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Carter Ginter Jun 2018
What a day
What a life
I've been here many times
But none of them felt like this

My first year
I saw this couple
They were dancing and singing
As they gazed into the other's eyes
The love there was palpable
And to a young queer person
Feeling extremely alone and unlovable
I cried because I didn't think
I could ever be worth
A love quite like that

Then this year happened
I thought they were a new crush
But those gorgeous eyes locked into mine
And I feel like I've known them for ages

A few drinks in and
The anxiety begins to fade away
As our bodies time themselves to the rhythm
Of music I didn't think I could dance to
As strangers question the intensity
Of the intimacy between us
And would probably freak if they knew
That we've only known each other
Just over two weeks
But time is irrelevant and
Feelings are everything

Their vibrant energy electrocutes mine
Sending my body into both a
Simultaneous rush and deceleration
As we are transported beyond this space
Beyond the heavy crowds
To a place of our own
Where no one can touch us
Where no one else exists
Where it's only them and I
Staring into each other's eyes
And feeling each other's souls
Exactly where I wanted to be
Is exactly where I am
Carter Ginter Oct 2018
Love is an interesting feeling
And even though I've said it
Countless times to many
It feels different with them

When things are challenging
The intensity is palpable
Racing hearts
Trailing tears
Averting eyes
Yet still we hold on
Emotionally and physically
Wrapped into each other
Until the storm passes and
It transforms from
Seemingly impenetrable clouds
Pouring rain upon us
To a faint and fading mist
Haloed by the sun
And we realize that
Together
We are strong and
Individually
We are stronger still

Whether staring into their eyes
As we wrestle
Or catching the others' tears
Through painful conversations and
Anxiety-provoking confrontations
Every moment with them
Shows me why I'm here
Why nothing else worked out
Through all of the bad days and
Complicated miscommunications
I see them more clearly
I feel their soul more acutely
And I fall in love with them
Over and over again
James Oct 26
Like time, are we found through serendipity.
Minutes, a mere tick to unfounded revelation.
Past, are the days when we go subtly by, dissipating into the night sky.

Like time, our corporeal spirits aloft into the pitchy sky.
The tender kiss, a gentle stroke, nuanced by the caressing love of the lunar above.

Like time, are we imprisoned in our own conscious. A mere abstract picture, blown into the winds, caught adrift, and veered into the dark streams of reality's heavy rift.

Like time, we are but ethereal wayfarers: youthful beings marked by ephemeral nature, merely to trance the universe's wake.

And like time, our departure ticks till the last grain meets, and the sand flipped, to start all over again, and again, and again.
WS Warner Oct 2011
Static, memories
Emanating, separating  
The postcard- perfect
Still life speaks
From its storied past.
Invisible, to drift
Among  
The florid aphorisms,
Ending in
Deleterious debris,
Aftermath of
The inevitable.

Empty room, echo hollow
Tabula rasa -
Carpet clean, quite candid in it's
Return to callow.
Consciousness athirst,
Absorbing phenomena
Effervesce, inquisitive
Ideas foment,
Sealed inside a question.
The what -
Against the narrow
Scarcity,
And fatigue of should.

A tender malleable
Youth,
Betrayed, under
An assumed decorum -
Residue of truth,
Flattened emotion
Privations of a self
Unheard;
Misplaced affirmation,
Buried pathologies  
In architecture
Fear manifests symbolic.

Harboring apathy
The lunacy of pious
Pedigree,
Import contagion,
Fetters of benignity
Doubt and indecision  
Into ******
Cognizance,
Fallow spirits
Seep fumes of decay,
Credulity bleeds a human stain.

Social edifice, inoculated  
Heirs of neurosis;
Palpable, sensual pain
And transience, though
Tacit - remain,
Our haunted history,
The blind hyperbole,
Maudlin
Forbearance, this haven,
A portrait
Of immaculate condition,
Nurtured with precision
Under sterling pretense.

Provincial domicile -
House beautiful,
Savage irony -
Unseen treasure
Innocence unabridged,
Faces, tiny creations;
Compliant vessels
Wounded,  
While modernism murmurs  
Its promise.

Brave New World,
In a late model sedan,
Domestic ranch on a
Corner lot,
Suburban natives,
Silence means security.
The misunderstood
Speak louder -
Consumerism beneath    
Unvarnished ambition,
Never could
Repair the brokenness within...

