"palmers" poems - Hello Poetry

Raccoon eyes, Black hair dyes Spiked teased hair Saying "i dont care" To hot to cold Said in bold Palmers lane Little youngens playing Music screaming Carefreeing Having fun Sun to sun

0

Feb 14, 2013

Feb 14, 2013 at 5:53 PM UTC

dezearea-nichole-parisi

Raccoon girls

Raccoon eyes, Black hair dyes Spiked teased hair Saying "i dont care" To hot to cold Said in bold Palmers lane Little youngens playing Music screaming Carefreeing Having fun Sun to sun

12

You know in the late afternoon when the light turns gold and bronze? And it seeps into windows in striking shafts that look like oil paint? And thousands of little points of light flutter and dance in it like tiny angels? Yeah... That... That is how you make me feel.

0

May 29, 2014

May 29, 2014 at 4:55 PM UTC

sean-critchfield

Palmers' Kiss

You know in the late afternoon when the light turns gold and bronze? And it seeps into windows in striking shafts that look like oil paint? And thousands of little points of light flutter and dance in it like tiny angels? Yeah... That... That is how you make me feel.

1

when you’re depressed you can get people to mix you Arnold Palmers or even John Dalys if you ask nicely then you can get drunk without anyone giving you **** because all good depressed people drown their grief with ***** and all good depressed people die silently in doleful cloud without drawing attention from burping too loudly or collapsing on a street corner no pain should be silent with a tall glass of sweetened tea a couple shots of ***** and a pencil writing furiously the last thoughts the last rights the stencil of the moon because all that will be left will be a memory of you standing naked in the mall screaming I love you John Daly!!! Take me with you!!! unfortunately John Daly isn’t god and he can’t zap you from this earth no matter how much you scream you will always be a ghost on fire drunk and afraid wailing through the atmosphere like a cat being held by its tail you the definition of good depressed people

0

Jul 29, 2016

Jul 29, 2016 at 1:01 PM UTC

KingPanda

Untitled

when you’re depressed you can get people to mix you Arnold Palmers or even John Dalys if you ask nicely then you can get drunk without anyone giving you **** because all good depressed people drown their grief with ***** and all good depressed people die silently in doleful cloud without drawing attention from burping too loudly or collapsing on a street corner no pain should be silent with a tall glass of sweetened tea a couple shots of ***** and a pencil writing furiously the last thoughts the last rights the stencil of the moon because all that will be left will be a memory of you standing naked in the mall screaming I love you John Daly!!! Take me with you!!! unfortunately John Daly isn’t god and he can’t zap you from this earth no matter how much you scream you will always be a ghost on fire drunk and afraid wailing through the atmosphere like a cat being held by its tail you the definition of good depressed people

37

Lean a little closer now, that’s it. Just so that our faces are close enough that I can see your eyelashes. Orange. The table’s small, we’re barely in the booth. Together at the end, one on either side, long legs stretch into the empty restaurant. Our friend’s talk, and I lean in. You lean your head in too, to hear the joke or story they’re telling. It’s so familiar, but important somehow. Something’s said and we all laugh, normal routine. You look at me, and I to you. Reactionary. Should we —not anymore—yet still we do. You’re wearing that gray shirt, the one that folds right at the collarbone. I notice; I don’t mean to. Your cheeks are white and smooth. I’m wearing my blue jeans, the ones I that, I know, are a bit too tight. But I like that about them. I’d never admit it, but I like the way they cling to me. So lean in closer, I stay right there, elbows perched, head turned. Long hair, tucked behind my ears because that’s how Mom made me wear it. Comfortable, you touch my arm, but it’s measured out, scaled down. You’re too careful now. Every word a deliberate pace. It’s dangerous when two killers know, the other’s preferred poison of taste. But there are things you can’t control, like when we’re sitting, at the booth’s end, shoulder to shoulder, turned to our friends. When we look, as look we always do, I notice your seconds glance to my smile— but it’s not my smile you’re looking to. Saints have lips, and Holy Palmers too, I want to say, but just for an instant, before I realize how absurd it would be, quoting Shakespeare to you. The check arrives and the bill is paid. There’s no more time that glasses of water can buy. The gang of us unfold from our little corner booth, and out the door we go. Leaving behind us nothing but crumpled napkins and a salt shaker overturned.

