"piercingly" poems
There the merry hologram glowing blue purple blue
Cactus human cherry on a stool
Beyond the window he would not look
Inside the sky made of wood.
The barber talks to his ferns
The flowers he understood
The living they earn
Sparkling its rough nails of your barber.
The breath and life he will spruce with apple-pie order.
He listens to
Each one story
Always about a time
A time which was cheery.
He looks piercingly to all their prickly
What he touches intently
To turn the time that latches onto your head which started feeling heavy.
Lifted into glee so jolly and carefree.
A man
Or the boys
They finally stand up easily.
Capes dusted
Top hat powdered
Their voice of fears collected as tips
For pricking up his ears.
The door that opens in the end
The swirling light that beckons
Hair became a way to lighten ---
When times get rough and belligerent
Cut it off, rugged and ruffian.
The barber hears him and all
The others like soldiers
They share their laughs
Troubles leaving shoulders
Leaving like a waterfall.
The barber knows everything
The barber knows all.
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 10:54 PM UTC
XXXI. TO HELIOS (20 lines)
(ll. 1-16) (34) And now, O Muse Calliope, daughter of Zeus, begin
to sing of glowing Helios whom mild-eyed Euryphaessa, the far-
shining one, bare to the Son of Earth and starry Heaven. For
Hyperion wedded glorious Euryphaessa, his own sister, who bare
him lovely children, rosy-armed Eos and rich-tressed Selene and
tireless Helios who is like the deathless gods. As he rides in
his chariot, he shines upon men and deathless gods, and
piercingly he gazes with his eyes from his golden helmet. Bright
rays beam dazzlingly from him, and his bright locks streaming
form the temples of his head gracefully enclose his far-seen
face: a rich, fine-spun garment glows upon his body and flutters
in the wind: and stallions carry him. Then, when he has stayed
his golden-yoked chariot and horses, he rests there upon the
highest point of heaven, until he marvellously drives them down
again through heaven to Ocean.
(ll. 17-19) Hail to you, lord! Freely bestow on me substance
that cheers the heart. And now that I have begun with you, I
will celebrate the race of mortal men half-divine whose deeds the
Muses have showed to mankind.
4.5k
Are we conducting a robot?
To write off our life slosh,
As we detach to explore...
Are you scared of the person behind you in dream décor?
The sweetness of them, supple, sincere and secure, I won’t turn from them anymore...
I want a space that suits my body, and a body that shapes my suit.
Drooping with these screens, we could be using our screen eyes and bodies...
But we’re biting on borrowed time. Focus on my face and timeline...
When we fully take over, they won’t stop these ache-numb, religious-atheist, vicious silverfish, who don’t think but spin beauty... Spill blood and **** feeling, chase silent moments...
If we lose our memory-doubt-history cycle, get lost and find ourselves in the deeper summer night cycle...
We are with the second sight phoenix heads, playing gold scores piercingly, growing as swimmer-dancers in wonder of the pieces of wild peace, new-vital...
Aug 20, 2025
Aug 20, 2025 at 6:22 PM UTC
Hide the scars
draw a heart
on your arm
take a picture
add a filter
kiss her scars
"stay strong, love"
Only discuss what your feeling,
never share the real meaning
maybe someone will like you if you have bigger problems
joking with yourself when they barely even hit the quantum
Must've wanted to see what was so attractive
Picked up a blade then blamed me after
words are painful
piercingly baneful
Dug a deeper hole so you can bury me, just haphazards,
So immune to what your saying
you lied to me
so focused on what you're really hating
wanted to get into a fight
so you poisoned me at night.
think you're so poetic?
stop it.
It's pretty hard to stay clean
Looking in the mirror is so much harder than it seems
hard to keep on trucking
when your so bloodsucking
your actions are the kind that pull the noose up the tree
I wish it had all been fake
you put your heart out on a plate
for everyone to sample
if only they knew how you're never organically explaining
serving things the people should be disdaining
You have no idea
romanticizing for whoever's listening
when they say your so **** talented, your face must be glistening
You don't understand me
and this life you've created for yourself
writing about a life you know nothing about
how many times do I need to say it to get it in your head
You'll never understand the feeling of waking up
and wishing
you were
dead.