© 2011 & 2018 W. S. Warner
Skystruck;
adj.
A palpable sensation of dizzying insignificance
usually associated with gazing into the sky.
A judgement of the mathematical sublime.
1
Even the scene I was making was making a scene:
Rosencrantzandguildensternaredeadmachine.
2
I've been freed by friendlessness, so why do old pals
embitter w/ velleity a reunion can still rouse?
3
It's just I'm so swizzed by reading trueselfbydates.
Shawl, who is also called Pall; runagate who is also prostrate.
4
To the bull's eye, the hawkeye is palpable, tangible, felt
To the hawkeye, the bull's eye is palpable, tangible, felt.
5
Phone went. Atonement? Opponent. Alone meant
renewal of the same old selfentering entertainment.
6
Narcissistic conception: a privately bred clone
'tis my duty to bully, torture earnestly. One does one's own.
7
British Ionists don't even understand Zirony.
But I wish I was as simple as just contradictory.
8
Tragready? Incipit tragoedia: travesties hurt.
Like seeing my Riot Grrl swiothrrt in a 'Travis' tshirt.
9
Trillions killed during filming, fastforwarded orchids.
Cast of inexpendable heart oscitation deleted.
10
To einsof soft life on the air, we're lost. In the sour feast,
50 years' service is a ****** on the mantlepiece.
11
*******, mon semblance! Goose scry to the scaly
Torygraph; Presidented Gein; masSACREDad (God's Mochrie).
12
It takes CITV & CBBC & pre-DWP DSS & pre-DSS
DHSS to raise a child, not a Doubting Momus.
13
Dreamflounder, dreamfloater, dreambounder in a dreamboater.
English country Capgras bros. of a stranger in  an oater.
14
Nil admirari, ennui, omnui, zennui, nitchevo.
Yet buckaroo Love's hopingpong lives out my spermself's FOMO.
15
I foamed at the month, Lysember, annually,
for flavour of the mouth should be Oxyjanuary.
16
Sandwich artists, stationary bloggers & ancient astronaut
theorists all walked Jackonoryology in school reports.
17
'Sweirdly emasculating, like a tall grandmother,
how I cannot poetsplain the future or its lovers.
18
1,000 albino bishybarnabees rorschach the tragic
lantern: swarm th'only pattern of fatback TV static.
19
Negress of the World dreams of unio Mr.Car
in the cave of charades that's shrine to an umbra.
20
Afflatic calculus of tragic trajectories, romantic ratios:
lyricalgebra. Show my working: Statement of Aesthetics, Rothko.
21
Song of alien vitalism, Neanderthal Jesse Garon.
Prosody fit for Methuselated muse, Struldbrugg paean.
22
How clean is your dream disqualidayhome celebrikitchen
bug in **** conscience, Carol Vorderline? Pigpen's plugin.
23
Jack of Shapes, Jack of Ages, Jack of Doors, Jack of Cues.
Best of all possible Lords to follow? Serendipitous debuts.
24
The Devil writhes a kiddiefiddlin' schtick.
The Devil is a devout Catholic.
25
Pincered zen selfsparta builtsitting in what it's from:
cogito keeping its damnable cheek above fatsam & fleshsam.
26
I feel it so intensely: irony of ironies when I don't care.
Selffulfulling jelly w/ nothing to fear but fears nothing hears.
27
Experienshit, differenshit, definitely still ****, diffranchiser
of scheisser. Choken record: wist zither, aubade nebuliser.
28
You pick up. Seashellsussurus of a radioed purlieu.
Your crepitant crelp, monastic by virtue of ***** flu.
29
Bellybutton ash/blue & green dahlia: inner & outer bull
of bull's eye anthropocentrism. Both can & can't be too careful.
30
Hawkeye Bennu or other siderolite's solipsism
cuts short my nut cutlet nuncheon: absurdissimum prism.
Nat Lipstadt Dec 2013
In my real life,
not a poet,
just an astronomer,
an observer of
universes, bodies,
places, faces,
visited, discovered,
named and oft,
best forgot.

I observe:

Some never find true love.
Some never fly first class.
Some of us
never see the
South of France.

Some of us wear
hand-me-down pants,
white lined creases when “let down,”
mocked, we never forgive ourselves
the shame of it.

Some never experience
reckless abandon.

Yet, some of us are
recklessly abandoned,
and never forget,
and never forgive.

Some of us lose
children, husbands,
avanti nel tempo,
before their time,
and
the anger is
forever, palpable,
costly.

Some of us
were raised by
someone else's parents,
and never rest easy,
the abandoned taste
always nearby,
a cruel living, breathing
teasing wasting

Some we can pass over
with ease,
as new tissue grows,
those cuts marked -
emotionally healed.

But the ones that scar,
the ones that visible scar
permanent reddened,
are the
holocaust deniers
that there is a real
promised land of
peace of mind.