0

Mar 14, 2013

Mar 14, 2013 at 11:45 AM UTC

lizabeth-1

Lean In

Lean a little closer now, that’s it. Just so that our faces are close enough that I can see your eyelashes. Orange. The table’s small, we’re barely in the booth. Together at the end, one on either side, long legs stretch into the empty restaurant. Our friend’s talk, and I lean in. You lean your head in too, to hear the joke or story they’re telling. It’s so familiar, but important somehow. Something’s said and we all laugh, normal routine. You look at me, and I to you. Reactionary. Should we —not anymore—yet still we do. You’re wearing that gray shirt, the one that folds right at the collarbone. I notice; I don’t mean to. Your cheeks are white and smooth. I’m wearing my blue jeans, the ones I that, I know, are a bit too tight. But I like that about them. I’d never admit it, but I like the way they cling to me. So lean in closer, I stay right there, elbows perched, head turned. Long hair, tucked behind my ears because that’s how Mom made me wear it. Comfortable, you touch my arm, but it’s measured out, scaled down. You’re too careful now. Every word a deliberate pace. It’s dangerous when two killers know, the other’s preferred poison of taste. But there are things you can’t control, like when we’re sitting, at the booth’s end, shoulder to shoulder, turned to our friends. When we look, as look we always do, I notice your seconds glance to my smile— but it’s not my smile you’re looking to. Saints have lips, and Holy Palmers too, I want to say, but just for an instant, before I realize how absurd it would be, quoting Shakespeare to you. The check arrives and the bill is paid. There’s no more time that glasses of water can buy. The gang of us unfold from our little corner booth, and out the door we go. Leaving behind us nothing but crumpled napkins and a salt shaker overturned.

44

You make my body quiver, shake with passion caged. Each breath I take shivers, as my mind screams no, enraged. My heart and body disagree, calling out their qualms all the while I kneel and plea my hands pressed palm to palm. But we’re not Shakespeare’s palmers kissing hand to hand. I try to rise, now calmer, but find I cannot stand. I duel against my love for you, blow by blow by blow I cannot win against myself, my love can only grow.

0

Dec 5, 2010

Dec 5, 2010 at 4:15 PM UTC

sam-chin

8.

You make my body quiver, shake with passion caged. Each breath I take shivers, as my mind screams no, enraged. My heart and body disagree, calling out their qualms all the while I kneel and plea my hands pressed palm to palm. But we’re not Shakespeare’s palmers kissing hand to hand. I try to rise, now calmer, but find I cannot stand. I duel against my love for you, blow by blow by blow I cannot win against myself, my love can only grow.

14

I want you Clasped around me Your lips locked with mine Holy palmers kiss Blue oceans with black holes, Expanding, swallowing your iris' whole Lusting for me slick deep slow Your fingertips exploring me Every impurity of my dilapidated skin wet soft hard My skin smothering yours I want to be smothered in you drown in you suffocate in you Choked by the idea of you breathless taken back black and blue.

0

Aug 15, 2017

Aug 15, 2017 at 4:02 PM UTC

faciaoverkill

Smother Me

I want you Clasped around me Your lips locked with mine Holy palmers kiss Blue oceans with black holes, Expanding, swallowing your iris' whole Lusting for me slick deep slow Your fingertips exploring me Every impurity of my dilapidated skin wet soft hard My skin smothering yours I want to be smothered in you drown in you suffocate in you Choked by the idea of you breathless taken back black and blue.

