"primes" poems - Hello Poetry

"primes" poems

. 1 In the corner stands My blue guitar, Mirrors my grimace. 2 I have played you So like dream was the dear song Where you playing me? 3 Your body makes mine Shudder as I imagine A woman in my arms. 4 At the top of your body Are keys unwound at the ready, Silver spirals of tunings. 5 My soul is near hollow But the blue guitar Is filling in the foundations. 6 What makes the blue guitar So shining in the mundane, All the world is makeshift. 7 My fingers wet with you, What water sounds like, As it kisses the earth. 8 Deep in the strings I summon my being, Always blue as sheer sky. 9 Blue guitar, silent, singing, My fingers ***** your neck, Never do you scream. 10 Once I heard music, The sweetest tabulations Of sorrows in rosewood. 11 My fingers ache on steel, These are your moved guts, Strings that I borrow. 12 At an open window, All the day obtuse, I hear birds in your vibrations, Untouched air of blue guitar. 13 I do not know anything, Music is lathed on an open fret, The heart is beating to a note of bliss, Hole set in the body braced by wood, Time cuts as it is sectioned, a staff fires, All the chords are listed in primes, Is the ear a window or is the eye, Blind in the choral songs we make, All things are ephemeral, wonderings, Variations we work as structure fades, As the blue guitar is touched, turning light.

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Sep 27, 2015

Sep 27, 2015 at 9:37 PM UTC

Thirteen Thoughts on the Blue Guitar

. 1 In the corner stands My blue guitar, Mirrors my grimace. 2 I have played you So like dream was the dear song Where you playing me? 3 Your body makes mine Shudder as I imagine A woman in my arms. 4 At the top of your body Are keys unwound at the ready, Silver spirals of tunings. 5 My soul is near hollow But the blue guitar Is filling in the foundations. 6 What makes the blue guitar So shining in the mundane, All the world is makeshift. 7 My fingers wet with you, What water sounds like, As it kisses the earth. 8 Deep in the strings I summon my being, Always blue as sheer sky. 9 Blue guitar, silent, singing, My fingers ***** your neck, Never do you scream. 10 Once I heard music, The sweetest tabulations Of sorrows in rosewood. 11 My fingers ache on steel, These are your moved guts, Strings that I borrow. 12 At an open window, All the day obtuse, I hear birds in your vibrations, Untouched air of blue guitar. 13 I do not know anything, Music is lathed on an open fret, The heart is beating to a note of bliss, Hole set in the body braced by wood, Time cuts as it is sectioned, a staff fires, All the chords are listed in primes, Is the ear a window or is the eye, Blind in the choral songs we make, All things are ephemeral, wonderings, Variations we work as structure fades, As the blue guitar is touched, turning light.

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. 1 In the corner stands My blue guitar, Mirrors my grimace. 2 I have played you So like dream was the dear song Where you playing me? 3 Your body makes mine Shudder as I imagine A woman in my arms. 4 At the top of your body Are keys unwound at the ready, Silver spirals of tunings. 5 My soul is near hollow But the blue guitar Is filling in the foundations. 6 What makes the blue guitar So shining in the mundane, All the world is makeshift. 7 My fingers wet with you, What water sounds like, As it kisses the earth. 8 Deep in the strings I summon my being, Always blue as sheer sky. 9 Blue guitar, silent, singing, My fingers ***** your neck, Never do you scream. 10 Once I heard music, The sweetest tabulations Of sorrows in rosewood. 11 My fingers ache on steel, These are your moved guts, Strings that I borrow. 12 At an open window, All the day obtuse, I hear birds in your vibrations, Untouched air of blue guitar. 13 I do not know anything, Music is lathed on an open fret, The heart is beating to a note of bliss, Hole set in the body braced by wood, Time cuts as it is sectioned, a staff fires, All the chords are listed in primes, Is the ear a window or is the eye, Blind in the choral songs we make, All things are ephemeral, wonderings, Variations we work as structure fades, As the blue guitar is touched, turning light.

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May 5, 2015

May 5, 2015 at 5:23 PM UTC

Thirteen Thoughts on the Blue Guitar

. 1 In the corner stands My blue guitar, Mirrors my grimace. 2 I have played you So like dream was the dear song Where you playing me? 3 Your body makes mine Shudder as I imagine A woman in my arms. 4 At the top of your body Are keys unwound at the ready, Silver spirals of tunings. 5 My soul is near hollow But the blue guitar Is filling in the foundations. 6 What makes the blue guitar So shining in the mundane, All the world is makeshift. 7 My fingers wet with you, What water sounds like, As it kisses the earth. 8 Deep in the strings I summon my being, Always blue as sheer sky. 9 Blue guitar, silent, singing, My fingers ***** your neck, Never do you scream. 10 Once I heard music, The sweetest tabulations Of sorrows in rosewood. 11 My fingers ache on steel, These are your moved guts, Strings that I borrow. 12 At an open window, All the day obtuse, I hear birds in your vibrations, Untouched air of blue guitar. 13 I do not know anything, Music is lathed on an open fret, The heart is beating to a note of bliss, Hole set in the body braced by wood, Time cuts as it is sectioned, a staff fires, All the chords are listed in primes, Is the ear a window or is the eye, Blind in the choral songs we make, All things are ephemeral, wonderings, Variations we work as structure fades, As the blue guitar is touched, turning light.

