"prattled" poems - Hello Poetry

"prattled" poems

I've named him Peter or Paul I can't pick Purposefully picking pigeon names is preposterous It's perfectly possible though He's my pal Peter or Paul We met at the Pantheon He prattled, pranced Up toward my position I wanted to pet my pigeon Peter or Paul Put him in my pristine apartment Perhaps Patrick?

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Jun 9, 2013

Jun 9, 2013 at 4:32 PM UTC

Pigeon Poem/Ode To A Pigeon

I've named him Peter or Paul I can't pick Purposefully picking pigeon names is preposterous It's perfectly possible though He's my pal Peter or Paul We met at the Pantheon He prattled, pranced Up toward my position I wanted to pet my pigeon Peter or Paul Put him in my pristine apartment Perhaps Patrick?

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The Serpent squeezes the mundane egg, for a moment in time, …to begin the ages, turn the wheel, and so begin the rhyme, The circus has commenced, a dancing, swirling motion, …a pit of ghastly horrors, seen as a vast deep ocean, …or celestial or cosmic, as some would have the notion. Some of them were large, although some were also small, …and grotesquely figured or disfigured, a scary monster’s ball, …and trudging, stampeding, stomping or slithering down the hall. There they danced, sang or prattled, where giants fought and where they battled, …thunder unto heroes rattled, with awful screams so frightening, and terrifying lightning! Scaly, hairy or feathered, wet and fiery or weathered, …conjoined, twisted or tethered, slithery writhing together, Kingu and his wife, some say it was t’was his mother, …his plan was war and strife, pitting brother against brother, A ******* existence and so morally depraved, …a state of sickly persistence, they found themselves enslaved. Then abounding voice of heaven, that divided night by day, …brought forth a princely king of Luke; the warrior Marduk. Fourteen engaged in combat, the one against thirteen, …and thus aligned with the ecliptic, at night they can be seen, Sloshing in the Apsu, beaten with the club, …slain and torn to pieces, cutting channels of their blood, A north wind sent them to their places, fixed on Tiamat’s wheel, …and the starry constellations, did Marduk bring to heel.

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Jun 14, 2016

Jun 14, 2016 at 5:47 PM UTC

david-john-mowers

The Serpent squeezes the mundane egg, for a moment in time, …to begin the ages, turn the wheel, and so begin the rhyme, The circus has commenced, a dancing, swirling motion, …a pit of ghastly horrors, seen as a vast deep ocean, …or celestial or cosmic, as some would have the notion. Some of them were large, although some were also small, …and grotesquely figured or disfigured, a scary monster’s ball, …and trudging, stampeding, stomping or slithering down the hall. There they danced, sang or prattled, where giants fought and where they battled, …thunder unto heroes rattled, with awful screams so frightening, and terrifying lightning! Scaly, hairy or feathered, wet and fiery or weathered, …conjoined, twisted or tethered, slithery writhing together, Kingu and his wife, some say it was t’was his mother, …his plan was war and strife, pitting brother against brother, A ******* existence and so morally depraved, …a state of sickly persistence, they found themselves enslaved. Then abounding voice of heaven, that divided night by day, …brought forth a princely king of Luke; the warrior Marduk. Fourteen engaged in combat, the one against thirteen, …and thus aligned with the ecliptic, at night they can be seen, Sloshing in the Apsu, beaten with the club, …slain and torn to pieces, cutting channels of their blood, A north wind sent them to their places, fixed on Tiamat’s wheel, …and the starry constellations, did Marduk bring to heel.

