"personifications" poems
Sequacious demonstrative mongrel fantastication
Overt fantasias and monstrance clarification
Rhetorical rote of empirical justification
Whimsical enervations elicit ramification
Incite legendary fables of rectification
Tempestuous mendacious erudite personifications
Endemic epistemological semantics of edification
Evocative illuminism engenders mortification
Judicious spontaneous phantasms of gratification
Numinous salutatory statutes of ratification
Heuristic existentializing empiricisms alleviate confusion
Adamant machismo machinations eliminate delusion
Eulogizing enigma entity’s illustrious illusion
Torridly allusive revelries of reverie effusion
Educing morose maniacal moribundity’s inclusion
Epitomizing empathetic revulsions to corroborate elusion
Probitous erudite solicitations evade contusion
Raunchy riotous accoutrements appreciate exclusion
Optimizing subjunctively torpid recalcitrant collusion
Scenario syntactics of mythically epic allusion
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 9:23 PM UTC
I want to use all the alterations, Personifications in the world to impress you.
I want to drive you insane with the oxymorons, the metaphors and the similes.
I want to use coliqual words so that I can make you think I'm extremely smart.
When really in reality I'm just average.
I want to use euphemism and lititoes to really make you think I'm that good with words.
When really in reality I have writers block yet I want to capture your attention.
I want to write an iambic tetrameter with the rhyme scheme ABAB so that you notice some part of me in my writing.
I want my words to ****** with your mind so that some part of you thinks about me...
But I have writers block, There's not much I can do to grab your attention.
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 12:06 PM UTC
I've always been confused
by media's personifications of Life.
*A beautiful woman
whose skin is flawless
whose face is symmetric
who has no faults*
She, Life, is perfect and clean.
How life truly is not
A depiction of Life I give you now,
one not so perfect as She before.
Skin and features of many
taking in the best and worst.
A being who is strong and weak
visibly ill while being well.
A being who is beautiful in it's -u-g-l-i-n-e-s-s-
or rather,
a being who is beautiful in it's uniqueness.
A being who is not perfect,
but strives to be.
A being who is not commonly pretty,
but true to the mixture of
Pain and Sorrow
with
Ease and Joy.
Now I am sure you depict
Life a different way.
But how truthful all these depictions are
for life is different to everyone.
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 11:03 AM UTC
On
The counters of poetry
I dock and lock myself
Then
I scope on the bottles of liquors seductively
And spellblind by their syllables
I took the shakers and hybrid
The Similes
The Onomatopeia's
The Nemesis'
The Near-Rhymes
And The Triadic-Lines
Then I gulp fourteen shots of Sonnets
From my paper-glass
And glug a paradox
Or a foil-sigh
Trice,
The knots
Bundling my eloquence
Will exonerated itself
And torpidity will cuff my consciousness
And the droplets remains in my paper- glass
Will impel me
To quest for myriad of them
I'm not drunk!
I'm not drunk!
I'm not drunk!
I
Will slur
With half an eye open
As if the other is broken
Stock on a comedy chair
Then
When the
Limbs of time tread
Will I rush to the counter
Like the athletes at Olympia
And hybrid
The Blank-verses
The Alliterations
The Limericks
The Litotes
The Aporia's
And The Dysphemism's
And
Gulp countless
Yet measured shoots
Of Ballad,with my paper-glass
And unravel the oratories
Of sacred secrets,eclectic enchantment and regrettable reflexes
Aside,or injects the world
With my rugged pins of eruditions
Bestowed in me by the liquors of poetry
I'm not drunk!
I'm not drunk!
I'm not drunk!
I
Will slur
With half an eye open
As if the other is broken
Stocked on a comedy-chair
Again
I will rush
To the counter,and hybrid
The Exaggerations
The Personifications
The Imageries
And The Caesura's
And
Gulp uncounted shoots
Of Epic's from my paper-glass
And
Eulogise my steam and wit
Yet,I'm drunk
And deeply drunk wholly
By a might that mortify me so much
That I've become a slave
In the awe of my servitude
Now and then
Will I weep and wail terribly
Each morning,each noon,and each night
For the great demise of myself
And for an emancipation
From the perpetual counter-cells poetry
I'm drunk,and deeply drunk by poetry.