23

There was once a man who lived only on a moment-to-moment basis That man was named I And he brought the wind of a thousand starry butterflies To the ears of ***** and things that never heard of such words His life was broken down to be consumed by troglodytes of stone And everything was left the way it was Because in the brief glimpse of unattainable wonder and profound and intense clarity He and all the others knew that it was but a fleeting glimpse And that language and experience had permanently marred the white glimmering crystal of pure lucidity Nothing was as it could be ever again and choices were made like computers programmed to make them As a great cataclysmic storm of righteous godly entropy funneled itself Through a sieve of perception Granting all the trembling palmers the strength to carry the burden Weighted in the sarcophagus of matter and form Eudiamonia left forgotten on the slopes’ broken ladders to ecstasy in union with god in harmony, onward christian soldiers For all was contained within the realm of everything that was before And even the forgotten was not forgotten by the whole As the egg grew larger and smooth to the touch The ******* son of Pan and Athena threatened forever to crack the brilliant shine of that crystal egg And then something else happened in the middle that I forgot about until just now Because I was left unfinished as the sculpture of flawed marble On the workshop floor of Michelangelo Words! yes language is the mind A construction mathematical and taken for granted The one great masterpiece bequeathed by Nature Was the squishy erector set built in perfect logical syntax Only to be rediscovered by its own unknowing creator The Sublime is but profound confusion

0

Sep 23, 2014

Sep 23, 2014 at 1:57 PM UTC

michael-stenson-grund

Sending a Postcard Far Away

There was once a man who lived only on a moment-to-moment basis That man was named I And he brought the wind of a thousand starry butterflies To the ears of ***** and things that never heard of such words His life was broken down to be consumed by troglodytes of stone And everything was left the way it was Because in the brief glimpse of unattainable wonder and profound and intense clarity He and all the others knew that it was but a fleeting glimpse And that language and experience had permanently marred the white glimmering crystal of pure lucidity Nothing was as it could be ever again and choices were made like computers programmed to make them As a great cataclysmic storm of righteous godly entropy funneled itself Through a sieve of perception Granting all the trembling palmers the strength to carry the burden Weighted in the sarcophagus of matter and form Eudiamonia left forgotten on the slopes’ broken ladders to ecstasy in union with god in harmony, onward christian soldiers For all was contained within the realm of everything that was before And even the forgotten was not forgotten by the whole As the egg grew larger and smooth to the touch The ******* son of Pan and Athena threatened forever to crack the brilliant shine of that crystal egg And then something else happened in the middle that I forgot about until just now Because I was left unfinished as the sculpture of flawed marble On the workshop floor of Michelangelo Words! yes language is the mind A construction mathematical and taken for granted The one great masterpiece bequeathed by Nature Was the squishy erector set built in perfect logical syntax Only to be rediscovered by its own unknowing creator The Sublime is but profound confusion

29

You are welcome to share this poem for noncommercial use and dedicate it to your favorite mother, but please credit the author if you share it on social media or elsewhere on the Internet … Mother’s Smile by Michael R. Burch There never was a fonder smile than mother’s smile, no softer touch than mother’s touch. So sleep awhile and know she loves you more than “much.” So more than “much,” much more than “all.” Though tender words, these do not speak of love at all, nor how we fall and mother’s there, nor how we reach from nightmares in the ticking night and she is there to hold us tight. There never was a stronger back than father’s back, that held our weight and lifted us, when we were small, and bore us till we reached the gate, then held our hands that first bright mile till we could run, and did, then flew. But, oh, a mother’s tender smile will leap and follow after you! I have dedicated this poem to my mother, Christine Ena Burch, and my wife, Elizabeth Harris Burch. Published by TALESetc, Famous Poets and Poems, Poems for Big Kids (anthology), Victorian Violet Press, Better Than Starbucks, Promosaik (Germany), Pour Femme (Italy), Korean Palmers, JIT Jaipur (India), Inspirational Stories and Care2Care; also Penguin Books Valentine’s Day Contest Winner and included in the Children of Gaza song cycle by composer Eduard de Boer. Keywords/Tags: Mother, Mothers, Day, love, compassion, tenderness, encouragement, selflessness, sacrifice, comfort, hugs, kisses, smile, smiles