Peace of mind -
not even for a second,
foretold but
unrealized,
a biblical myth,
a promised land,
a capitalist paradisal hoax.


Some never feel
public victory,
adulation, adoration,
always wearing the T-shirt labeled
Property of Someone Else.

Most of us remain
unpublished, undiscovered,
unremarked, blanketed,
cloaked in bills to pay;

Living a triumvirate of
heart ache, loneliness, worry,
our normal table fare
consists
of hand to hand
into the mouth
combat MRE's,
we engage,
to survive,
just stay alive.

We are not digitalized,
nonetheless,
we are
but digits,
our faces hidden, and
in no one's heart book
are we recorded,
friended,
yet our viewing habits,
purchases, secret sites
are enumerated, captured.

Some of us live
exclusively
in the real life,
never to escape to the
province of Wifi,
in the landscape
of the electronic mind,
an option for which
we are
untrained.

Perhaps sanctity of separation,
safety of text, email,
avec the ******* intrusion
of tweets are
the real life today,
games are always won,
and what we don't enjoy,
we just delete away

But In My Real Life
getting up is trying,
IMRL,
the trying is trying,
IMRL,
delete buttons don't exist      
in the keyboard
of our brains,
IMRL,
all we have is a
measly twenty six aleph bets
to find new ways to say
that living is striving and
what we feel is
oh so real,
not digital

IMRL,
when I laugh out loud,
the neighbors
beat the walls,
complainants,
registering their feelings
in my face,
in my book,
so to speak.

IMRL,
I got a friend,
maybe two,
all I need,
voices to help soften
the 400 blows of RL.

Their synthesized silence
of their breathing
on the phone
is precious unto me.

IRL,
limp from Friday
night to
Friday
night,
a bottle of Medoc
my weekend reward,
my bedrock cushion
in order to sleep.

After all these years,
gains and losses,
conversations with God,
I look up,
see the risk,
the slightest breeze
is a
hurricane wind.

The shaft,
of the
the sword
hanging above me
the hilt,
swaying in living color,
is no legend.

But what I have is
the ability
and maybe
the responsibility
to let anyone know
that
in my real life
anyone who touches me
with fine and good intent,
a momentary glancing blow
or a gunshot to the ventricle,
is part and parcel of
my real life.

This makes you real too,
savior, and hereby notified,
that you are not
just an observer, but
a poet of me,
an astronomer of my heart,
and namer of
a secret universe
inside of me.


Sept. 1, 2010

_____________________________
US Army jargon: meals ready to eat
nine  years ago I wrote like this.
jane taylor Sep 2016
awakening with the gradual rise
of the subdued heather hued sun
a palpable spectral silence permeated the air

the anticipation of celebration intercepted
by an enveloping phantom black malaise
hiding in obscure shadows

the terror of the twin towers final doom
elucidated quivers of melancholic nuances
rippling through the greying vicinity

my birthday september 11th a tuesday
my night to sing at abravanel hall
with the utah symphony

unable to serenade death
our voices remained indubitably silenced
in hushed wistful reverence

ensuing 9/11s channel somber sentiments
cloaked with annihilation while
dark visions occupy smudged iphone screens

this anniversary i will dissipate despair
transmuting dark despondency
splashing all with lucent petals of delight

i’ll live this day with passionate intensity
and those subsequent with equal ardor
ferociously painting back the light

i will raise my voice with effervescence
and sing in wild abandon
for my precious brothers that were lost

demonstrating devotion through a refusal
to be silenced by fear bestowing honor
with a conspicuous message that love wins

©2016janetaylor
i place many of my poems over my photography
to see the poem/pic combo go to
http://www.janetaylorhardy.com/single-post/2015/09/13/911-birthday
My art
is the way
I re-establish
the bonds that unite me
to the universe. -A.M.

Before she fell
They were
Hated
She, for her sudden rise
And he
in turn
for his shaggy, loping omnipotence
The sure-footed authority

She was the little Visionary
and he, the Blue Chip
So very messy
The Tall and The Small

If you were sitting at the bar
Somewhere around Mercer Street
And those two came in
“Ugh”
Went off inside all the heads
in their line of sight
A palpable mental groan
As they hung up their coats
And waved at various tables
Making their way like penguins

Again, it will all end badly, we thought
Nursing our drinks.
Tonight

Piling out of the last bar
brawling on slick cobblestones
under the yellowish streetlights
of Prince or West Broadway
Arguing about nothing and everything
“I will out run you Old Man!”
You could hear it bouncing off the sidewalk
Whispering around corners
“You will be surpassed!”
I too look to eternity,
he states full of drink and exasperation
I step and step again. I am walking there.
I am not a bird.
“You will be surpassed!”