Hide the scars
rip the heart
on my sleeve
take your picture
add that filter
hope you're happy
"stay strong, dear"
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 8:50 PM UTC
In the early morning of August,
We headed off to the Great Ocean Road.
The beauty of it all took my breath away.
I can still remember the vivid blue
Of the Ocean,
Of the sky.
Cheveux au vent
The piercingly cold wind
At the Twelve Apostles
Swept us away,
With grace.
In the heart of the Rainforest
We made our way through like warriors,
With glory.
The experience felt like a dream;
It was enchanting
And I loved it.
-12/11/13
© eMs' silent poetry. All Rights Reserved.
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 8:55 PM UTC
Beyond the moon and the stars,
Over the horizon,
Piercingly silent was a crash.
No one knew what it was.
Sinful or sacred?
Sane or insane?
They told me to choose my own adventure,
But told me it best not be with you.
You held me underwater
And I held you up on a pedestal.
The dangerous cocktail was brewing from the start.
We pushed and provoked,
I was kicking and screaming all along
You suffered oh so silently,
Like a bomb waiting to explode.
But all I wanted was you.
And you would not deny me that.
So vulnerable was I
So understanding were you
And you hacked the motherboard of my emotions.
My mind would say,
"Abandon ship!"
But my heart loved you more.
The lust, the sweat, the lies
Tangled in between sheets
And empty promises were left there,
Running from our mouths before we could catch them.
I showed you my heart
As the real me seeped through my pores
You kept yourself discrete.
That is, until you were angry.
I knew goodbye was coming,
But every time, it was not for real.
We would break up and then lust
And do things we could not take back.
Then forgiveness became my torturer.
The death of us was near.
It became a game,
Our sick little game.
We would poke each other to see
Who could cut the deepest
Without leaving a mark, a scar
Or any permanent damage.
But we can only play for so long.
Our final kiss, touch, ****
Did not come easily.
I could not bring myself to say goodbye.
I fought, but it was not enough.
You held on, but it was not strong enough.
So we let each other drift away.
A violent affair, stained red.
A love war, tainted with arsenic.
An emotional battle, like the tip of a needle
It came and touched my heart.
Beyond the moon and the stars,
Over the horizon,
Piercingly silent was a crash.
It was my pain, my curse, my love.
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 7:38 PM UTC
Beloveds, now we know that we know nothing
Now that our bright and shining star can slip away from our fingertips like a puff of summer wind
Without notice, our dear love can escape our doting embrace
Sing our songs among the stars and and walk our dances across the face of the moon
In the instant we learn that Michael is gone we know nothing
No clocks can tell our time and no oceans can rush our tides
With the abrupt absence of our treasure
Though we our many, each of us is achingly alone
Piercingly alone
Only when we confess our confusion can we remember that he was a gift to us and we did have him
He came to us from the Creator, trailing creativity in abundance
Despite the anguish of life he was sheathed in mother love and family love and survived and did more than that
He thrived with passion and compassion, humor and style
We had him
Whether we knew who he was or did not know, he was ours and we were his
We had him
Beautiful, delighting our eyes
He raked his hat slant over his brow and took a pose on his toes for all of us and we laughed and stomped our feet for him
We were enchanted with his passion because he held nothing
He gave us all he had been given
Today in Tokyo, beneath the Eiffel Tower, in Ghana's Blackstar Square, in Johannesburg, in Pittsburgh, in Birmingham, Alabama and Birmingham England, we are missing Michael Jackson
But we do know that we had him
And we are the world.
Jan 6, 2010
Jan 6, 2010 at 10:37 AM UTC
there remains a stirring pang
churning around within
a soothing ache invigorates
an insatiable, yet suppressed ,
untamed appetite
a gnawing hunger craving
never curbed ,
abiding a leaching aloneness
that piercingly tingles inwardly
veritably suppressed fever
burns out of control
like a tameless wildfire ;
flames fanned
by the feral forces of nature
reviving
an intimately passionate
verve
~
© wild is the wind
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 11:30 AM UTC
Am I too late my love?
Eyes fixated on me
She stares piercingly into my soul.
She hums,
with sorrow in her eyes.
My heart starts to bleed
Can’t she see my aching heart?