0

May 9, 2020

May 9, 2020 at 2:28 AM UTC

michael-r-burch

Free Mother's Day Poem

You are welcome to share this poem for noncommercial use and dedicate it to your favorite mother, but please credit the author if you share it on social media or elsewhere on the Internet … Mother’s Smile by Michael R. Burch There never was a fonder smile than mother’s smile, no softer touch than mother’s touch. So sleep awhile and know she loves you more than “much.” So more than “much,” much more than “all.” Though tender words, these do not speak of love at all, nor how we fall and mother’s there, nor how we reach from nightmares in the ticking night and she is there to hold us tight. There never was a stronger back than father’s back, that held our weight and lifted us, when we were small, and bore us till we reached the gate, then held our hands that first bright mile till we could run, and did, then flew. But, oh, a mother’s tender smile will leap and follow after you! I have dedicated this poem to my mother, Christine Ena Burch, and my wife, Elizabeth Harris Burch. Published by TALESetc, Famous Poets and Poems, Poems for Big Kids (anthology), Victorian Violet Press, Better Than Starbucks, Promosaik (Germany), Pour Femme (Italy), Korean Palmers, JIT Jaipur (India), Inspirational Stories and Care2Care; also Penguin Books Valentine’s Day Contest Winner and included in the Children of Gaza song cycle by composer Eduard de Boer. Keywords/Tags: Mother, Mothers, Day, love, compassion, tenderness, encouragement, selflessness, sacrifice, comfort, hugs, kisses, smile, smiles

22

**** Life Gentle ways that stream oceans with bot sail When Dawn lights alarm when head pillow lay rest-tail wept water chalice becomes chalice cup blind loose mask uni “form verse” fortune “sub verse” wrong Le' three awe & decree a letter prom us could derive scream riding run, riding fun ride sun homage awept orn tusks, quite huffs swollen pain smarke adept nigh hour felt minute still forever herefore Nine usually alone formal always cree Heaven brood breaths that bronze root cut stark silver can Seven sister lord know, this I know, only pan! Stars steel upon cloud,iron bare cuth board ship, string-sea where fore makers homer place liden leave before numb I come, guess hour finger point child plough palmers thumb

0

Aug 3, 2017

Aug 3, 2017 at 10:23 AM UTC

Raidle

your!

**** Life Gentle ways that stream oceans with bot sail When Dawn lights alarm when head pillow lay rest-tail wept water chalice becomes chalice cup blind loose mask uni “form verse” fortune “sub verse” wrong Le' three awe & decree a letter prom us could derive scream riding run, riding fun ride sun homage awept orn tusks, quite huffs swollen pain smarke adept nigh hour felt minute still forever herefore Nine usually alone formal always cree Heaven brood breaths that bronze root cut stark silver can Seven sister lord know, this I know, only pan! Stars steel upon cloud,iron bare cuth board ship, string-sea where fore makers homer place liden leave before numb I come, guess hour finger point child plough palmers thumb

14

Es gold harrow seep duo's Love emotions swin gently rain, palmers kith whom/ love, bitter till is better not slain. lists much ago groan sweet Iovo nor de-zenith conduce axis path may perch peril and float insect-grave, thoughts kept stay hidden along day 'ivers before she temper trembled passed, shout stalk fortune be-speak, thy slitter salut en-grave sow cutter-clots peer sleep?' lone on a island, o joy being desert till pierce a-moon reflection, behandle a word-stone “lay ignition breast she will orbitals known.” sky lineark clouds image Sweetheart. Jorney journals upon IY Return, “hor hours class throne love, markings or tember yearn.” “may pay not circle anylonger, Sweetheart, but kiss again & kiss again?” “engine of ego-nis steam eyes or march high horns again.”

0

Aug 3, 2017

Aug 3, 2017 at 11:13 AM UTC

Raidle

The SUn Sounds In Wind

Es gold harrow seep duo's Love emotions swin gently rain, palmers kith whom/ love, bitter till is better not slain. lists much ago groan sweet Iovo nor de-zenith conduce axis path may perch peril and float insect-grave, thoughts kept stay hidden along day 'ivers before she temper trembled passed, shout stalk fortune be-speak, thy slitter salut en-grave sow cutter-clots peer sleep?' lone on a island, o joy being desert till pierce a-moon reflection, behandle a word-stone “lay ignition breast she will orbitals known.” sky lineark clouds image Sweetheart. Jorney journals upon IY Return, “hor hours class throne love, markings or tember yearn.” “may pay not circle anylonger, Sweetheart, but kiss again & kiss again?” “engine of ego-nis steam eyes or march high horns again.”

24