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I had a dream--a strange, wild dream-- Said a dear voice at early light; And even yet its shadows seem To linger in my waking sight. Earth, green with spring, and fresh with dew, And bright with morn, before me stood; And airs just wakened softly blew On the young blossoms of the wood. Birds sang within the sprouting shade, Bees hummed amid the whispering grass, And children prattled as they played Beside the rivulet's dimpling glass Fast climbed the sun: the flowers were flown, There played no children in the glen; For some were gone, and some were grown To blooming dames and bearded men. 'Twas noon, 'twas summer: I beheld Woods darkening in the flush of day, And that bright rivulet spread and swelled, A mighty stream, with creek and bay. And here was love, and there was strife, And mirthful shouts, and wrathful cries, And strong men, struggling as for life, With knotted limbs and angry eyes. Now stooped the sun--the shades grew thin; The rustling paths were piled with leaves; And sunburnt groups were gathering in, From the shorn field, its fruits and sheaves. The river heaved with sullen sounds; The chilly wind was sad with moans; Black hearses passed, and burial-grounds Grew thick with monumental stones. Still waned the day; the wind that chased The jagged clouds blew chillier yet; The woods were stripped, the fields were waste, The wintry sun was near its set. And of the young, and strong, and fair, A lonely remnant, gray and weak, Lingered, and shivered to the air Of that bleak shore and water bleak. Ah! age is drear, and death is cold! I turned to thee, for thou wert near, And saw thee withered, bowed, and old, And woke all faint with sudden fear. 'Twas thus I heard the dreamer say, And bade her clear her clouded brow; "For thou and I, since childhood's day, Have walked in such a dream till now. "Watch we in calmness, as they rise, The changes of that rapid dream, And note its lessons, till our eyes Shall open in the morning beam."

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1.6k

William Cullen Bryant

I had a dream--a strange, wild dream-- Said a dear voice at early light; And even yet its shadows seem To linger in my waking sight. Earth, green with spring, and fresh with dew, And bright with morn, before me stood; And airs just wakened softly blew On the young blossoms of the wood. Birds sang within the sprouting shade, Bees hummed amid the whispering grass, And children prattled as they played Beside the rivulet's dimpling glass Fast climbed the sun: the flowers were flown, There played no children in the glen; For some were gone, and some were grown To blooming dames and bearded men. 'Twas noon, 'twas summer: I beheld Woods darkening in the flush of day, And that bright rivulet spread and swelled, A mighty stream, with creek and bay. And here was love, and there was strife, And mirthful shouts, and wrathful cries, And strong men, struggling as for life, With knotted limbs and angry eyes. Now stooped the sun--the shades grew thin; The rustling paths were piled with leaves; And sunburnt groups were gathering in, From the shorn field, its fruits and sheaves. The river heaved with sullen sounds; The chilly wind was sad with moans; Black hearses passed, and burial-grounds Grew thick with monumental stones. Still waned the day; the wind that chased The jagged clouds blew chillier yet; The woods were stripped, the fields were waste, The wintry sun was near its set. And of the young, and strong, and fair, A lonely remnant, gray and weak, Lingered, and shivered to the air Of that bleak shore and water bleak. Ah! age is drear, and death is cold! I turned to thee, for thou wert near, And saw thee withered, bowed, and old, And woke all faint with sudden fear. 'Twas thus I heard the dreamer say, And bade her clear her clouded brow; "For thou and I, since childhood's day, Have walked in such a dream till now. "Watch we in calmness, as they rise, The changes of that rapid dream, And note its lessons, till our eyes Shall open in the morning beam."

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Jailed with all the other squawking birds confined, it never flew and barely grew & never knew the mimicry of words sanguine, foul molting cockatoo in the corner lowered, bloodied, the lowliest in a pecking order his owner's a loner, a collector of tinged newsprint entombed in brick & mortar - nomad minus footprint and his birds, perched across wooden dowels proceeded to empty their millet'd bowels onto sheets of unfinished poetry correctivewhiteoutmisery so, he, being miserly, wouldn't shell out the reader's fee to the greedy posthumous publishing company, yet another relic in a mortuary of literacy he was just another faceless, bearded bard and with the old coffee grounds he would discard piling mounds of compost, broken bound his compositions decomposing in the attic warbling hiss, winding tape spool. ghosts searching for signals amongst the static he awaited revision of his works ill, amidst the scattered ruins red ink, gold leaf & carets^ he, impetuous, slumped further into his doldrums though, all public grievances were withdrawn crass, he prattled on to his dolorous birds still oblivious to his defunct words He lied dormant, comatose in the 3rd degree infirmary there was once a pretty lass who could exhume the pristine glass contents of his tinsel'd tomb His malady, he once named Gamine lived in a stretched-white canvas room she eyed his burnt pile of vile-dirge verse as mayflys & junebugs, & smoggy dirigibles fluttered gently out of her empty purse she grew on him like a cancer for she was God's embellishment pallid and perfect, and he cursed her love as it ebbed and flowed her aureole glowed, safely stowed in an airship's overhead compartment she was flying home for there was no other answer

