"phonemes" poems
Ballerina stance leaner
porcelain poised demeanor
lined up for a chance at that old 500 gram repeater.
Yeah, a little firecracker,
a little fire eater.
Twiggy figure, ****** fire dome where her little wires teeter.
Excellent muse material
my ***** optics viewed ethereal
Beauty, and she knew it.
Arrogance.
Noted, duly.
Pittsburgh's resident fire ant, with a grace to match her face
And a whole crew of troglodytes racing to get a taste
So thanks Angela Chase;
I prefer the fantasy too.
And thanks to you my chickens won't be sleeping easy in their coup.
Loop Jabberwocky with Calligraphy
and dabbled in polygamy. purpose:
****** cyst bubbles to the surface.
Misinterpret the tongue touching and hand clutching,
you were baby girlie thumb-sucking
But thought more than twice about it when it came to dumb-fucking.
Pretty face: check
Depression: not yet
Appreciating phonemes, but still a nervous wreck
false carrot tops to bed, awkward with the ***** work.
Near waif redhead. Pittsburgh Boys. the city lurks
It's been a minute since the girl scouts got at me, I bought it.
Hop in the DeLorean tell Lauren that I'm off it.
Mar 16, 2010
Mar 16, 2010 at 2:47 PM UTC
Drop the rocks
Full-grown pop in the jaw
Bleeding gold
Won't save your soul
Moving again and again and again and again
Until the pacific
Closes behind your back
because criticism smacks
kids out of whack
Morphemes-phonemes again
and again
Given the knowledge
of a recycling bin of
letters
Use them again and again
Won't save your soul
Atom smash logic replaying
and playing before your eyes
Some days it's too much
coal to mine
Mouth covered when you
step in time
Won't make your life
I'm a goner if I can't
stand on the rocks
and if the laundry doesn't burn
If the grim reaper doesn't speak
nonsense words from one
state of consciousness
to the other
Drop the bomb
Call the mob
Stock our shelves
Grow the letters
Feed all those starving
tongues
Let me tell you a story
Once the grim reaper
dressed like an old woman
and bought denture cream
just to know how it feels to
grow old
A human is an animal
Some think an olive is a fruit
A dog is a wolf on the inside
Begging to learn the trick
Speak
Next in line most wait
for straight prose
pinch their noses misguided
Want blood to bleed red
Don't want ideas to smash
their bread
Won't save their minds
from a punch in the gut
Mine closing in their faces
and their Atlantic drowns
shattered glass
encasing words upon words
owned by streams of
Consciousness running
all around
Those nonsense words
running aground
can't swim though all
the world's frowns.
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 11:25 AM UTC
Six days left
In this oasis
In this escape
In this reality we’ve created for ourselves.
Six days left
And it already hurts.
Three days left
Where did my time go?
She’s one floor below me, and I miss her this much
What is twelve hours?
Half a day.
This will be the only thing about our relationship
That isn’t easy.
She has an early morning tomorrow.
Sleeping in our respective beds,
I don’t remember how to sleep alone.
If words could describe perfection,
I would paint a picture of phonemes and morphemes
Of syntax and semantics
Of beauty and wonder.
If words could describe her
I would bridge together vowels
Consonants
Punctuation
Grammar
If words could describe this
Trust me,
I would use them.
Shakespeare
Made up words when nothing else
Seemed right
I’m beginning to see why
He and Mr. Geisel
Were so unsatisfied
With the language at hand.
Five days in and I'm
Keeping myself busy so that I can ignore
The Aching that comes.
That always comes.
I'm afraid to hope that she'll
Be different than the others.
But she seems genuine
And I'm so satiated
When I'm with her.
Trying to be a better person for her,
I've never been with someone who could
Keep the panic over grades and schoolwork
To a dull roar.
I think I've got something remarkable here...
And I miss her.
