"pasted" poems
i love you this morning
it's a come home safe morning
fog on the road
& no seatbelt kind of morning
the sun is over easy
& nothing's on fire
there's punctuation
where i don't want it
and extra love
in the glovebox of my car
been thinking about being honest
how these poems are all me
but they tell the story
how someone else
might believe it happened
within reasonable doubt
no copy & pasted love letters
no 'who ever says hello first gets my attention for the day'
try a little tenderness
in my ears and today
there are instruments
in the back of my head
i think you love me
because i'm sunburned
felt it in a 'come hell or high water' kinda way, that 'touched from far away' kinda way that 'if i touch this piano one more time one of us is going to break' kinda way
and i drove over 17 bridges yesterday and today i'll do it again
and i think nobody gets
what that means except maybe you
i just tell them i love the scenery
that somebody must've made
these trees blush just for me
you know how i love
to change the subject
i bet they'd love the view
i bet you would too
and all these metaphors
for other things are beside the point
this is a metaphor
for why i don't wear my seatbelt
a metaphor for why whiskey
knows me better than you
could ever try to
all the buildings seemed to sag yesterday and all the stars
are doing that cliche thing
where they talk
quiet jet noise
& some lumbering giant
made everything shake
not those hand metaphors
not another one of those
& keep the sea to yourself
i think it was a train
it's sound hugged the embankment
for a moment
and then trailed off into nowhere
and that's kind of like me
how there's a town called 'rescue'
close to my home &
it's no coincidence
that i've never been there
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 5:53 PM UTC
Sunflowers
Good morning world.
After the deluge of yesterday I am sun-kissed once again.
Look out of the window.
Two gardens up stand sunflowers.
Heads the size of dinner plates.
Seems rather late this summer.
Late in coming.
For their gifts to be pasted to the sky.
They stand in a sort of floppy gestures.
Trying to support their heavy heads.
They remind me on this autumn morn with blazing sun.
That summer's almost gone!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 3:44 AM UTC
Pale skin that's
so beautiful in comparison to the sunset.
Her eyes,
the perfect concoction of blue and green, stare away.
Deep in thought,
tears on her cheeks, a smile pasted on her face.
Although her scenery
is lovely, the thoughts she has are not.
Dark demons
swirl in her mind and pick her brain.
They travel through
her veins, and pull her apart at the seams.
On the inside,
she's going crazy; she is undeniably insane.
On the outside,
she is smiling just like you; she's unwillingly happy.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 9:18 PM UTC
My Frankenstein monster
erects in the dense night
a soliloquies of remedies
traced on pasted wall paper
It bids faster as the kites fly
high above the Himalayan
feeding respect to the sun
to radiate its vector rays
It whispers of this world
a spice of colours and patterns
a windy dainty silky road
wrapped with satanic ribbons
As the masses gather on the poles
to dance the mayday festival
the pagan gods shake the monster
their gold merry as the cloud chills
The bonfire embers and trembles
the palates vanish in the ashy wind
the crowds grow in bonded unity
the monster smiles in rhymed terms
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 5:47 PM UTC
Watch out for power,
for its avalanche can bury you,
snow, snow, snow, smothering your mountain.
Watch out for hate,
it can open its mouth and you'll fling yourself out
to eat off your leg, an instant *****
Watch out for friends,
because when you betray them,
as you will,
they will bury their heads in the toilet
and flush themselves away.
Watch out for intellect,
because it knows so much it knows nothing
and leaves you hanging upside down,
mouthing knowledge as your heart
falls out of your mouth.
Watch out for games, the actor's part,
the speech planned, known, given,
for they will give you away
and you will stand like a naked little boy,
******* on your own child-bed.
Watch out for love
(unless it is true,
and every part of you says yes including the toes),
it will wrap you up like a mummy,
and your scream won't be heard
and none of your running will end.
Love? Be it man. Be it woman.
It must be a wave you want to glide in on,
give your body to it, give your laugh to it,
give, when the gravelly sand takes you,
your tears to the land. To love another is something
like prayer and can't be planned, you just fall
into its arms because your belief undoes your disbelief.
Special person,
if I were you I'd pay no attention
to admonitions from me,
made somewhat out of your words
and somewhat out of mine.