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Jul 13, 2015

Jul 13, 2015 at 12:01 AM UTC

sealed with a cloacal kiss

Jailed with all the other squawking birds confined, it never flew and barely grew & never knew the mimicry of words sanguine, foul molting cockatoo in the corner lowered, bloodied, the lowliest in a pecking order his owner's a loner, a collector of tinged newsprint entombed in brick & mortar - nomad minus footprint and his birds, perched across wooden dowels proceeded to empty their millet'd bowels onto sheets of unfinished poetry correctivewhiteoutmisery so, he, being miserly, wouldn't shell out the reader's fee to the greedy posthumous publishing company, yet another relic in a mortuary of literacy he was just another faceless, bearded bard and with the old coffee grounds he would discard piling mounds of compost, broken bound his compositions decomposing in the attic warbling hiss, winding tape spool. ghosts searching for signals amongst the static he awaited revision of his works ill, amidst the scattered ruins red ink, gold leaf & carets^ he, impetuous, slumped further into his doldrums though, all public grievances were withdrawn crass, he prattled on to his dolorous birds still oblivious to his defunct words He lied dormant, comatose in the 3rd degree infirmary there was once a pretty lass who could exhume the pristine glass contents of his tinsel'd tomb His malady, he once named Gamine lived in a stretched-white canvas room she eyed his burnt pile of vile-dirge verse as mayflys & junebugs, & smoggy dirigibles fluttered gently out of her empty purse she grew on him like a cancer for she was God's embellishment pallid and perfect, and he cursed her love as it ebbed and flowed her aureole glowed, safely stowed in an airship's overhead compartment she was flying home for there was no other answer

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when it becomes more about how ****** up can we get how far away from sober can we fall or rise when the see saw always has the neighborhood fat kid sitting at the other end then it might be time to evaluate your life but, then again, there's still a half case of PBR in the fridge and marijuana's hiding behind every single corner exciting until it gets too boring then you can always search for that gateway they prattled on about so much in health class walking down a straight edge only leaves you with ****** feet and you need those suckers for running, right?

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Nov 6, 2013

Nov 6, 2013 at 3:34 PM UTC

Sobriety is one step away from responsibility

when it becomes more about how ****** up can we get how far away from sober can we fall or rise when the see saw always has the neighborhood fat kid sitting at the other end then it might be time to evaluate your life but, then again, there's still a half case of PBR in the fridge and marijuana's hiding behind every single corner exciting until it gets too boring then you can always search for that gateway they prattled on about so much in health class walking down a straight edge only leaves you with ****** feet and you need those suckers for running, right?

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I Trust these words will present themselves Nervous though I may be So many Political, Religious, Societal, Problems. Let Me Talk. It will be eye opening. Presented in a new way. Because what is prattled on about pretty useless in the grand scheme of things. My words will present a Reality. If only you would listen. My soul is unique, cherish-able. I will help you become what is necessary For You. Whether I know it or not. That is my soul. Because the little things are what people care about Even if they don't consciously notice. They smile. Soul at ease. I am a True Treasure that could do more than already managed. Maybe I'm being conceded, Maybe I think more people should keep me around. I want to make a change More direct than others. So be somewhere with influence But start with the masses Change comes from people From those being effected. We outnumber our suppressors If only we could rally up. If all goes well, become the force that binds together unnoticed, yet Noticed. May 28, 2013

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May 29, 2013

May 29, 2013 at 6:51 PM UTC

I Trust these words will present themselves Nervous though I may be So many Political, Religious, Societal, Problems. Let Me Talk. It will be eye opening. Presented in a new way. Because what is prattled on about pretty useless in the grand scheme of things. My words will present a Reality. If only you would listen. My soul is unique, cherish-able. I will help you become what is necessary For You. Whether I know it or not. That is my soul. Because the little things are what people care about Even if they don't consciously notice. They smile. Soul at ease. I am a True Treasure that could do more than already managed. Maybe I'm being conceded, Maybe I think more people should keep me around. I want to make a change More direct than others. So be somewhere with influence But start with the masses Change comes from people From those being effected. We outnumber our suppressors If only we could rally up. If all goes well, become the force that binds together unnoticed, yet Noticed. May 28, 2013