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 3:52 AM UTC
We're all just phonemes,
Multiple sounds creating full words
We're all just skin,
Sitting on the surface
We're all just cats,
Looking for a mouse
We're all just fruit,
Growing on a tree
We're all just you,
Being like me
We're all just simple,
Making things complicated
We're all just here,
And everything else there
We're all just a song on repeat,
Playing again and again
We're all just a pencil,
Drawing on a piece of paper
We're all just a planet,
Floating through space
We're all just a light,
Flickering then it fades
We're all just a rubber band,
Snapping back in place
We're all just a dot,
Sitting there silent
We're all just a line,
Going on forever
We're all just a circle,
Endlessly winding
We're all just proteins,
Endlessly binding
We're all just the fall leaves,
Falling into place
We're all just food
Waiting to be eaten
We're all just parodies of each other,
Trying to break free
We're all just a memory,
Waiting to be discovered
We're all just an umbrella,
Finding something to cover
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 11:02 AM UTC
Sometimes when I come (home),
I want to make a found poem out of
all the memories I never had
/(have yet to create).
It's all those words that I wanted to apply,
like "free" and "full" and "release"
and "unencumbered ventriloquist" and
"owls".
Just for the sake of sinking my teeth
into someone else's dictionary, vocabulary
(early morning rituals.
Perhaps I can slink into someone else,
if I adopt their lexicon,
and prepare my coffee the same way).
What are you spewing into the atmosphere?
What are you defining,
bringing into breath based on your action and reaction?
I could feel my hands
(plucking, grasping, ******* tearing)
your letters and phonemes and characters and verbal intent.
They're still on my pillowcase, I just don't know if you want them back.
I left mine buried in your red hot chili peppers lights,
you can keep them.
We have so many different endings.
Sep 17, 2011
Sep 17, 2011 at 12:44 AM UTC
I wish I could write
Yet life´s meddling
Has me drawing blanks
I stare at the screen
I stare at a sheet
It´s all the same
There´s only white
And my pen grows dry
And my heart colder
My blood thicker
My mind dumber
A jam of words
Within me grows
I can´t form verses
Theres only letters
Only phonemes
Only scribles
That look like symbols
Lost meaning all...
So many poems to write
They remain in the void
For you will have to excuse me
I need to get back to work...
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 11:59 PM UTC
So it begins,
that song comes on.
It's not attached to any one event,
no breakup or loss.
It's just intrinsically sad.
It doesn't way upon the soul,
or displace the mind.
It causes a sadness,
not like a madness or depression.
It's too clean for that.
I'm not implying that they are *****
or bad.
No, they are just torn and tattered,
much like the old blanket they make you want to bury yourself in,
to hide where daylight will never seep in.
Rather this sadness is crystalline,
a pure movement of emotion.
A product of dark and shimmering beauty,
much akin to tears,
the ones that roll slowly down one's cheek
as the song goes on.
This sound,
this jumbling of frequencies,
an phonemes.
Words that mean so little upon listening,
but so much upon LISTENING,
and melodies played upon a machine.
This song about choices,
about struggling, about strength.
This perfect sound,
this glimmering song,
is life.
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 10:20 PM UTC
Sometimes it happens like
Butter on toast,
Smooth, creamy, and delicious.
Most of the time, it's stilted
And halting.
Like hobbling through a parking lot
On crutches with a full leg cast.
Sometimes it comes from
The haunted recesses
Of the traumatized human mind.
Other times a frog
Or butterfly
Or other passing fanciful inspiration
Invokes the need for
Rhyme,
Meter,
Syllables,
Phonemes,
Morphemes,
Words,
Language,
Prose,
And poetry.
We write to describe the world around us
But much more, the universe within us.
Our words give life and tangibility
To the impalpable things,
And they take away some of the fear
And pain and grief and unconscionability
Of the corporeal things.
And in the weaving
And shaping
And forming
And rhyming
And jotting
And sketching
And rapping
And moulding
And writing
We find emancipation and satisfaction.
And thus...scrumpdillyumptiousness!
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 11:34 PM UTC
I held her hand in my dream
With my nails brushing her hair
Her eyes apple lovey scream
She's a sample of an adonis heir
I ponder at her figure eight
Is she one of d immortal sent to tantalised me?
Like d lovelorn btw milky and kate
Pour me ur love portion, I'll sip
I woke and blamed d reverie
Angrily I exit d enrivon for an unliven snacks
But d liquor can't erase her hue ink
She curls toward my leisure, My rips acquaint see
Chai, her hair dances to the zephyr rhythm. She knacks
"Em. Baby can I date u?" My phonemes lick.