A collaboration.
I do not believe a word I have said,
except some, except I think of you like a young tree
with pasted-on leaves and know you'll root
and the real green thing will come.
Let go. Let go.
Oh special person,
possible leaves,
this typewriter likes you on the way to them,
but wants to break crystal glasses
in celebration,
for you,
when the dark crust is thrown off
and you float all around
like a happened balloon.
11.7k
You Are the Texture
…………………………
**~ for all of you,
you, you poet~**
Impasto
“**is a technique used in painting,
where paint is laid on an area of
the surface thickly, usually thick
enough that the brush or painting-
knife strokes are visible.
Paint can also be mixed right on
to the canvas. When dry, impasto
provides texture; the paint appears
as if, to be coming out of the canvas.**”
<1:47pm>
Cut & Paste
*is a technique used in poetry writing,
we refer back to our visions,
heard words,
the eyeful, the earful, scents,
the reads read,
all in the mind’s palette blended,
thickly, but
when
the merging fused,
every word~in~coloration,
it is unique, reincarnation,
copying impossible.
The imagery, cut and pasted from thy heart and soul,
upon canvas,
your poems~pieces each appear*
***as you-are-texture,
you becoming out of, you,
the canvas.
<2:04pm>
Postscript***
………………
it is not lost on me that the
scars, our words, herein,
as we note all too frequently,
almost casually,
are, can be, those selfsame
words/painting-knife
employed
for our first and foremost canvas we utilize,
ourselves…
our bodies,
our
very selves
salved
Jun 24, 2023
Jun 24, 2023 at 8:06 AM UTC
I want to write a poem.
No, like I really really really wanna write a poem.
Problem, stick it to me.
Pause
Poems have to be good.
Okay, so a poem doesn't have to be good
However, the point of the art is to have someone read
Those flippy little words that you pulled out
Of some intangible existence and pasted on
The Internet.
The Internet,
So you don't always put it online but,
Other people are "supposed" to read it.
To enjoy it, give you a pat on the back,
Maybe an "I see what you did there".
So poems are supposed to be presentable.
You've got to pay in sweat and ink but,
At least the words themselves are free.
What if I don't wanna have to make a "good" poem?
Okay so I really do want a pat on the back but
Sometimes I really like pasting things from
Intangible existences.
Fancy words right? Let me pat my own back.
Sometimes I just like putting my emotions on paper
While sounding like I read
More dictionaries than Webster.
Ha, ha, sigh.
There's a problem with having to be inspired to write **** down.
Do you think someone pays Taylor Swift's boyfriends
To break up with her
So she can write the
Next big hit?
I wouldn't doubt it.
My guardian angel should make the people around me
Say weird stuff such that I can write about
Walking on waves of shattered glass
Or
Singing of birds in circled flight.
Maybe I'd be better off being hit by a car.
That'd be some pretty touching poetry.
Some people write happy poetry too,
I don't know how they do it.
Sorry but, my world isn't flowers and butterflies
Enough to warrant discussion of
Staying in the fairy meadow of light.
Sorry, I'm just jealous.
Maybe I just like writing stuff down?
What if I just don't want to be forgotten?
Leaving a legacy in my words more indellible
Than a pat on the back.
Doubt it.
I just don't want to forget.
Brain, why don't you get it?
I'm sitting here getting all intimate with an idea and
The next morning Brain's got no clue what their name is.
Like really, even if we invite a friend over and get creative with
Our tongues and mouths,
Brain doesn't remember the moments shared between us.
Paper doesn't think very well but it's got a decent memory bank.
So I save up for a brand new poem.
I thought words were free.
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 12:22 AM UTC
Vague is the feeling, dark is the delight, feared is the memory of your cold dead sight.
Your love was killed by the twisted moonlight.
I remember hazel brown eyes reversed into a song, a Melodie of skies.
I can see the colors now burst in the air and up above so tender was the forbidden love.
I now ponder in amazement towards the moonlight sky.
An embrious scatter of stars lay in the earths bound movement, slowly, cautiously I begin to wonder.
But only to the moonlight dancer.
I have heard your voice and I have seen your face, but only for it to bring back a tattered trace.
I remember when all was good.
I remember when you use to love me the way that you should.