Blood and more blood
A face planted with busted lips
Flattened
Your body crushed into the earth
Over and over
Having fallen
Waiting for burial, entombed in flora
Welcomed
Reclaimed
To be disappeared
But not just yet.

What had you unleashed Mija?
What did you already know?

I’ve got a devil inside of me! SHE GOT LOVE!
I’ve got a devil inside of me! SHE GOT LOVE!

In editorial spreads
we saw flared American jeans in Rome
You said that they understood you there
And in Cuba
We understood you very well right here,
you know.
It’s not so hard.

The doorman said he heard someone cry out
And then a soft thud a moment later
From the deli’s rooftop next door

“ICARUS DOWN” read The Post

How easily we lost our envy
after those 34 floors
Earthbound
Strait shot

It was all foretold in the telling
Now folded into a history of sorts
That of a primordial Fertility
And not a thousand chalklines drawn around a singular corpse
Nor unforeseen ramifications of deals
made in feathers
puddles and mud
The reunion of force fields
Folding you back within my arms
Where you belong
What an excellent day for an exorcism.

I’ve got a devil inside of me! SHE GOT LOVE!
SassyJ Aug 2018
The world revolves and I can't hold it’s pace
neither roll around the unending cycles
may be it is the grey hues polluting my growth
or this age that is fiercely catching up with me

The sun rises and there I lay watching it rays
numbed, unwanted, determined and yet focused
such days I just wish for a lover's touch
I long for that unending lullaby uncorrupt

Sometimes the silence in the pain cascades
It trickles in droplets settling on the morning dew
and I wish to follow its pace, lay in the calm want
be carefree and unrestrained from emotions

I wish I could feel the rhythm of another heart
declare the green sheen of the unfolding leaves
as we lay counting the stars and making starts
laughing aimlessly as the joy surfaces unearthed

But all I see is the hurt of what love bears
the ones who held my soul close are strangers
unable to feel my innate palpable rhythms
fading on and on to a distanced and unmerged shore
Lonely days
Chantell Wild Feb 12
it gnaws at me,
an alien in my belly tugging
at my insides turning me inside out..    
this palpable feeling of gravity
of my place on and in the earth,
sidestepping the grave
like a ballerina blindfolded
and dancing in the dark
s Oct 2017
No
he’s addicted to the high
from egotistical joy rides. he revels
in self pride, arrogance apparent in
his stride. but his confident exterior
is built from narcissistic lies. he can’t handle
hearing “no”- rejection leaves him mortified.    

this is not the first time
he's come to me ****-eyed.      
he asks for my consent, politely i deny.
he refuses to listen, preparing to defy.
my fear becomes palpable-
his desire
fortifies.

“no, no, no!” yet his hands
are on my thighs. “we have to tonight.”
his words cut like a knife.
i don’t understand why
i’m forced to comply. (this is my body,
don’t i get to decide?)

my bones calcify, my heart’s
a ship that’s capsized
i’ve been dehumanized and
yet i'm forced to act alive.

i look in the mirror
and let out a long sigh-
is it his soul or mine
that’s been demonized?
Bows N' Arrows Sep 2017
A palpable discord keeps me
turning all through the night
until the late rays of Sun
shine by again
I want a dreamcatcher
Feathery-spider web-
To keep my hypnagogic rest
sacred to me
And then I can wish
him closer...
Without a separating sea
I reserved my sleep to calmer
nights where my dainty ribs
caressed an incense-ridden
wind
My dreams are a shade
happier than me
I found my wrists
bedecked in fine jewelery
There's no chiming of antique
clocks in my sleepy
subconscious knots.
My eyes were not
corrosed over
so when he spoke I
comprehended
with crystal orbs
I'd hoped I find him through
disheveled bedsheets under
the waxing moon...
It illuminated my skin and sent me
soundly reveling in the hazy countenance
To me he's Elvis' love child
He's a wish fulfilled to me
I discovered an idol
I write letters,
coveted, held close
I worship what I
know of him
My thoughts are almost this
tangible-thing like a rope
I could grab and
make a knoose out of
perhaps it's time to slay
the golden bull
I struck his wayward glance
by some silver spring of snow
He's travelled to the ruins
of cathedrals with
chipped limestone on
the doors arched-shape...
darkness on the otherside...
Mother Mary follows,
walking through some threshold
hallway
Crooked stem, bent leaves...
A pruned up crackled rose
for me to eat
Those eyes...
dark brown, almond-shaped
Squinty with sparrow-feet
I'm waiting in the mountains
Clouds covering my eyes
Ocean blue in the stark sunshine
blinding me and enveloping me
when the music dies
Marla Nov 2017
It can make one
Rich without gold.
Youthful inspite of
Being old.
Inspired despite
Having tired.
Ablazed without
Having been dazed.
It is a beautiful language,
Both expressive and intense.
It's warmth assuages,
Relieving palpable stress.
Spare no expense
When making known
Your desires,
For there will always be
A poem there to
Light your fire.
A Beautiful Artform
Kai Mar 18
Blank spaces & empty rooms

