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"phonic" poems
Technology: how I love you and loathe you in the same breath your phonic ears listening out for a babble of distress from a childs vest sleeping soundly in the next room your ten tentacle arms purge my words and shelter emotions across vast distances for long lost friends to find comfort in 140 characters your innovations are the respirator the breathing lungs the beating heart the bionic limbs that help without want to walk again if only you could just once guess my words correctly just once is all I ask I invited that girl for a pint not a riot and the black berry ripens in the east is now an improvised IED Technology: will you ever be perfect? or will you always be evolving how will you know that you have not stepped back to be overshadowed by an ape punching numbers searching for Shots and finding Pints in the middle of a dusty Riot
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Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 11:31 AM UTC
Shot Pint Riot
-something real. Something strong and sturdy, believable. I want to write words that are heavy with lightness and dark with their brightness, to draw on a page a life so unbelievably real, so inconceivably mine in creation I want to write -not just love. Not a ***** with a couple of drink-mangled bugs. I want to write about that feeling of blood churning and the warmth of emotion not physical feeling, to put into words the unwordable joy of being in the presence of not just anyone Anyone. Like the not-platonic-non-romantic affection that Rudy would not fail to hint at, that so-wanted kiss that Liesel gave, it wasn't so much the action as the meaning behind it. Like that itch on Death's ear when Liesel he came near, not to take her yet, but to steal her story, to live through it. To feel the words dance in his void, non-niceness, the infinite meanings and the power of phonic combinations. They allow even Death to live. I want to write like Zusak, like Rowling, like me. I want to write -the philosophies. The thoughts and wishes and wonders of a minority. I want to write about those opinions of those whose voices are too small and their souls beautifully lit up but unseen, their ideologies so unmistakably right but also naive and innocent, to stage their feelings from transition to transition their words to the wise I want to write -characters so flawed. Each with an inner splendor most radiant, but with their fields of starless black and heads that wander from this to that. I want to write lives and people so different, with not-so-good lives and not-so-normal features. People who, though lacking thereof, cliche the right things and believe in the wrong The wrong. Their thoughts and meanings about life and beyond, undesirable and judged but that is the human mentality, such as Hazel Grace felt about her casualties and Alaska Young wondered about the labyrinth's unending game. So standard at first, but then Gandalf came and Bilbo learned the differences between Hobbit and the untame. The reasons and purposes of life's grand living, through the eyes of those whose faces are shunned. Hermione wasn't just a bibliosiac. I want to write like Green, like Tolkien, like me. Alas, the clock, a stained moon, it darkens, and the prejudice of people as well as the pride, unfortunately Austen couldn't lessen so much. Stereotypes triumphantly sit on the throne with their Mary-Sue maids catering from head to toe. I can't barge in, object to the crowning, because today I admit it: my writing is dying.
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Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 1:39 PM UTC
I Want To Write
-something real. Something strong and sturdy, believable. I want to write words that are heavy with lightness and dark with their brightness, to draw on a page a life so unbelievably real, so inconceivably mine in creation I want to write -not just love. Not a ***** with a couple of drink-mangled bugs. I want to write about that feeling of blood churning and the warmth of emotion not physical feeling, to put into words the unwordable joy of being in the presence of not just anyone Anyone. Like the not-platonic-non-romantic affection that Rudy would not fail to hint at, that so-wanted kiss that Liesel gave, it wasn't so much the action as the meaning behind it. Like that itch on Death's ear when Liesel he came near, not to take her yet, but to steal her story, to live through it. To feel the words dance in his void, non-niceness, the infinite meanings and the power of phonic combinations. They allow even Death to live. I want to write like Zusak, like Rowling, like me. I want to write -the philosophies. The thoughts and wishes and wonders of a minority. I want to write about those opinions of those whose voices are too small and their souls beautifully lit up but unseen, their ideologies so unmistakably right but also naive and innocent, to stage their feelings from transition to transition their words to the wise I want to write -characters so flawed. Each with an inner splendor most radiant, but with their fields of starless black and heads that wander from this to that. I want to write lives and people so different, with not-so-good lives and not-so-normal features. People who, though lacking thereof, cliche the right things and believe in the wrong The wrong. Their thoughts and meanings about life and beyond, undesirable and judged but that is the human mentality, such as Hazel Grace felt about her casualties and Alaska Young wondered about the labyrinth's unending game. So standard at first, but then Gandalf came and Bilbo learned the differences between Hobbit and the untame. The reasons and purposes of life's grand living, through the eyes of those whose faces are shunned. Hermione wasn't just a bibliosiac. I want to write like Green, like Tolkien, like me. Alas, the clock, a stained moon, it darkens, and the prejudice of people as well as the pride, unfortunately Austen couldn't lessen so much. Stereotypes triumphantly sit on the throne with their Mary-Sue maids catering from head to toe. I can't barge in, object to the crowning, because today I admit it: my writing is dying.