I watched you walk away slowly with these words only a trickle on my tongue.
With a "good...bye" your voice had rung.
Those words lay pasted down to my heart and glued.
Moonlight dancer come back to my hand, moonlight dancer take me to your rythmatic land, moonlight dancer take my hand.
Her coldness piercing my heart, her absence tore me apart, and now her funeral to only end me.
Please come back and defend me.
Slowly the blade slit across my wrist in a song like structure.
I let the music flow down from the wound, and now my mind it will consume.
I'm lost and in love by moonlight dancers song.
Where else could I have gone wrong?
Moonlight dancer come back to my hand, moonlight dancer take me to your rythmatic land, moonlight dancer take my hand.
Moonlight dancer just please breath once again.
Moonlight dancer?
Mar 3, 2013
Mar 3, 2013 at 9:36 PM UTC
I am from New Jersey.
From the paradise of small towns
And the inferno of concrete jungles.
I am from truck tire playgrounds,
Porch Clubs, and the whistle
Of the Riverline.
I am from divorce.
From alcoholism and denial,
From broken doors and hearts.
I am from next to hell.
From pouring out full forties
For one's homies passed away.
From too many candlelight vigils
And sidewalks littered with fourth grade pictures.
I am from the garden state.
From cows, corn, and Clinton,
And tractors in the parking lot.
I am from tradition.
From pasta and seven fishes,
From "Mafiosa!" screamed in the streets
And "No WHOPs" pasted on storefronts.
I am from love.
From three parents and four siblings,
From six dogs and duplicate holidays,
And the smell of tulips and holly.
Jul 2, 2017
Jul 2, 2017 at 10:09 PM UTC
I didn't mean to distract you, upon first interaction with you, I saw the sun lights refraction shining upon human polka dots
I have a thought that I won't say,
Ill write you In the plot of a book, that takes place far far away
Most times I speak with haste, life is no computer, but I can still copy and paste, my thoughts in a manner that properly compiles grace, and with some glue, you trapped your hands upon plastic keys, and played for me, a melody, and said I've been waiting my whole life to do this, I am alone and I am free, and I will stay that way for a while, so don't look at me with smile, and as quickly as it was created my memory can be cut and pasted into a file you keep beneath your bed,
The cold is coming, and I hope you wear hats upon your head and scarves upon your neck, for I hope you realize I am a sled, I don't stop until I reach the bottom, of a barrel filled with luck I live my off of,
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 11:35 AM UTC
And when you give
Give like the widow
And when you give
Give til you giggle
And when you give
Give til you've pasted a smile
On every angel within a mile
And when you give
Keep the others guessing
Keep it between you and heaven
Cos you know that's better than
A here and now blessing
When you give
Give like the widow
Keep it on the down-low
However you live
Just give
Mar 20, 2017
Mar 20, 2017 at 6:00 PM UTC
I hadn't cried in years.
I was always taught that strength
was not having the courage to let yourself feel but
******* it up, holding it in.
I am sick of "You're going soft on us, honey"
Today I came to understand that
you are completely okay with writing the same poem
over and over again.
This is a metaphor for the way you ****** her in my bed.
This is a metaphor for the night you copy and pasted love letters.
This is a metaphor for what really happened-
I never fall in the same place twice.
Except when I do.
I think the critical difference between the two of us,
critical because there are many differences
but- I think our hamartia, our fatal flaw,
our end scene is this:
if people didn't like my poetry, if nobody listened,
if I walked out on stage and nobody snapped their
fingers, I would still write for just your eyes.
I would still cramp my crooked, birth defect,
quadruple jointed fingers writing to you about the nights
you loved me back,
for a minute there you loved me back.
And you loved 20,000 other people back.
And you loved small towns back and big cities back and the entire west coast
back when you drove through, making temporary homes out of people
who should have been permanent
and I loved you.
And I hadn't cried in years.
Not because I wasn't sad, but because I was taught that showing emotion
was weakness.
So if my father made me memorize the How To's of strength,
if I were going by the book, today I'd be so fragile
you could say hello and I'd shatter so suddenly you'd
forget you were the one that let go.
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 9:56 PM UTC
One nice man and one young lady
They had been bestfriends since forever
One day he knelt down on his knees
And said "My young lady, will you marry me?"