Deeply Drunk
©Historian E.Lexano
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 4:38 PM UTC
I need to write a poem about a ***** cell
something that illustrates
the magnitude
of existence, specifically
.5 our origin.
This poem should pluck heart strings,
our strum like violin (redundant?)
as that’s what good poems do,
and we are emotionally wired
from birth to death.
During conception
our parents were not thinking about us (though
God was, and his warmth
is warmer than the womb
or Sun) and that brings us to the pleasure
the stimuli integrated
within the net
mesh pocket of living organisms.
What strokes a heart? Not a violin,
no, empathy, understanding, the saliva
of love and lust and passion, so much to
discuss, so many images
to muster into paper.
Do you see the futility in this?
**** this poem,
this poem is not important.
You are the individual that rocked the chances of time and genetics!
You are the individual that mastered death with breath!
You are known before birth and post mortem,
as there is transcendence beyond
that ancient brain of yours, dear reader.
There were billions of potential combinations
of ***** and egg, and you
are the ***** fish caught,
and you
are the one bathed
and you
are one of ***** suds.
Your rituals of wallets and currency,
your miss-personifications of love,
all irrelevant.
You are only known whole-ly by God
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 7:27 PM UTC
My life as of last has been and eye opening, head first dive of exploration interrupted by one, sometimes two day long binges of unpleasant sobriety.
Three long years after writing the first stanza,
The drugs still being explored
This has led me to a more beautiful understanding of myself and my few remaining friends
However it seems that I have taken a significant tumble down the socioeconomic ladder
At least my writing has gotten neater
No longer shaken by the withdrawal of a still desired drug
Alcohol has a way of calming and inspiring me
Bringing forth the thoughts I cannot make into sound
My few remaining friends cut down into a seemingly impossible smaller number
I now awake in the night with cold sweats that interrupt my slumber.
Dreams of panic and anxiety, Now clouded with past faces.
Personifications of things inside me
Faces made of thoughts and feelings, Taking over occupied spaces
Forcing out the beautiful and imaginative
Subconscious taking charge, So the conscious may live.
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 8:09 PM UTC
*my pretentious voice doesn't match the noise in my head
verses etched as silken decoys unfurled by titanium recoil
hiding in the recesses of silent protocol's evasive gibberish
clamoring to speak the truth within history's chapters
my stealth commute from childhood to insanity
rewarded by awkward stares of disbelief and disgust
i've waded in the pool of denial's wavelengths
lost in aftermath's undertow of insolent impudency
i've tread water til i drowned an insignificant death
still breathing the vapors of past grievances
grousing under a tidal wave of crush'd soul's imperfections
breached in the indignity of transgression's metaphors
personifications of a role better left blinded by fear
than face the nakedness of turbulent truth *
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 3:28 PM UTC
I turned the unopened pages of your book
to the fire blazing chapter filled with chaotic
diction, scrambled alliteration, sinking similes,
jumbled metaphors, piercing personifications,
raging landscapes tumbling into shrunken
shadows, clouds of tormenting destruction
surfacing in the darkness, thundering asteroids
blasting down upon fiery dimensions, creeping
demons ******* the blood deep within lifeless souls,
vicious animals gnawing on scattered strips of flesh
across the sunken graveyard, hovering bats circling
the horizon in search of their next fallen angel, as
my eyes drifted deeper into the inner core of your
magnificent work, how my eyelids faded into the sharp
edges of your reach, how my smooth suntanned skin
became a hard-splintering wood, its grainy texture
a paralleling frame of your flaming design, the way
I could feel every part of my presence losing the
blossoming beauty within my canvas, the way as
I continued reading your captivating creation,
my anger amplified a thousand times,
mind bottled thoughts became a wrecking
ball of burning flames.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 9:48 PM UTC