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18
Magnetic sounds abound, reboundandresoundinglyastound within the subsonic harmonic; a melodic tonic sprung from the atomic phonic fountain of uncertain sonic frolic. WWWRRROOOSSSH WWWRRROOOSSSH RRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUMMMMMHHHHHHH Eclectic echoes from beyond A name.... of fame? A Dame? A Dane? A dum, Ba-dump? Once slain? Ordained? Ashamed? Lifetimes spilling...... . . . . Memories . . .. .... filling, nought thought.
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Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 7:17 PM UTC
Spoon-Fed Feedback
Shivers, subdued, sit poised and submerged for flight Just below my, still yet, warm-to-the-touch skin. Conversation licks across a yellow light As my mind wanders to simply going in. Yet, my neck creaks back and heavy my lids lie When the decision finally comes to speak And vocal chords retreat as if always shy-- Miscommunication between tongue and cheek. Resilient, an iris peeps out to observe A mind's vague understanding of echoed phonic. Small leaves shiver. A chill creeps across each nerve. The night serves as a stress relieving tonic. A comforting thought as I reach to envelop: That each day serves as a chance to develop.
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Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 11:42 PM UTC
City Night.
I rotate around you on a slanted axis that shows you more of my left side and less of my scarred eyebrow. If I were a whale my phonic lips could sing the distance away through an acoustic habitat but I must rely on outer space to deliver my love call in tact - for I cannot shout loud enough, I am too human I am too small for this love, I can't make it reach you, you're too far away.
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Mar 10, 2012
Mar 10, 2012 at 9:33 PM UTC
Satellite Love
Flash I want to do something crazy Like running **** Maybe get a little tipsy If you want me to I'll go out and do a show Show you everything I have You know how this goes If you say calm down I'll just get louder If you tell me one more time Why would you rather? **** the fun, down **** it now Tonight we are going all out. Flash flash baby flash flash flash flash x2 Close your eyes Don't pay attention Loose your mind To *********** Let's pose into a fun position And act the fool did I forget to mention? Melodyx2 Girl don't get shy let's have a blast Come with me and just Flash! If you don't loosen up you may even get booed Were not chill were just to crazy for you Is how we are so Don't you wait up I'll just leave you and go get drunk. If you say calm down I'll just get louder If you tell me one more time Why would you rather? **** the fun, down **** it now Tonight we are going all out. Chorus Half Psychotic, sip Hypnotic, got my feet on electronic So robotic, its bionic Call it retro-phonic I know you wanted, baby you just forgot it Is how it happened, you were a little on it Before you met me, you were a tiny bit boring Look the sun's out, and now's good Morning.