She said "That's not funny, get up you fool"
He Gave her a serious look. His eyes showed pain
"You can't be serious!"
He held her hands and said "TBH I am, I love you"
"No we can't, we are bestfriends"
"Learn to love me as much as I love you. You won't regret, I promise you"
She laughed as in disbelief of what he just said
He stood up. He smiled and said "I dare you"
He walked away with a very painful look pasted on his face
She stared at his back and laughed awkwardly. She whispered "You don't have to.. Because I love you more than you do love me. I have always be".
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 7:35 PM UTC
She is a digital echo
Hollow hole
Binary string
Stuck in my memory
Pictures pasted on facebook
Tumblr and twitter
Technological footprint
In the internet sand
A ghost in the system
Server soft saved
Humanity lost that day
But she still exists
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 12:41 PM UTC
you never really understood why I couldn't meet your eyes, or anybody else's for that matter. Eyes are the windows to the soul and i have more secrets than you could ever count. i never met your eyes because you'll read me and I don't want to be read like an open book. I don't trust many people with a secret but a total stranger could look me in the eyes and know everything. i guard myself with maximum security, my eyes are the only part of me that ever gets a break from the cage i locked myself in. you never really understood why i talked low either. someones voice could give away everything they're feeling, no matter how strong the mask they've pasted on is.
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 10:53 PM UTC
Come get up!
Take out your winter wary wool.
Hark! the charming chimes of churns
Rolling red rays reaching
to raise your rugs!
See! Makara Sankranthi has come!
Jump out.
Just embrace the warm welcome sandal pasted red rays
The Indian ways,
receive the joys
gay to say a Hi!
The sun Himself has got up early!
To flag off this Bhogi, Maggie
Suggi,
mithila, uttarayana,
Engall (our)
Thai pongal!
Let's basket dance with our neighbors
Ohm shanthrimantra chanting welcome Shri Makara Rashi
Wish you all Happiness
Om Suryaye namaha!
Om Mitraya namaha!
On Bhaskarsya namaha!
Om Adityaya namaha!
Oh Helios,(source of energy), Not me!
Oh Apollo... Not me!
Om Shanthi! peace! peace
To all...
Jan 15, 2019
Jan 15, 2019 at 12:19 AM UTC
My neighbour
Is very courteous
We oft connverse
On local topics
Sometimes coffee or tea
Creates laughter
At his marvel home
And sweet words
Flow on his lips
Once in june's rough weather
Marriage of Miss. P
The daughter of Mr. A
Was at a banquet hall
For us no card
My son entered the hall
In no time he was kicked out
For there was a tattoo
Pasted naturally on his face
He returned humiliated
And innocence lost
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 12:43 PM UTC
by Arcassin Burnham
A thousands roses,
and not a single life from them wasted,
looking for better ways to cope with themselves,
without looking face-pasted,
One day at a time,
the love should be there,
the smell is so divine,
I pay homage and I pull up a chair.
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 8:25 PM UTC
The rain drums down like red ants,
each bouncing off my window.
The ants are in great pain
and they cry out as they hit
as if their little legs were only
stitche don and their heads pasted.
And oh they bring to mind the grave,
so humble, so willing to be beat upon
with its awful lettering and
the body lying underneath
without an umbrella.
Depression is boring, I think
and I would do better to make
some soup and light up the cave.
2.9k
She said to me,
If that's the way I wanted it,
Then that's the way it should be,
It's not the way I want,
There is no way I would ever want,
To lose a friend is hard,
To lose a good friend even harder,
To lose the best friend ever,
Is without a doubt harder,
Than anything I've done before,
Tears don't tell the story,
Heart again being torn to shreds,
She was the one who pasted all the parts together again,
And now she leaves?
Without tears,
Just walked away,
As if nothing means nothing no more,
An easy goodbye,
Like all was nothing all along,
Just a pretend love,
Illusory, and made up,
Pretend.