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*In the deepest part of the sea, The sky brings away the glee. You are the cry that I be, And the hope that has flee. As wine I have treasured, Fragile glasses against pressure, You are the time I never measured, And the pain of simple gesture. Of tongue that has tangled, I feel as if, strangled. The fire always rattled, And yet you haven't prattled. At the brim of the ocean depths, The stars cry for the sky, of its death. Swaying above the panting waves, You grab on me as I sink below.*

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Aug 22, 2016

Aug 22, 2016 at 6:12 AM UTC

The sea and the sky

*In the deepest part of the sea, The sky brings away the glee. You are the cry that I be, And the hope that has flee. As wine I have treasured, Fragile glasses against pressure, You are the time I never measured, And the pain of simple gesture. Of tongue that has tangled, I feel as if, strangled. The fire always rattled, And yet you haven't prattled. At the brim of the ocean depths, The stars cry for the sky, of its death. Swaying above the panting waves, You grab on me as I sink below.*

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women swilling white white in glasses; remember when you took me out to dinner with your parents? your father peppered the salmon to excess and the sommelier to exhaustion: what year? where were the grapes grown? what would you pair with this? what about with that? your mother gave me a knowing glance as he prattled on, and you shook your head in bemusement. I wonder what looks she gave you while I was distracted.

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Jun 6, 2014

Jun 6, 2014 at 6:04 PM UTC

women swilling white white in glasses; remember when you took me out to dinner with your parents? your father peppered the salmon to excess and the sommelier to exhaustion: what year? where were the grapes grown? what would you pair with this? what about with that? your mother gave me a knowing glance as he prattled on, and you shook your head in bemusement. I wonder what looks she gave you while I was distracted.

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Stars are bowing to the moon, It's crazy, yes, I know. The world is on it's side, tonight Basking in the lunacy, oh no! I'm swept away In the Milky Way, Caught up in the thought of loving you Even more Than I did just yesterday. Any Bob or Bill Would watch water flow up hill. Any stony heart would sing. Every Dapper Dan Would have you in his plan, Suspension of the natural laws, You bring. Sometimes I'd sit alone And sing songs of where's the girl for me. Sometimes I prattled on endlessly To friends about how I was so lonely. You know, sometimes, I'd even cry. Every Jack without a Jill Knows the emptiness I'd feel. Even Adam, without Eve, Would have shared his tears with Steve. Then you came along And forever changed the songs. You filled the hollow space inside. Since you came I haven't cried. Stars are bowing to the moon. Crazy, yes I know. My heart would bow Beneath the weight of loneliness, If you didn't love me so. There has been no time for tears, No room for sorrow like before. I will never make you cry. No other love will love you more than I .

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Mar 31, 2015

Mar 31, 2015 at 1:13 PM UTC

Forever Changed the Songs

Stars are bowing to the moon, It's crazy, yes, I know. The world is on it's side, tonight Basking in the lunacy, oh no! I'm swept away In the Milky Way, Caught up in the thought of loving you Even more Than I did just yesterday. Any Bob or Bill Would watch water flow up hill. Any stony heart would sing. Every Dapper Dan Would have you in his plan, Suspension of the natural laws, You bring. Sometimes I'd sit alone And sing songs of where's the girl for me. Sometimes I prattled on endlessly To friends about how I was so lonely. You know, sometimes, I'd even cry. Every Jack without a Jill Knows the emptiness I'd feel. Even Adam, without Eve, Would have shared his tears with Steve. Then you came along And forever changed the songs. You filled the hollow space inside. Since you came I haven't cried. Stars are bowing to the moon. Crazy, yes I know. My heart would bow Beneath the weight of loneliness, If you didn't love me so. There has been no time for tears, No room for sorrow like before. I will never make you cry. No other love will love you more than I .