he dreams he is attending lively flirtatious party with many good-looking people there are also scary monsters with sharp teeth claws horns scaly rutted skin foul smells snapping tails he thinks it strange troubling asks what is going on fashionably dressed pretty female guest grins answers don’t worry monsters won’t hurt you they’re not for the most part dangerous everything is cool he sits in chair sips drink trying to feel relaxed but monsters keep pestering harassing one monster spills drink on his pants another monster bites his ear he cannot get away calls out for help but all the beautiful guests have disappeared party now crammed with scary monsters friendly monster explains people are actually imagined personifications belonging to each monster then all the monsters gather around cackling clapping dancing last thing he remembers as friendly monster holds up mirror to his face is another monster gurgling let you be you
Mar 11, 2010
Mar 11, 2010 at 5:59 PM UTC
11/13/12
I don't know what I would do if I lost her
I think I would start by retracing the steps she took to find herself
Get to revisit all the places that she's visited to build her character
Find myself in each place she found her calling
Calling back memories to the rims of her eyes
I want to see all the places she's seen
And try to outline them with my corneas
And dilate her thoughts with my pupils
Try to recollect every tear that was fallen and for what reason
In her palms, I want to find my self in the things she found in her palms
What psalms she grazed with her fingertips
Find out what fire sparked sparks in between her snapping fingertips
That tipped her closer to insanity
Find out who she found herself in hands held, but hearts closer than her fingertips
That tipped her closer to be sane
All to the first hand she ever held
Her mother’s.
If I ever lost her, I would find her mother.
And thank her for also giving me a life
Ask her what it feels like to have a daughter that’s the barren of
Laughter, sanctuary, and comfort.
Ask her what it feels like to have a daughter
Whose made so many connections
That brings strangers together with just her smile
Thank her mother for building a home for me too,
*** I never asked her too.
“I found myself in you.”
If I ever lost her…
I would lastly lose myself in her poetry.
Bury myself six feet deep in her journals
And cover myself with her words
Decipher her metaphors line by line
Be engulfed in her personifications
Allude myself to her smiles
Become caved in her hyperboles
And pump my veins with the ink she used to flood pages
I want to lose myself in her notebooks and become stranded in her
Poetry.
Her poetry is something to remember
To be retraced to find again and again.
If I ever lost her, I would find her again and again
In her poetry
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 7:15 PM UTC
In the State of mind...
thoughts were solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short...
where similes, metaphors and personifications were quarreling with words...
until they decided to form a poem and gave up their natural freedom
in order to obtain the benefits of embroidering praise around her.
Nov 21, 2018
Nov 21, 2018 at 1:45 AM UTC
I’m locking away all my metaphors
Packing up all these stupid similes.
My rhymes and I are
Out.
No doubt can bail me out
From this decision.
Blinded by illusions
Of sincerity
Happy hyperboles of fidelity
Reality
Rips my pages
To shreds.
My personifications are
Dead.
Like my underfed heart.
Part
of me
will remain
As lifeless as this page.
Don’t let my pentameters
Hold you back.
Let my lyrics liberate you.
Revel in this
drop
Our rhyme was only ever an end stop.
Here is your conclusion.
Your last allusion
True
Because
No matter what you do,
No girl will ever again write poems for you.
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 12:33 PM UTC
For you I am a fool,
I am a dupe and never that cool;
We don’t have similarities,
Only differences and inconsistencies.
You’re like a book of Metaphors,
While I am just a little brochure;
Your mouth was full of idioms
While mine has Ironies and Personifications.
Despite that I offered you
A friendship which for me is true;
You just frown at me in disgust
Like I’m a nobody to trust.
You and I, we’re opposite
Two different ends that never meet;
The moments that we talk and chatter
Were the times we shared to attack each other.