filled with nothing but salty air
it hangs heavy with palpable despair

Darkened halls & lonely tombs

where no moonlight shines on the stones
that cover forgotten bones

Old souls & new spirits

whispering like the wind through the trees
laughing like the clinking of old keys

Faithless chapels & flowerless graves

leaving the dead to the earth
and our sorrows buried in exchange for mirth

Ilia Talalai Apr 2018
Her energy is amorously wavering
and clad in frail courage

She is bent over me
as I lay waking in the moonless warm night

I am returning through
the confused gateway of the dreamworld
where visions of another world seize
my mind with addlings
of nonsense and responsibility.

My eyes open to
   skin gleaming
        in the perfect starlight
            and flowing hair
                framing soft cheeks
                     and crystalline eyes

She is slowly and carefully drawing her hand across my ear
gliding through the wheat fields like a whispering wind

she grasps firmly the nape of my neck with a timid hand

Yet...
within it,
a guiding intention
I dare not effect.

She lowers her head to nuzzle her nose against mine
her hair veils us both in a canopy of golden strands
as she moves ever closer to
the portal of my breath
the sinuous treasures
tickle my neck and cheek
sublime and demure, her lips slide across mine
a momentary grace before the hesitation
pulls her back
                          
inches from my face

            I feel the cool wind of her life draw in
                             the fluttering I feel
                   is the gentle quaking of her lips

we dance
as our lips explore
the fragile mirror in the other.

Our breath escapes from the corners
where we have yet to embrace one another

as time stretches, so too the space between

what was inches feels like miles
as the ocean of energy ebbs and pulls within

with an effort that is palpable
she dives deep into the dark cove of my mouth

lips, firm and bubbly, greet a mouth inviting
tongues crash, thick and moist

all her nervous hesitation vanishes in an instant
like an explosion of Monarch butterflies... She is
All passion and delight,
I feel her unspoken love behind all her longing and affection.

her kiss is home to me
her lips are the smooth marble floor
that dissolves in to a bed of plummage where I lay my soul to rest.
It is my being, simple and supple, that transforms them to
naught but softness.

so magnificent, that first kiss
so fleeting her bouncing firm-smooth lips  
I doubt I will ever feel anything as vibrantly
unique in this world.

The threshold of our home has been crossed
what was hard and piqued with anticipation
is now soft forevermore

i will never forget that alabaster kiss.
our first kiss was beautiful and powerful
i was at the confused threshold of the dreamworld
it was late and warm when I awoke to her presence
either her touch or her approaching footfall
or her delicate scent
or her direct and amourous energy...
i dont know which i sensed first
such is the confusion of my synesthetic experience
Natalie May 2018
The air is thick
with a palpable sadness.
it drifts in from the heavens
and settles densely
like wet sheets upon the lowered heads
of the people down below.
I soak it in,
as a supplement through the skin.
I lie in its heaviness.
Mollie Mar 27
I never used to believe in ghosts
until I visited the places we'd been together;
they crowded all around me.
Ghosts needn't be palpable
pockets of energy from
beyond the grave;
the ghosts of people you've lost
exist solely in your memories.
Neural projections of all of the things
you didn't say; all the people who didn't stay.
I ask to be planted
into the earth
like an ancient
tree,

so that I may
shed my leaves
in the fall
and grow
new skin
every Spring

I envy the
Oak, Birch and
Ash, ancient
trunks that do
not stain with
the agony
that lingers
in the air

palpable

the rain
is full of
it and yet
they do not
wither and
decay

root me
in the dirt
so that I may
too, feel
pain

and survive it
Donall Dempsey Dec 2018
AND THE WORLD WAS AS SIMPLE AS SNOW

You are like. .  .all
the dark shops of my childhood
where you enter with the little ****** of a bell

and the world blossoms

into a myriad of things colourful to sell
stacked in impossible & impeccable order

all yelling shining glinting wild & glassy

and the cash register singing with the hard earned money
and the little ****** of a bell lets you out again

into a world
excited with the falling of  snow

& the palpable approach
of  a Christmas when Christmas was Christmas

and the world
was as simple as snow.
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