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Not to greet the dawn of the day At care free weekends Leisure infused lethargy For him it was up 7 at 10 AM He was at sixes n’ sevens Quipped from cuddle of bed At the warning warrant Of piled up weekend errands He sipped tea n’ clicked on screen To play music of unseen scene As he surveyed household To bring home into his fold Cutlery rattled prattled Vessels cranked in sink Threatening to stink If not surfed to shine Used clothes hanging banging Summoned washing wearing Carpet in sequence flared up To mop it up long along Bathing tub demanded its bath Well before he had his bath As he peeped out a while For refreshing breeze Waving blades of grass Accosted to trim their size Sinking hope of a post lunch nap Grouse of grocery then unveiled And kid’s unrest for the day-out outwit Took a long drive for the joy ride Week end outing weakened though Alas! Weary weekend seemed longer than week

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Feb 12, 2015

Feb 12, 2015 at 8:02 AM UTC

Weekend Errands

Not to greet the dawn of the day At care free weekends Leisure infused lethargy For him it was up 7 at 10 AM He was at sixes n’ sevens Quipped from cuddle of bed At the warning warrant Of piled up weekend errands He sipped tea n’ clicked on screen To play music of unseen scene As he surveyed household To bring home into his fold Cutlery rattled prattled Vessels cranked in sink Threatening to stink If not surfed to shine Used clothes hanging banging Summoned washing wearing Carpet in sequence flared up To mop it up long along Bathing tub demanded its bath Well before he had his bath As he peeped out a while For refreshing breeze Waving blades of grass Accosted to trim their size Sinking hope of a post lunch nap Grouse of grocery then unveiled And kid’s unrest for the day-out outwit Took a long drive for the joy ride Week end outing weakened though Alas! Weary weekend seemed longer than week

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Not to greet the dawn of the day At care free weekends Leisure infused lethargy For him it was up 7 at 10 AM He was at sixes n’ sevens Quipped from cuddle of bed At the warning warrant Of piled up weekend errands He sipped tea n’ clicked on screen To play music of unseen scene As he surveyed household To bring home into his fold Cutlery rattled prattled Vessels cranked in sink Threatening to stink If not surfed to shine Used clothes hanging banging Summoned washing wearing Carpet in sequence flared up To mop it up long along Bathing tub demanded its bath Well before he had his bath As he peeped out a while For refreshing breeze Waving blades of grass Accosted to trim their size Sinking hope of a post lunch nap Grouse of grocery then unveiled And kid’s unrest for the day-out outwit Took a long drive for the joy ride Week end outing for joy weakened though Alas! Weary weekend seemed longer than week

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Oct 21, 2014

Oct 21, 2014 at 11:42 AM UTC

Weekend Errands

Not to greet the dawn of the day At care free weekends Leisure infused lethargy For him it was up 7 at 10 AM He was at sixes n’ sevens Quipped from cuddle of bed At the warning warrant Of piled up weekend errands He sipped tea n’ clicked on screen To play music of unseen scene As he surveyed household To bring home into his fold Cutlery rattled prattled Vessels cranked in sink Threatening to stink If not surfed to shine Used clothes hanging banging Summoned washing wearing Carpet in sequence flared up To mop it up long along Bathing tub demanded its bath Well before he had his bath As he peeped out a while For refreshing breeze Waving blades of grass Accosted to trim their size Sinking hope of a post lunch nap Grouse of grocery then unveiled And kid’s unrest for the day-out outwit Took a long drive for the joy ride Week end outing for joy weakened though Alas! Weary weekend seemed longer than week

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Jailed with all the other squawking birds confined, it never flew and barely grew & never knew the mimicry of words sanguine, foul molting cockatoo in the corner lowered, bloodied, the lowliest in a pecking order his owner's a loner, a collector of tinged newsprint entombed in brick & mortar - nomad minus footprint and his birds, perched across wooden dowels proceeded to empty their millet'd bowels onto sheets of unfinished poetry correctivewhiteoutmisery so, he, being miserly, wouldn't shell out the reader's fee to the greedy posthumous publishing company, yet another relic in a mortuary of literacy he was just another faceless, bearded bard and with the old coffee grounds he would discard piling mounds of compost, broken bound his compositions decomposing in the attic warbling hiss, winding tape spool. ghosts searching for signals amongst the static he awaited revision of his works ill, amidst the scattered ruins red ink, gold leaf & carets^ he, impetuous, slumped further into his doldrums though, all public grievances were withdrawn crass, he prattled on to his dolorous birds still oblivious to his defunct words He lied dormant, comatose in the 3rd degree infirmary there was once a pretty lass who could exhume the pristine glass contents of his tinsel'd tomb His malady, he once named Gamine lived in a stretched-white canvas room she eyed his burnt pile of vile-dirge verse as mayflys & junebugs, & smoggy dirigibles fluttered gently out of her empty purse she grew on him like a cancer for she was God's embellishment pallid and perfect, and he cursed her love as it ebbed and flowed her aureole glowed, safely stowed in an airship's overhead compartment she was flying home for there was no other answer

