halos and angelic wings found
in the replica bargain of dry twigs...

the english sovereignty found among...
romanian root and fruit pickers...
              and if i too weren't lazy enough...
i'd have managed to find an atom-bomb...
glued my shadow to a wall...
and started a macaques' dance of freedom
from the magpie's cackle...
#metoo!

                   the cure and depeche mode made
it under the iron curtain...
the smiths? sorry... but i'm twice as likely
to appreciate them...

     the bass rummaging from fleetwood mac's
the chain...
and the bass rummaging from
pulp's wickerman...
            
                              canys y Çymraeg!
r. s. thomas...
                 that... battle of the season...
who is to know... beside auld lang syne:
whether the scots 'ave some gaelic in 'em...
except for the orthography: the diacritical & dialect
of somewhere akin to Glasgow...

  - that "unnecessary" war within the confines
of: the proud and selected: "empirical" and by invitation:
the trope... the welsh are...
are a silenced minority... and all that would
require "us" to confine "us" to "do"...
would be...
to stop thinking of england...
as a nation...
and... australia... or h'america...
as... a diaspora...

              clearly: "they" want to be at best:
and at worst: the distinct: genesis:
valkyrie first raiders...
in that non-essential war:
if the 1st world war wasn't...
seigl pandering lizzy...
sweden wuz neutralz...

                      woz she'iz notz?
            a pwetty pwetty: cobweb riddled face
like that of chris cornell...
               glue eyed but a background all
lacking in dimension for the sort
of immediacy of a curtain! cobain...
     yes: this is me... ******* on and dancing
on a grave:
last time i chequered my patience...
i found... the al fresco museum in a graveyard...
and the 3rd party artist working
on the marble... by gesture of wind and rain
and sun...

             how: exhausted by...
you cannot write an opera in italian...
to later translate it into german...
nor... clarity! sha! shtil!
                you can't... translate syllables:
like so... from... a japanese haiku...
into a... at best... a hiatus! a european sorting
factory of minor minded details...
of: adventure when licking a seal
on an envelope or...
a footnote that becomes a peacock
and a post-stamp when... detailing the affairs
of a piece of paper being governed by:
grieving having paired with it...
the metsphor / metaphysical aid of wings...

flake me: sire...
     boxing champ burroughs and all those
lost narratives that will never make it:
market a slow attention-span;
that's already available...

                          the muse my muse...
past the bob dylan and dylan thomas...
the priest and a cardiff...
        if only cardiff could boast akin
to how edinburgh can boast about
the old town and the royal mile...
and arthur's seat... and the craggs...

and... what women want...
mereditch brooks would never become
the next: the next to what next
of a... alanis morissette...
              never becoming... or being...
but all of that: for a continued cultural presence
of being in the recital rubric?
thank god for that...

quiet frankly? the la's": there she goes...
a little bit... a "little bit" irrelevant...
when you listen to the whole album...

the trouble with falling in love...
      is the trouble of: falling out of "love"
with one's mother...
                pursuit of the details
of a foetus... and all those details
of an unread book that staged its "fright"
on a bookshelf for circa close to a century...

             welcome party! or not so welcome!
i'd love to hear more about
welsh nationalism... since: on topic...
the scots have forgotten gaelic...
because of glasgow and being: oh so all
so-over pristine & perfect...
at least the welsh! oh god...
the welsh! on these isles!

hyphen! enter!
cymeradwyaeth

               cym-era-dwy-aeth
                      cym-erad-wyaeth

applause!­ and i'm trying: so trying...
to live for a liszt and lady gaga
as a summary of the jealous eyes
thst gave birth to bitter-tears...
yeah... fame...
and the cosmopolitan web of c.c.t.v.
"fame"...
the one already arrived at...
and the one pampered... with glitches
                               of editorial staff...

gu an cuimreach!
   - the escapade of keeping strict rigour / rubric
of being fed by adverts...
to have a buying impetus...
but not... the selling / haggling impetus...
from the cheap-*** moors and
the myriad of marrakesh:
   the berber: a latin for: hard-time:
quitting-time blues of...
            there are people still involved with
the a, z, via x q and... no readily available:
ph and th...
         because they were never...
the sort of brits... about to celebrate...
being conquered by ancient rome...
and ancient rome bulimia...
somewhere "circa": the baltic sea...

               - there's a "need" to be "coincidental":
pristine the developed mandibles
and the surname akin to singh...
        or... khan...
                   double that... for whatever reason...
and call it: Wales...
and then... the english-speaking conundrum:
"conundrum"...
and at best... nostalgia for 1990s
h'americana cultural export of:
fwends...

                    then: at best...
Wales is... Silesia... but at worst...
                    Ruthenia... and / or... Galicia...
that now Masovia is...
and how the Prussians were once
the fabled lot of the germanic left-over pieces
of a people: "******" by the standard
of teutons... or... what part of the glorification
of ancient rome...
oh, right... the parts not making
the germans the antagonists...
the "paraphrase" of the unexplored...

                    that only the english...
were to be so proud of...
a much later "digest" of... to have a "comfort"
within the confines...
last time i checked... there was pride in being
graffiti riddled as the afghanistan of
the ancient period...