I now accept that I’ve never been
A friend to you, just stupid and mean;
So forget the time you knew my name
Each shouldn’t be a friend to claim.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 3:46 PM UTC
Sequacious demonstrative mongrel fantastication
Overt fantasias and monstrance clarification
Rhetorical rote of empirical justification
Whimsical enervations elicit ramification
Incite legendary fables of rectification
Tempestuous mendacious erudite personifications
Endemic epistemological semantics of edification
Evocative illuminism engenders mortification
Judicious spontaneous phantasms of gratification
Numinous salutatory statutes of ratification
Heuristic existentializing empiricisms alleviate confusion
Adamant machismo machinations eliminate delusion
Eulogizing enigma entity’s illustrious illusion
Torridly allusive revelries of reverie effusion
Educing morose maniacal moribundity’s inclusion
Epitomizing empathetic revulsions to corroborate elusion
Probitous erudite solicitations evade contusion
Raunchy riotous accoutrements appreciate exclusion
Optimizing subjunctively torpid recalcitrant collusion
Scenario syntactics of mythically epic allusion
Jul 22, 2017
Jul 22, 2017 at 7:52 PM UTC
Flashbacks and personifications of appearance,
Cashback is the fornication of adherence
Shut! with your big mouth proverbial fantasies,
Can’t you see this big mountain is just Virtual Reality?
If this mud is all matter, then my blood can cure cancer
My peers say I’m crazy, but it’s just a chemical reaction,
Or perhaps my fears are lately just less than the decimal fraction
Ethereal imagery dazzling to the secular eye,
But still banes and trifles to what tomorrow holds
Either deal with idolatry or the baffling homunculi,
than fail stifling on the hallow roads…
Hold, should I materialize further than this?
No, I’d meteorite farther than this…
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 3:01 AM UTC
A gamble of will we duel our hearts in an arena,
Tried is the match in which we wager personifications of emotion,
Unknown is the end where we place our bets,
Risking it all on infatuation's roulette,
Entrusting one another amid poker faced facades,
Weary are we who foolishly tread the tables,
Striking a loss tonight we walk separate paths.
Apr 3, 2021
Apr 3, 2021 at 1:09 PM UTC
I am not a
Poem
why analyze my curves and
connotations?
My living lead saunters
across the page
But its spray
does not spell
Personifications
While metaphorical spiders chew smiles like
grinning similes,
my heart spews skillful
Alliterations
But I am not a Poem,
I do not parade as such,
rather consider me as a passing thought
and even that may be too much
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 1:31 AM UTC
This is not the face of greatness
I don't write symphonies like Bethoven
I don't write tragedies like Shakespeare
I don't write horrors like Edgar Allan Poe
Yet they still find the time to say I'm great
That my poems move them
That they love my art work
The only thing I am is...ok
Greatness is achieved by success
I have never succeded in anything
Ever in my life
I'm not the master of metaphors
I'm not the emporer of similes
I'm not the lord of personifications
I'm simply a kid
Trying to express himself through
The addicting lines of poetry
Written to perfection due to the high
They say I'm great
Well I'm not
Simple as that
I'm just good
Maybe one day I will be great
But today I am not
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 4:11 PM UTC
all those
who lock their gaze
on the study of this world
are the personifications
of confusion, servicing
walls of text to summarize
so you don't
have to.
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 3:23 PM UTC
You're not our problems
You're somewhere closer to the truth.
You're not our problems
They're just the personifications of the weakest parts of you.
Nothing last forever is always the easiest thing to say
But that never eases or sends the problem away.
Our problems drown us in oceans of sorrow.
Fighting to breach the aloft waves of pain
We tire ourselves until We and Our Problems,
Are one and the same.
You're not our problems
You're somewhere closer to the truth.
You're a warrior
But every story needs a villain too
Form not walls,
But bridges for kin.
For we do not know,
When we will face our antagonist,
Problems, again.