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Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 2:25 AM UTC
Flash
That river runs most of the year, through Wickenburg, Arizona, phonic resonance, wiccan, twisted wick dipped in golden oil to write the vision, seen from the copper kettle coffee shop on the banks of the shallow Hasayampa I formed a story from a glimpse, an instance made plain for me, I see, seeming to think we know I mean you see, we know. We know the way oaths work, we comprehend open source, may we all say we know and know, nothing said to have been done by truth, as all things worked together, is intentionally keeping our interpretations of story smeared history, from just yesterday, as true, first impression as ever began, I wrote. And I write, and as I write, I think, I pray, instants passed in the process give momentary pause ele-ment-al all ment ends are mental acts done thought, deed done, as when in his heart a man does, be it he or she, wombed or un, mirror neurons do not discern thought and deed, indeed, we all have been beguiled, but never forever. We die to know, but we then do, as far as you may know, until we go incommunicado.
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Nov 2, 2023
Nov 2, 2023 at 3:43 PM UTC
If a Cretan Poet Drank from the Hasayampa
Hast thou found honey? Eat so much as is good for thee, thinking moderation then, success. Ah, the analyst's probe, is it satisfying? Child mind alerts, perks up its ear, single minds have single ears, child mind focus state, un monitored you, recall, child minding your own business walking in the road. Accepting having RSVP'd, we'ld wonder at first, did we actually ask for this, or is this all made up? Child mind cocked sure, I know. We are all an alien probe learning the questions. Each letter holds an American English phonic response… and we… the elite sharers of knowns gleaned from scripture. --selah, also means let it rest The precedent for a post temple social order arose, and the minds required for that task arose as well, but as you know, knowledge was closely held, sacred codes, cost of being called and chosen, male alone, bred to the bull. Bred to the king of beasts, wed to the dragon whose bones we have found in the gullet of beached Leviathans… tribe of Bill Levy, sudden psy-psi dead guy makes a suggestion, remember the yen to yank reality aright, and think it funny? Jes' yankin' y'chaim, only be having like a child's mind, pedo-meter counting steps away, flee the birthing trauma, do the dying well. Earnest Becker, take a chair, I think I felt you linger there, death divined most fine state, just wait, settling, you feel.
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Oct 19, 2023
Oct 19, 2023 at 1:09 PM UTC
Rank Analysis at the edge of autolysis
HER LIPS SPOKE OF WISDOME FED BY SCIENCE BOOKS AND HISTORY TEXT AND PHILOSOPHY OF ASSUMPTIONS CARRYING A STRICKING EYE FOR STUDENTS THAT WON'T SIT STILL SHE CLAIMS SHE LIKE'S IT QUIET DURING FREE TIME OF READING BUT I'M STARING DOWN AT TEEN MAGAZINS CAUSE MICHAEL JACKSON MAKES ME SHREEK IN MY SEAT AND I SAY NOTHING NOR READ NOTHING BUT                                 STARE                                 ADMIRINGLY AT HIS                                  PUZZLING FEATURES THEN HER VOICE RISES OVER MY HEAD LIKE FLYING BULLETS MISSING MY BRAIN AND EYE SOCKETS BUT SHE PLUNGED INTO MY EARS LIKE THUNDER BULT AND LIGHTNING AND MY SEAT WENT HOT WHEN SHE STARED DOWN AT ME HER WORDS CUDDLED UP AGAINTS MY IGNORANCE AS I FIGHT OFF THE BALANCE SHE NEVER OBTAINED TO                                  MAINTAINE                                  MY ATTENTION                                                                   