0

Mar 19, 2016

Mar 19, 2016 at 4:18 PM UTC

sealed with a cloacal kiss

Jailed with all the other squawking birds confined, it never flew and barely grew & never knew the mimicry of words sanguine, foul molting cockatoo in the corner lowered, bloodied, the lowliest in a pecking order his owner's a loner, a collector of tinged newsprint entombed in brick & mortar - nomad minus footprint and his birds, perched across wooden dowels proceeded to empty their millet'd bowels onto sheets of unfinished poetry correctivewhiteoutmisery so, he, being miserly, wouldn't shell out the reader's fee to the greedy posthumous publishing company, yet another relic in a mortuary of literacy he was just another faceless, bearded bard and with the old coffee grounds he would discard piling mounds of compost, broken bound his compositions decomposing in the attic warbling hiss, winding tape spool. ghosts searching for signals amongst the static he awaited revision of his works ill, amidst the scattered ruins red ink, gold leaf & carets^ he, impetuous, slumped further into his doldrums though, all public grievances were withdrawn crass, he prattled on to his dolorous birds still oblivious to his defunct words He lied dormant, comatose in the 3rd degree infirmary there was once a pretty lass who could exhume the pristine glass contents of his tinsel'd tomb His malady, he once named Gamine lived in a stretched-white canvas room she eyed his burnt pile of vile-dirge verse as mayflys & junebugs, & smoggy dirigibles fluttered gently out of her empty purse she grew on him like a cancer for she was God's embellishment pallid and perfect, and he cursed her love as it ebbed and flowed her aureole glowed, safely stowed in an airship's overhead compartment she was flying home for there was no other answer

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Staggering through streets lined by maples Filled hours prior with revelers Now mostly barren, save for one man A sidewalk, and me Weathered and wearing his shelter Shoes unmistakably fastened and striding As his meek voice timidly prattled I slurred "what the hell are you doing?" Patting him down before he got in my car We drove to his church's mission 50 years old He's from St. Louie, saw his sister a ways back Dead mother, spectrous father Six foot 140 Likes it here

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Mar 28, 2010

Mar 28, 2010 at 7:19 PM UTC

sansara-justinovich

Staggering through streets lined by maples Filled hours prior with revelers Now mostly barren, save for one man A sidewalk, and me Weathered and wearing his shelter Shoes unmistakably fastened and striding As his meek voice timidly prattled I slurred "what the hell are you doing?" Patting him down before he got in my car We drove to his church's mission 50 years old He's from St. Louie, saw his sister a ways back Dead mother, spectrous father Six foot 140 Likes it here

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Amidst anticipation and preparation I could hardly hum along Years since I hear as the last few months of high school Moss-strewn desert Floral, perfume-clouded memories Drip on Down the walls, damp musty and alone That chorus, repeat others In our hollow cave reflections, Holds no melody More sufficient Shattered, prattled teeth Vibrate within

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Jan 21, 2011

Jan 21, 2011 at 7:35 AM UTC

sansara-justinovich

Lights on the Path

Amidst anticipation and preparation I could hardly hum along Years since I hear as the last few months of high school Moss-strewn desert Floral, perfume-clouded memories Drip on Down the walls, damp musty and alone That chorus, repeat others In our hollow cave reflections, Holds no melody More sufficient Shattered, prattled teeth Vibrate within

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I and you, two for nothing Compared against thunder and rain The noise and the touch Relentlessly and effortlessly Conflicting, yet expected as such one seems You and her, two for talking Echoing the walls of prattled swine The mud slings and the stench Putridly and gagging’ly Gossiping, yet lacking class in appearance Her and I, two unknowns Ever silent in past troubles The scars and the memories Bloodying and painfully Dominating, yet drown-able in withdrawal You and I, mismatched Ever missing life's responsibilities Reckless and disciplined Village-raised and conserved Fleeting, a pair that exists for nothing © 2014