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 4:35 AM UTC
Flesh and pleasures
Anxiety and loneliness
Tempted
Forms of confusion
Tangled in shame
Guilt untamed
Shattered tears
Shadowed in fears
Hiding in pain
Breaking in vain
Feeble
Surrender
Saved
Sanctified
Justified
Called
Eternity
Jun 11, 2017
Jun 11, 2017 at 2:43 AM UTC
I held her hand in my dream
With my nails brushing her hair
Her eyes apple lovey scream
She's a sample of an adonis heir
I ponder at her figure eight
Is she one of d immortal sent to tantalised me?
Like d lovelorn btw milky and kate
Pour me ur love portion, I'll sip
I woke and blamed d reverie
Angrily I exit d enrivon for an unliven snacks
But d liquor can't erase her
hue ink
She curls toward my leisure, My rips acquaint see
Chai, her hair dances to the zephyr rhythm. She knacks
"Em. Baby can I date u?" My phonemes lick.
(Mizz Ylexinho to be)
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 1:28 AM UTC
i'm the hirsute nectarine man
i speak soft streams of exegesis phonemes
i've got the mob in my hand,
they've got the cops in their pocket
hand me the cash! hand me the cash!
i'll take over the world!
i wanna get high!
i want my legs to be hundreds of feet long
and my **** to swing around my knees!
shove it in your face! shove it!
i am the archon!
i am the agelessness of ontology!
i watched the moutains crumble to dust
and i laughed, and i pressed the big red button!
my nightmare isn't any dreaming place
it's heaven on earth
what a wonderful world
where the sicknesses can come to play
where the tommy's and dandy's can frolic
and all the cats can get ******
and the warlords all chortle
and the bric-a-brac is never stolen!
i live in an amusement park
my soapbox is full of holes
but they just let the sun shine in
on the flowers i've planted at my feet
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 1:07 AM UTC
I write because when I speak, I don’t.
My words are lost in translation
And it seems only my smile is being communicated.
Sometimes it feels too soft.
I write because next year I will be a nursing student.
And I will look into the eyes of a dying daughter,
46 years old with a blood pressure of 82 over 50,
And I will smile with, “how was breakfast?”
I write because I speak a dead language.
Studying and learning my culture,
Neither will help you become fluent,
Because these questions aren’t meant to have answers.
I write because I work in fast food,
And when I greet a customer with “How are you?”
He replies with his order, not his state of being,
While I punch buttons on a screen.
I write because I am mute.
Noises and phonemes echo in my mouth,
Almost constantly, in fact,
But it seems that I am never speaking.
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 4:44 PM UTC
When my Calling is Calling
And I fail to answer
The Phonemes…
I’m depressed.
And of course, I must be.
Driven North of my South
By harpies
Draped in flags.
My constant Dystopia
More Terrarium
Than a home for
My bees.
And more Hive
Than any Home
For
A Dream.
A plush junket
Of close calls-
Where rice patties
Wane.
Because Prophets
Fail like crops.
And The News
Is just a new Nothing
In Imaginary
Palms…
Phantom
mad.
II
But when my Calling is Calling-
And Negotiations have collapsed.-
As foretold by Introspection
And served on a platter
Of Absolute Narcissism
Chained to an Unspoken Woe
In my Achilles Heel-
My Falderal, fumbling
For Unfaltering.s.
I almost digress.
III
I clamor to the forefront
Of Myself; maladjusted
To Sun spokes.
Privately
Waning.
A Tempered Steel
In a molten
Kaleidoscope-
Hoping
Love hath a Plan
That a Hell
Dismissed.
Or a Poem
Made sense
Of It...
Sisyphus.
Jan 29, 2021
Jan 29, 2021 at 5:39 PM UTC
Introduction attraction flirtation speculation deliberation emotion preoccupation acceleration.
The ultimate seduction.
Beautification celebration confirmation negotiation consummation affection sensation adoration.
Such sweet glorification.
Exploration temptation reflection frustration deception obligation alienation rejection.
The anguish of separation.
Desolation ramification medication intoxication addiction acceleration degradation consultation.
The mind-bending revelation.
Renunciation purification meditation relaxation liberation restoration satisfaction manifestation.
Oh, glorious motivation.
But really, they’re everywhere and always -
Those damnable phonemes.
Informação autorização instituição atenção expiração instrução direção identificação.
Even musculação.
But finally, hopefully, there's Felicitação!
Feb 7, 2018
Feb 7, 2018 at 10:30 PM UTC