ONLY FEAR MY HEART POUNDING !!!STARTLED!!! AT  HER RATTLE SNAKE INTENSIONS AND HER VENOMOUSE WORDS FELL UPON MY LOW IQ SHAMED AT MY ABILITY TO LEARN EVER SO SMALL AND SHE COULDN'T MANAGE TO STAND UP AGAINTS MY DIFFICULT APPLE BITTEN BY SO MANY BITTEN AT THE BIRTH AND EATEN BY THE BEAST OF STUDENTS WHO STAND EGO HIGH AGAINTS ME TURNING HEADS AT ME WITH A GLARE IN THEIR EYE THAT ONLY HORROR MOVIES COULD DEPICT SHE DECIDED TO FAVOR                               THE WIDTH                                 THE DISTANCE AND                       THE RISK OF HAVING ME HER STUDENT...  AT ALL... AND TELLS ME "YOU WILL NEVER WIN, BUT I WILL" ?????????? WHY MRS. ANDERSON... WHAT EVER DID YOU MEAN BY THAT 23 YRS AGO I WANNA KNOW???????? BUT I COULDN'T CONCENTRATE OR PAY YOU THE FAME BECAUSE YOU STAND UP THERE LIKE SOME PRESIDENT OFFERING NO LESS THAN A TOOL I CAN'T GET TO A HIGHER LEVEL LIKE THE OTHER KIDS FEELING LIKE A ROBOT STANDING IN LINE TO EAT STANDING IN LINE TO PLAY RAISE MY HAND LIKE A CONVICT TO GO TO THE BATHROOM AS IF THIS WERE THE MALICHA OR A **** OR NOZI OR HOW EVER YOU SPELL                               THE **** NAME CAUSE IT AIN'T ENGLISH YOUR RING TONE PHONIC VOICE RINGS IN MY EAR TO THIS DAY AND YOUR PIERCING DULL BLUE EYES IS ALL I NEVER WANT MY CHILD TO HAVE AFTER ME A TEACHER WHO THINKS SHE IS THERE JUST TO BEAT DOWN A CHILD                                         IN THIER MINDS. © S.T. Rebel of Eden
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Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 11:12 PM UTC
MRS. ANDERSON
HER LIPS SPOKE OF WISDOME FED BY SCIENCE BOOKS AND HISTORY TEXT AND PHILOSOPHY OF ASSUMPTIONS CARRYING A STRICKING EYE FOR STUDENTS THAT WON'T SIT STILL SHE CLAIMS SHE LIKE'S IT QUIET DURING FREE TIME OF READING BUT I'M STARING DOWN AT TEEN MAGAZINS CAUSE MICHAEL JACKSON MAKES ME SHREEK IN MY SEAT AND I SAY NOTHING NOR READ NOTHING BUT                                 STARE                                 ADMIRINGLY AT HIS                                  PUZZLING FEATURES THEN HER VOICE RISES OVER MY HEAD LIKE FLYING BULLETS MISSING MY BRAIN AND EYE SOCKETS BUT SHE PLUNGED INTO MY EARS LIKE THUNDER BULT AND LIGHTNING AND MY SEAT WENT HOT WHEN SHE STARED DOWN AT ME HER WORDS CUDDLED UP AGAINTS MY IGNORANCE AS I FIGHT OFF THE BALANCE SHE NEVER OBTAINED TO                                  MAINTAINE                                  MY ATTENTION                                                                   ONLY FEAR MY HEART POUNDING !!!STARTLED!!! AT  HER RATTLE SNAKE INTENSIONS AND HER VENOMOUSE WORDS FELL UPON MY LOW IQ SHAMED AT MY ABILITY TO LEARN EVER SO SMALL AND SHE COULDN'T MANAGE TO STAND UP AGAINTS MY DIFFICULT APPLE BITTEN BY SO MANY BITTEN AT THE BIRTH AND EATEN BY THE BEAST OF STUDENTS WHO STAND EGO HIGH AGAINTS ME TURNING HEADS AT ME WITH A GLARE IN THEIR EYE THAT ONLY HORROR MOVIES COULD DEPICT SHE DECIDED TO FAVOR                               THE WIDTH                                 THE DISTANCE AND                       THE RISK OF HAVING ME HER STUDENT...  AT ALL... AND TELLS ME "YOU WILL NEVER WIN, BUT I WILL" ?????????? WHY MRS. ANDERSON... WHAT EVER DID YOU MEAN BY THAT 23 YRS AGO I WANNA KNOW???????? BUT I COULDN'T CONCENTRATE OR PAY YOU THE FAME BECAUSE YOU STAND UP THERE LIKE SOME PRESIDENT OFFERING NO LESS THAN A TOOL I CAN'T GET TO A HIGHER LEVEL LIKE THE OTHER KIDS FEELING LIKE A ROBOT STANDING IN LINE TO EAT STANDING IN LINE TO PLAY RAISE MY HAND LIKE A CONVICT TO GO TO THE BATHROOM AS IF THIS WERE THE MALICHA OR A **** OR NOZI OR HOW EVER YOU SPELL                               THE **** NAME CAUSE IT AIN'T ENGLISH YOUR RING TONE PHONIC VOICE RINGS IN MY EAR TO THIS DAY AND YOUR PIERCING DULL BLUE EYES IS ALL I NEVER WANT MY CHILD TO HAVE AFTER ME A TEACHER WHO THINKS SHE IS THERE JUST TO BEAT DOWN A CHILD                                         IN THIER MINDS. © S.T. Rebel of Eden