Ok. take my soul
So I am nothing but flesh and bones
Just don’t leave me in this lonely lustful sphere.
Now she screams
Next, she weeps
Why does she weep?
I am finding it hard to breathe
Why can’t I breathe?
Please, just say something before
I drown in my thoughts.
As I attempt to touch her;
they laugh.
O' mother
I see now
They surround me
My demons.
but it's no use,
now that I'm dead.
Mar 7, 2019
Mar 7, 2019 at 11:48 PM UTC
☺☻☺☻☺☻
Post-Christian pornstar unsubdued,
My lady—you are too tattooed;
bored, studded, and nearly as cheap
as everyone else tossed on the heap.
You don’t excite, inspire or alarm.
You’re just a big Alterna-Bore. No harm
done to me; baby you’re a pincushion
of piercingly superficial fashion
Neither tribal nor demonic—just silly.
I pity you, pierced like that willy-nilly…
Some conserva-matron with a gun
is edgier, riskier (and way more fun)
Israeli soldiers are hotter than you.
1940’s pinups sexier. It’s true.
That’s why we won. Now they’re losing it.
And so am I… but thanks for choosing it.
(War)
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 2:08 PM UTC
I am alright
is what I say even when I have flashbacks everyday of the intimidating looking paramedic carrying me into the ambulance car as if I’m shattered porcelain.
We’re alright
is what my mom says even when she leaves the house she constantly calls and when we aren’t in the same room she repeats “Kelly? Just making sure you’re alright”.
I am alright
is what I say even when I have to look away when the clock strikes 9:27 am because that’s when everything suddenly went black and then spotted white.
We’re alright
is what my mom says, a single parent paying MRI scans, emergency room bills, antiseizure medication, the neurologist, the neurosurgeon, the epileptic neurosurgeon, without a cent from my father, and her worry lines are piercingly more clear to me.
Does anyone really wanna hear the truth?
I rub my fingers across my head imagining ripping out the millions of neurons lighting paths across my brain. Maybe then I wouldn’t have to worry anymore.
I’ve kept my mouth shut because it’s polite but I want to tell everyone who’s pretending to be my friend because they feel sorry for me to **** off because my health is none of their business.
It all catches up to me when I sit in the hallway at Cincinnati Children’s and I watch kids with tubes down their noses and needles in their arms and think to myself:
I can’t be one of them, can I?
This can’t be real, can it?
But I guess I’m alright.
The meds make me feel foggy, like I’m somewhere between awake and asleep.
Where my mind feels like it fell through a trapdoor and into a vacuum.
If it was up to me I wouldn’t leave the house. The only places I feel safe are in the nurses office or in between the 4 walls of a hospital with my mom holding my hand.
That’s what seizures do. Turn an 18 year old girl into a 5 year old, wanting to run in a closet and slam the door so nobody has to see it happen again.
No going down stairs alone, no locking the door when showering, no getting drunk at parties, no driving, no living your life.
So you wonder if I’m alright? If alright means seeing my mom cry for the first time in years, if alright means sleeping 3 hours a night, if alright means having to rely on others because I can’t do anything by myself..
Maybe I’m tired of lying.
Maybe I’m not alright.
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 3:48 PM UTC
*Her fur in the morning is deadening white
But how does it matter I slept the whole night
The chill stayed out I didn’t need to hark
Her unpleasant stories and frantic bark!
Her eyes in the morning are watery grey
But how does it matter she makes not my day
My quilt was warm till the sun was up
My day was begot with the brewing cup!
Her look in the morning was piercingly pale
But how does it matter I slept quite well
I locked the door and shut out the curse
Peace was all mine agonies were hers!*
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 4:12 AM UTC
It's not easy speak
or a Speak Easy
when conversing with him,
dark'ling gremlin toothless grin
but he's your friend so I carry on
with Yoda in the corner of my mind
"judgmental you must be not"
and Comicon's collective excitement fading
as the light will do in the west...
We speak easy with the circling
of the communal pipe
crystal peace in mists of glass orbs
oil burner fog horns
piercingly in & between my ears
but its not so easy to ignore
the scent of death in his halitosis
We spoke of Superheroes
their idiosyncratic identities
His secret celebrity crushes
envying Green Lantern’s ring finger
he speculates on Cyclop's orientation,
"Y don’t you make me an X man, professor?"