             the unique history of island-dwelling
folk...
that they are... and i... can write
in their lingo: as... being devoid...
of... root...
              what is the great wall of china...
when what's already available...
given the la manche...
                                                       ­                 is...      
is not...
                 such a most pristine choice
of gentleman... and all!
and all! and all were tio be advocates!
and vote bound to stress!
king and country and the pickwick society
of: loitering gimps for worth of letters!

half a face divulging shadow...
half of which encompasses a play:
a ghost riddled... humanoid loiter
of exaspersation... and none... which,
would be most available...
to loiter... for the apple of Judas and
tht clinging... #30 pieces of silver...

thus wed: las vegas english...
      loitering actors' spew:
awound an Ilfowd 'n' Bawking 'n'
Dagenham... yo popsickle
'ipe and joy-c-c / jewc...
or whatsemfwench callz: sauz...
via dat: zu-not-my-*******-zoo.. ju...
plonkers & sons. (available)
jue: not juice 'ough...
******* kite-fliers!

            talks a cokckey slang like
a cherry... and that's...
the last left-over before mr. bangladesh
    before: quckie does one speakin'
"smart" did anyone any 'ood...

'oved up a 'arry 'n' the 'etter 'alf
of the... non-essential...
sounding "smart"
in cockeny: to be made export:
"loading essentials"...
is... hardly... the right sort of
***** avenue of:
escape from cwawddyff:
you... poke you poke my eyez
out... you... better start sounding
cockney shmartz...
eh: ja: herr?!

       **** it... whatever...
elt'z and etc. this bogus party back to...
and so call itz...
a limboz partez!
Got Guanxi Dec 2015
Bluesologist

Why take those shots if might miss,
******* with a new age blues protagonist,
I've never missed a shot,
Steady aim, remember the name,
Nothing personal just a part of the game,
The same game where you made your name back in the day.

I got those blues in the curves of the feathers in my hat,
And I got those blues in the black soles on my shoes,
Sent right through the body,
You can't miss me,
But you can't see me,
Electricity baby,
Bringing them back down to earth,

Wired.
If your ever home alone tired,
I'll keep you company in those lonely nights by the fire,
Until you retire into the hollowness of tomorrow,

You had all those secondary colours on your palet,
Kept safe in your palace,
But I'm primarily blue and you can't mix it up,
Those colours didn't come true,

So we just remained blue,
As I do,
Consistently blue,
Permanently true,
What you gonna do about it?

Tell me,
What are you going to do?
n/***
circus clown May 2014
give your body to a winter's boy-
he'll lay you down, strip your clothes
and you'll undress even further than that
but he'll leave you in the cold
and push your so far under his bed
he forgets he ever had such parts of you
in his own two hands and
never gave them back
you're frozen, now,
and you wait all spring
to find summer's girl
and all she does is hold your hand
and you're standing in a pool
of the ice melted around your skin.
next thing you know,
you're in a palet she made on the floor
on her balcony, overlooking the railroad
and the greenest forest on the other side
and it's 3 in the morning and
you're smoking a cigarette
to get rid of the taste of alcohol and sugar
but then you kiss her and
she tastes the same way.
you don't want the season to end
but you're still watching yourself
glow from the inside out.
River Sep 2017
Fingers
Wrapped around
The soft spine
Of your back neck
Doused in blue
Did we run the streets,
Dripping in blue body paint?

I saw the pink roses
Pretty and thorned
My bleeding hands,
Were unforgiving
The clock
Was unforgiving
I cried that whole night.

Dreams of Africa
On a safari
Looking up at a starry night sky,
I skipped through an orchard,
Singing a child's lullaby

My mind is a reflection of madness,
But you said you wanted more,
You tasted the sadness,
Swelling from my pores
Your eyes are porcelain
Static on a screen

The hummingbirds are calling
In their iridescent beauty
They drag me by my collar,
Into a land of whimsical triviality,
Where I hum with bees,
The rainbow is my palet from which I paint
Fighting off reality,
Reveling in insanity.
Daan Dec 2022
Ookal voelt het langzaam, het leven
gaat zo snel van de grote-handen-zoektocht
naar geruststellend neerwaarts kijken.

Ik dacht dat ik mijn angst en beven
in't verleden had gelaten. Toch
zie ik ze in jouw oogkleur het palet verrijken.

Het verstoppen achter benen,
het schreeuwen en het wenen
van nog niet naar huis te willen gaan
zonder je knikkers op je nieuwe oude knikkerbaan.

Ik hoop.
Ik hoop dat je tevree'd en opgelucht leert
dat de angst al afneemt met de zucht,
zoals het leven, tijdelijk,
dat elk onwengevoel passeert.

Heb moed, brave jonge puzzelaar,
je hebt 't nu al meer dan je nonkel ooit,
alles bij elkaar.
't Is altijd voor de knikkers.
JaxSpade Apr 2019
An Artist
Suffers
the hardest
Work
Pumping colors
Through his
                  And others
Look

At the way he brushes
The rivers brook

The flow of water
In rainbows colored
Gobbledygook

He rides his unicorn
Palet in arm
In a pink suit of velvet
And metaphors

But he suffers the hardest
As the artist of
Ridicule
Ryan O'Leary Sep 9
If you eat McDonald’s
chances are you won’t
like Kim Jong-Un Vlad
Putin or Madura that
is because you’re palet
has got used to being
seasoned by Uncle Sam.

Moi, je ne mange pas
           McDo’s,
           Jamais!!

— The End —