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94
The birds came to visit Early in the morning Waiting by the dolphin And porridge bowl. There was a Peacock An Eagle and two Pelicans A Perigine Falcan, a Macaw And a nest of baby Birds. Evelyn ate her breakfast Read her phonic words And talked to Grandma It was a sunny day today. Love Mary x
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Jun 26, 2019
Jun 26, 2019 at 7:38 AM UTC
The birds
I could speak endlessly on how this is my all to u give u summer on cold days A fuzzy breez on hot nights So u can gaze moonlight At the sound of phonic melodys With no expressed limitations Abstract sounds ,physical bodies nd mental objects Everything This is me giving u everything, giving u everything Timeless univers Myraid paradise In disguise For you hypnotize The true nature of existance That with my last breath ,to death flown I surrender my soul This is me giving u everything Giving u everything Giving Giving giving u everything An ocean full of emotion Thy absence causes distortion Disects my world into two Phases that cease fatality Thus in this reality I seek not Oder but to give This is me giving u everything Everything giving u everything
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Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 4:04 PM UTC
Giving You Everything
The hollow tinkling tipping tumble of glass on tile Follows the path of patient feet Ever slowly out into the open The cracking hollow creaking of grating joints Meets the draw tight face Where smile lines cut like a knife into the cheeks Rose tinted black lashed blue eyes stare blank ahead Collapsing china made brittle by claims To what it is, What it should be Say, think and feel Like a toy shoved between two children Stretched, banged and reused The marionette played its silken strings for others Danced to the same dreaded tune Around and around that merry chortled phonic dirge Eating away at its own strings Snapping like rotten wire A puppet no longer Ill and abused
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Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 11:51 PM UTC
Snapping Strings
The courage to encourage (‘tis no accident the overlapping of these two words) <•> tilling the fields of beautifully and freshly seeded words, gift wrapped in the essays of the experimenting, carefully and carelessly toe dipping in the tooling of shapes and paintings sourced from a mere handful of twenty six water colors, in fresh water streaming waterfalls of: knew new eyes new words newly hewn combinations all upon the early morn bluey sketch, against a noisy background of a new day’s first blushing when the rested brain is so, so receptive to newness, itself a word of a délicieuse lovely phonic mouth treat at 6:35an on an ordinary Thursday and now an extraordinary Thursday, when my inbox of old eyes is delighted and crinkly smiling at the enduring uncovering of daring, earning while yearning, poets eager to give us freely the first fruits of their  hybrid creations makes an old man weep new tears, to accompany him till the end of the day, each tear a diatom of lace upon an endless river of, well, the everything, a knitting of letters flaring up with a robust, Hey! I am here, I am aborning so glad to make your acquaintance                           nml
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Feb 20, 2025
Feb 20, 2025 at 7:15 AM UTC
The courage to encourage