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 12:01 PM UTC
the darkened conclaves can equate from the forest to that of the trees
personifications of love is captured in the tender moments lost in time
my very being permeates a hidden lasting feeling of sweet anticipation
in relation to philosophical conquest we can surely digress
all of life may certainly be a test in your world of push and shove
the decorated vase out of the living room floor a willingness to deeply explore
vibrations within swift temptation of quaint mediations
its the environment you see can knock you to your knees out spreading its disease
everyone has pain from deep inside its phony to try to run away & hide
for we exist as a vapor of dust then we are no more yet through the flame
let me be the first to explain that the flame is the fiery affliction that must come
*** rush the show as it inflates the common man's ego telling you where you need to go
hustlers, pimps & common thieves
the streets are filled with violence and there is work to be done
why must we suffer in silence amidst the violence
working so hard like a soldier can't afford food to be found
poets to poetry all of life is a mystery I have come to believe yet there needs to be more
smoking fat blunts have a bottle of whiskey on the side going along for the ride
we hide behind four walls the seal claiming it to be no big deal
got to go on an awaited vacation in need of rest from any expectations
hearing the sound of the surf on the turf it gets me so high
trying to catch that frisbee so out of reach yet today I preach
only to the masses giving people second chances to where they need to go
for some folks they like to keep their rap clean no daddy was a hustler and momma was a *****
selling her junk in the back of a trunk down by the liquor store yelling for more
falling apart at the seam in some evil twisted scheme we just do what we please
start spreading the disease going to knock you to your knees see ya on the flip side squeeze
I know what are thinking have i been doing a lot of drinking by why you winking
serious folks we got to cope instead of getting in a fight with the soap on the rope
life is serious so please refrain from engaging in stupid thrills even if it pays the bills
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 8:32 PM UTC
Sequacious demonstrative mongrel fantastication
Overt fantasias and monstrance clarification
Rhetorical rote of empirical justification
Whimsical enervations elicit ramification
Incite legendary fables of rectification
Tempestuous mendacious erudite personifications
Endemic epistemological semantics of edification
Evocative illuminism engenders mortification
Judicious spontaneous phantasms of gratification
Numinous salutatory statutes of ratification
Heuristic existentializing empiricisms alleviate confusion
Adamant machismo machinations eliminate delusion
Eulogizing enigma entity’s illustrious illusion
Torridly allusive revelries of reverie effusion
Educing morose maniacal moribundity’s inclusion
Epitomizing empathetic revulsions to corroborate elusion
Probitous erudite solicitations evade contusion
Raunchy riotous accoutrements appreciate exclusion
Optimizing subjunctively torpid recalcitrant collusion
Scenario syntactics of mythically epic allusion
Sep 5, 2019
Sep 5, 2019 at 1:28 AM UTC
walk inside my mind to a journey deep inside
personifications of laughter filter through the caverns
alone I bask in the vast expanse between that of space and time
there is a river with lava beside its strange presence
dig much deeper then ever before lest I implore another opened door
solitude is among me now with the ever glow of an aura of twilight
giving cadence toward the premonition of branches proceeding outward
come with your hurt come with your need to such a place as these
lucid dreams falling apart at the seams getting down to the very means
The thought of Andy Griffith with Opie so very care free fishing down by the pond
each of us is responsible for our actions we can't blame anyone but ourselves
walk inside my mind once again to when i was ten sitting under the Elm tree gazing to the sky
crafted a fascination of soaring space ships from outer space would invade my place
in good taste I would create those moments of love from god up above
alone again then I stare at the wall but in the back of my mind I heard my conscience call
reach for oblivion if someone gives you the opportunity say yes then learn it later
life is a roller coaster with twists and turns one soul soars the other will burn
best to invest in charity getting knocked down to your knees
apathy comes in a variety inside of me to hide from thee
there is a hero in us all so stand up ten feet tall
choices with voices with moments of solitude
give thanks to the one who sets us all free cause most of life is but a mystery
for what are we willing to achieve mark the one willing to explore awe so much more
a challenge to be free is a question of time remember when you were broke down to your last thin dime...
in time we sall shine brighter then ever before lest of course I implore another door
wax on wax off Mr Miyagi said it best putting Daniel to the test I must confess:
"Better learn balance cause balance is the key" !
Wax on wax off always do your best cause most of life is but a test
yet off the cuff here I send out a cheer to all those who persevered
best to offer positive reinforcement then any negative thoughts
Wax on wax off in the midnight hour have to take a cold shower
Nov 27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017 at 12:42 PM UTC