Oct 2, 2012
Oct 2, 2012 at 2:47 AM UTC
MASK
Her face a mask of blankness
Trying hard to hide the pain
People whisper
She is not the same
What has happened to take away
The smiling face from day to day
She stares out the window
Looks into the fire
Saying hello
Being polite
But the emotion is gone
The joy not there
Every now and again
Someone sees behind the mask
When she is not watching
Or thinks she is alone
Wonders why she hurts
She will not say
She hides it away
Keeping it to herself
The pain is deep
They wonder if she will ever smile again
A true smile
Not the pasted one
She wanders in her mind
Searching for peace
For now her face blank
Tis easier than facing
The pain
Jun 1, 2010
Jun 1, 2010 at 6:21 AM UTC
Passing through thick and thin, only
To be brought back to a far-off cry.
Don’t worry, this shall pass with time.
It flies fast with life’s distractions nearby.
Taking flight on tattered wings—
How sweet, the angels sing in harmony.
Their songs we will never know, so pure.
Untarnished in their world untouched.
Disconnected, wires and airwaves on fire.
A teardrop now unknown to cold souls,
It is easy to succumb to the robotic routine,
Life’s expectations drill us to our cores, unseen.
The touch of a hand is becoming
A cumbersome and time-consuming task,
A soft kiss no longer holds much meaning
In this plastic, pornographic societal wet dream,
We live in.
One day, will true love be a myth as
Onlookers sit and view a big screen
Unable to comprehend what it means?
To hold someone close, hearts beating deep.
Curtains close, black-sky-lined entertainment,
As they drive home to all the world’s last diamonds,
Embedded stones and gold of the earth,
Resources completely depleted.
Synthetic. Material. Superficial. Pasted. Plastered.
Artificial. Numb. Cold. Materialistic. Empty.
Words whisper throughout the day,
As if a shield and armor bringing about
A spiritual message through a voyage
Speaking to a place that feels so real,
Untouched like a firefly let go from
A glass jar meant to climb high to heaven.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 12:36 AM UTC
I must readily admit
I am guilty of this deep pleasure
When it suits me to find a justifying reason to do so,
But like a sweaty fat man
Waiting in line at an out door
Restroom,
I must admit that I find it
Quite uncomforting when
I find one written about me,
As good as it may be,
Some lines genius and genuine
Grasping me to a T;
I feel naked as a blank paper
Being written over and told this
Is what I will be, or am,
Or will never achieve,
Archived in a thought,
Popping my bubble of
Existence and letting a stanza
Didctate my life's
Unfortunate,
But very well writ poem
Stake me in the soul,
How well they know me,
Plagiarism of my own
Confessions,
And I realise
They are just peices of poetry
I have pasted in the past
Cleverly put together
In some Rondeau' or
Dickinson flurry,
And wonder what the truth
About a plagiarism's gambit,
Hoping to nail me onto
The front page wall,
Disguised as poetic license
To hang me out in the open,
Yet I have seen these lines,
And no one can expose
Themselves better than I,
Read between the lines
And there is a hint of envy,
The honor becomes mine.
Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 5:38 PM UTC
It will soon be morning
Amma walks the backyard
Collecting flowers
The best for the Goddess
Who does nothing but sit
At her ivory throne
Sweets and diyas around
Her face with a pasted smile
I have so wished to wipe out.
Appa's snore shake the walls
I imagine his moustache
Shivering under the onslaught
Before he's off to the stores
He would want his breakfast
With Anna on his right side
Telling Appa all about school
And his stagnant progress
While Appa nods and laughs.
And after they would leave
I will then open my books
Where wonders of world hide...
Till then, I make breakfast.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 5:43 AM UTC
Little firefly guide me
Tonight
Through the darkness
This foreboding night
Let your little light
Illuminate,
Gleam,
Glows
Upon the darkness that wishes
To consume your little light,
I will follow you where ever you may go,
Leading me to safety
On this I wish & trust & hope,
But then consuming darkness
My guide,
Swallowed
By
Night
Then I see stars,
Shooting upon the heavens,
Then closer I see them
Tiny
Little
Stars
Are but my friend with company,
I walk as they dance upon darkness
Illuminating my way,
My little friends in the darkness
These flickers of light,
Pictures of lights in the sky
Amuse,
Laughter,
Comfort
In this veil of black
The time has pasted I am now at home
As a parting gift,
A radiant show of little flickering lights
Then into the distance they fly
My little lights in the darkness
That helped a weary traveller home on this dark night.
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 5:29 PM UTC