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Feb 3, 2015

Feb 3, 2015 at 6:27 PM UTC

neal-emanuelson

Perspective-ly Said, I Don't Care

I and you, two for nothing Compared against thunder and rain The noise and the touch Relentlessly and effortlessly Conflicting, yet expected as such one seems You and her, two for talking Echoing the walls of prattled swine The mud slings and the stench Putridly and gagging’ly Gossiping, yet lacking class in appearance Her and I, two unknowns Ever silent in past troubles The scars and the memories Bloodying and painfully Dominating, yet drown-able in withdrawal You and I, mismatched Ever missing life's responsibilities Reckless and disciplined Village-raised and conserved Fleeting, a pair that exists for nothing © 2014

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Despite living... Billions of years... She was still... A beautiful girl. She was living... The intergalactic... Dream... Our sentinel... Of the night. Until the day... The men of Earth... Arrived... She never knew... The meaning... Of pain before... Until... The big machines... Began to scrape... The bounty of... Her green cheese... Skin. "Let the mining begin!" Soon the Sea... The Sea of Tranquility.. Was filled... With her very own blood... After only years a few.. Her luminous skin... Began to turn red... She pained... Deep inside... She was wretched... With fever... Her request for... Irrigation denied... Each night... Weak and weary... She closed her eyes... And cried... She was beyond replenish... In just 20 years... Only 100,000 away... From her... 2 Billionth Birthday. By now... Her skin prattled... In blood and scars... Incisions... And mines... She was no longer green and bright... But glazed... In a reddish hue. Death would... Soon surmise... Menstrual moonshine.. Lunar rise... Our once... Blue-blood moon... Now... Floats mired in... Disguise. Her surfacescape... Bleeds... She is... A Bloody-Mary eye. Our bloodshot moon... Dying for all to see... In the myopic sky. Her pleas... And cries... Denied... No tourniquet applied... 25 years after... The men... From Earth arrived... Just before her... Two billionth birthday... Our glorious... Moon has died.

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Jan 5, 2018

Jan 5, 2018 at 5:28 AM UTC

Living the Dream

Despite living... Billions of years... She was still... A beautiful girl. She was living... The intergalactic... Dream... Our sentinel... Of the night. Until the day... The men of Earth... Arrived... She never knew... The meaning... Of pain before... Until... The big machines... Began to scrape... The bounty of... Her green cheese... Skin. "Let the mining begin!" Soon the Sea... The Sea of Tranquility.. Was filled... With her very own blood... After only years a few.. Her luminous skin... Began to turn red... She pained... Deep inside... She was wretched... With fever... Her request for... Irrigation denied... Each night... Weak and weary... She closed her eyes... And cried... She was beyond replenish... In just 20 years... Only 100,000 away... From her... 2 Billionth Birthday. By now... Her skin prattled... In blood and scars... Incisions... And mines... She was no longer green and bright... But glazed... In a reddish hue. Death would... Soon surmise... Menstrual moonshine.. Lunar rise... Our once... Blue-blood moon... Now... Floats mired in... Disguise. Her surfacescape... Bleeds... She is... A Bloody-Mary eye. Our bloodshot moon... Dying for all to see... In the myopic sky. Her pleas... And cries... Denied... No tourniquet applied... 25 years after... The men... From Earth arrived... Just before her... Two billionth birthday... Our glorious... Moon has died.

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In the awkward air adjacent to the quivering sterility lay the corpse of our Summer... twitch whizzing about the underworld and all the glories afforded the stupid and profane. In the marshlands, where we grew our few dark orchards and prattled on about the ' state of Things ' but without the Capital ' T '. how we wrangled Hope into a jar of honeyed feathers and broke bread, over north winds.... cackling our sorrows like a hot mess over stoic boulders and quaint sunsets. and said yes.

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Nov 25, 2017

Nov 25, 2017 at 11:36 PM UTC

third-eye-candy

over stoic boulders and quaint sunsets

In the awkward air adjacent to the quivering sterility lay the corpse of our Summer... twitch whizzing about the underworld and all the glories afforded the stupid and profane. In the marshlands, where we grew our few dark orchards and prattled on about the ' state of Things ' but without the Capital ' T '. how we wrangled Hope into a jar of honeyed feathers and broke bread, over north winds.... cackling our sorrows like a hot mess over stoic boulders and quaint sunsets. and said yes.

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