Informatively encyclopedic volubility,
Mike speaks queerly and toofless
yet well versed on oral
said he rims pacific beach boys
(And I can smell the white lies
wafting from his mouth)
as I color at his studly fairy tales
and his idolatry of prepubescent innocence
the hyper kind of **********
as he verbally recalls the taste of how sweet
the sweet untouched were...
*"The most gorgeous boys I’ve ever seen
in **** or anyplace on the face of the planet
comes from and are probably ******* now
in Europe... Mmm, European boys...
I want to use my life’s savings to go there
enter the war zone and come back wounded..."*
I can't even imagine
Shrapnel jacked backside, points and protrusions
grandiloquent mouths and holes full of
enunciations...
"Fourteen is the age of consent there..." he is smiling
a caricature of a wolf *** fang less
Such a pseudo wanna-be
possibly already
********* friend from the broken rainbow factory,
how I chuckle uncomfortably
shake my head disbelievingly
oh the humorous horror of it...
(I'm grinding my teeth, until I notice myself
doing so and get an image of him
with a gummy grin,
I preoccupy my thinking
nodding as I half-heartedly half listen)
Jun 11, 2016
Jun 11, 2016 at 12:54 PM UTC
How could such sweetness,
Lie in the deppest sorrow,
Piercingly delicate,
Tormenting me,
With perfection,
That is just out of reach
Mar 18, 2011
Mar 18, 2011 at 12:33 AM UTC
i have like tress stood piercingly between slick sheets of darkness
light
pressed with lips full of burning pollen(a sting)
whispered in ***** bold dreaming
unloose cruel love
and
burst
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 10:17 PM UTC
The walls of Hell are moving walls
and Hell is the shell of my body.
I can't escape the monster's calls
because they ring inside me.
The walls of Hell are solid walls
Nothing can pass through them
Imprisoned inside, my heart cries,
and paints my veins with nights passing by
The walls of Hell are silent walls
You'd never suspect them to be
as piercingly violent as they are:
The walls of Hell wrapped around me.
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 3:48 PM UTC
I prefer women with piercingly sad eyes
with a story that'd reduce Hemingway to tears
the confidence to carry that pain around attracts me
but if I make you happy
would it be wrong to break you
just to be attracted to the pain I've caused you?
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 9:49 PM UTC
Sound flows piercingly through the air.
A wave of warmth slaps across my face,
And douses my clothes as it moves
Down
My body.
The harmonies and atonalities
Cause my heart to
Flutter
With arrhythmia.
As the bow continues,
My calm is slowly replaced
By fiery passion;
Hot,
From the slapping of the waves.
I am soaring,
I am free.
Watch me.
Listen as I express
My inner voice.
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 9:00 PM UTC
As I browsed the section of Valentine's Day cards on display at target, I came to a realization; no store-bought greeting card - regardless of how romantic or humorous or sentimental it is, or how beautifully it is crafted - could possibly do my feelings for you any justice. So, as I've done often in the past, I decided to create a letter of my own.
At other times, when I have felt my own words insufficient, I have enlisted the help of words of other wiser beings. But this time, for the first time in my life, I am at a true and utter, honest loss for words.
This brought me to another realization; there simply are no words in the English language to express the feelings I have for you, nor, I doubt, in any language on earth, or any anywhere else in this vast universe, for that matter. It cannot be said, but rather it must be felt. And do not doubt its ability to fill to the brim and completely consume the senses, for it can.
It can be seen...
by a girl who walks towards a clock tower and turns around at the sound of her name being called by a perfect stranger, whose piercingly electric blue eyes sink deeply into her soul.
It can be felt...
first, at the touch of a hand, then at the warmth of a figure laying next to and wrapping itself around and into another.
It can be heard...
in joyous laughter and music on a long car ride and birds chirping outside your window to greet you good morning, creating a melody of their own.
It can be smelled...
in perfume and chlorine and sage and sweat.
It can be tasted...
when lips meet and tongues tie and perfectly fit together like pieces of a puzzle which was before thought to be unsolvable.
And I've come to another realization still ~ the fact that I can't say how I feel doesn't really matter. Words, as much as they mean and as beautiful as they can be, when it comes to feelings like those I have for you, are the most inconsequential thing in the world.
Words don't matter when it comes to this. But if I have to use them, I'll choose the three that have the most value in my heart at this moment...
I
and
Love
and
You
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 1:41 AM UTC
all the streets in girl things comely
arms a bit are haired in
(tan and tan)
the golden crush of whose mute fingers
make blithe the spring
and against
find the night homely
piercingly the mooon against
into slivers thousand make
their drooping slender of cotton haste
as cherry petals,
a branch from shake
in the wind to uncurlsome
neatly wan ankles
and fists o' skin girlsome
crease and crease alike(andunlike)
gossamer
faintly
of
pinkest aching to part
To enter loving
To exit heart
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 12:29 PM UTC
received instruction, piece.
what received instruction fails to teach us
is that it is possible to escape flesh
that if we leaned back,
back more, and gasp-second
as the chair falls off its last leg,
we will fall out of our bodies.
we will be boundless from ourselves,
free to dream-fall, though eyes 2-inch wide
we will re-enter earth under no false pretenses
hatched from wombs
of half a dozen nearly silent she-vessels
on their steady voyages to Middle.
dawn, sweet collection, dawn.
and lift hands to your cool, alabaster face.
the longest should be directed to 3/3.
you’ll scoff. i’ve seen it.
but trust your hands and it will be.
- from a place of yes.
at some point, you feel your body trying to escape your body,
as if moving upward, a skeleton lighter than the blood-air surrounding it.
it breaches,
separates from its flesh tomb
to be cold, naked, and piercingly stung
before our sun and our god.
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 11:46 PM UTC
Stupidly genius, moronic and shrewd people eat their fast food on fine China
Failing is vertical, errors are slander
Their gross insults impacting easy digestion
Hyperbole falsehood messiah
Piercingly silent and ardently soft people keep their opinions on fences
Insults are weaponry not to be yielded
Their platitudes cradling fragile personas
Perversely destructive defences
Classically learned and bookishly rich people carry their privilege with kindness
Science is built with colonial scaffolds
Their method constraining all true innovation
Parochial qualified blindness
Shockingly worthy and recklessly small people polish their boots with lead solder
Gravity holding them grounded and upright
Their bootlaces impacting aerodynamics
Inferior sturdy upholder
Gallantly serving and fearlessly trained people douse the political embers
Fire escape blocked with hobnails and lumber
Their pickaxes caught in the thick poison ivy
Nugatory self-rule defenders
The silent, the learned, the worthy, the trained people trade voyeurism for vision
Hologram values are no longer trump cards
Their gazes averted from hate-dripping sophists
Integrity first coalition
Aug 15, 2024
Aug 15, 2024 at 4:53 AM UTC
Behold, a crow caw tears cold air,
ripping breezes to shreds tattered,
will Time **** her black bones fair?
He tries, but Her cries mattered.
Matters to whom, one can ask.
The Lady by her dim window unclear,
Using a clammy night for mask,
the docile heart, her beating, biding fear.
Ebony wings turn quietly…
Upon an evening dreary and sad,
fairest, My Crow, shrieks piercingly
and the Lady’s ***** glad.
For crow’s wails lament morbidly-
Screaming to and with the far too lonely.
Apr 30, 2020
Apr 30, 2020 at 3:40 PM UTC
red taillights graze the asphalt,
shaving off whatever we thought
was now.
the violent bloom of neon sanguine
dissolves into the thick darkness,
the dense night sky that the moon slices through
straight onto you
(so piercingly it could spark a fire)
just as the silence envelopes me into
bitter and total solitude
I forget to let go, I forget to forget.
Time wraps itself around me and ribbons me with memories, maybe this is all you see when you look at me. Maybe you are waiting to unwrap me. Constellations uncoil and stars dance on the polished marble floor
freely.
effortlessly,
closer.
Closer now.
Just as reclusively as the moon, watching the stars occupy her room
as undefined as the horizon swallowing the foggy spheres of red light
and as nostalgically as the night
I wait for you.
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 6:44 PM UTC