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There's the mosh...sordid details that thing... creeping of sort...retelling...to stay in focus. A silent film whose black borders encapsulate a slab of skyward white. Visages...opening...opened...to interpretation. "The apparition of these faces in a crowd; Petals on a wet, black bough."....ashen... daguerreotype of a Zen Garden. All of nature's pretties cast in an occult brew... stirred, and stirring...composite sketches posted and burned upon lampposts. At large...ritualistic making-of-face...illusion trafficking the ever present primes of lives... "the center of which is everywhere, the circumference nowhere."...attestation o' mugs. Visages...plucked from a year of our lord, to be...rendezous of all light's putting to... years thereof. Alien unto thyself...oogly boogly, yet mirror-imaging... behold/beheld/beholden. By sleight of Hand...visages, who'd otherwise be as soon pruned and leathery, inanimate under the sun.

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Oct 14, 2013

Oct 14, 2013 at 11:19 PM UTC

Visages, Movements

There's the mosh...sordid details that thing... creeping of sort...retelling...to stay in focus. A silent film whose black borders encapsulate a slab of skyward white. Visages...opening...opened...to interpretation. "The apparition of these faces in a crowd; Petals on a wet, black bough."....ashen... daguerreotype of a Zen Garden. All of nature's pretties cast in an occult brew... stirred, and stirring...composite sketches posted and burned upon lampposts. At large...ritualistic making-of-face...illusion trafficking the ever present primes of lives... "the center of which is everywhere, the circumference nowhere."...attestation o' mugs. Visages...plucked from a year of our lord, to be...rendezous of all light's putting to... years thereof. Alien unto thyself...oogly boogly, yet mirror-imaging... behold/beheld/beholden. By sleight of Hand...visages, who'd otherwise be as soon pruned and leathery, inanimate under the sun.

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The calm wind, strokes the **** The world drives, the primes and hives, of mad and trance. The numb toes, mounted moles. The world drives, the time and halves, of mad and trance. The chaos one, does not know. The world drives, the wars and tyranny, of mad and trance. The feel of alive, a touch of humanity. The world drives, justice of the immortals, of mad and trance. Peasants and pennies, the drop of dime. The world drives, waters and commotions, of mad and trance. The fire in the alleyway, burns the broomstick. The world drives, the dead and sad witches, of mad and trance. The bohemian ode, nympomanics and satyriasis, The world drives, the desires and passions, of mad and trance. The sainted troops, stalks, mocks, traps. The world drives, the obedience of lies, in the mad and trance.

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Jul 30, 2016

Jul 30, 2016 at 12:37 PM UTC

The World Drives (Mad and Trance)

The calm wind, strokes the **** The world drives, the primes and hives, of mad and trance. The numb toes, mounted moles. The world drives, the time and halves, of mad and trance. The chaos one, does not know. The world drives, the wars and tyranny, of mad and trance. The feel of alive, a touch of humanity. The world drives, justice of the immortals, of mad and trance. Peasants and pennies, the drop of dime. The world drives, waters and commotions, of mad and trance. The fire in the alleyway, burns the broomstick. The world drives, the dead and sad witches, of mad and trance. The bohemian ode, nympomanics and satyriasis, The world drives, the desires and passions, of mad and trance. The sainted troops, stalks, mocks, traps. The world drives, the obedience of lies, in the mad and trance.

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. 1 In the corner stands My blue guitar, Mirrors my grimace. 2 I have played you So like dream was the dear song Where you playing me? 3 Your body makes mine Shudder as I imagine A woman in my arms. 4 At the top of your body Are keys unwound at the ready, Silver spirals of tunings. 5 My soul is near hollow But the blue guitar Is filling in the foundations. 6 What makes the blue guitar So shining in the mundane, All the world is makeshift. 7 My fingers wet with you, What water sounds like, As it kisses the earth. 8 Deep in the strings I summon my being, Always blue as sheer sky. 9 Blue guitar, silent, singing, My fingers ***** your neck, Never do you scream. 10 Once I heard music, The sweetest tabulations Of sorrows in rosewood. 11 My fingers ache on steel, These are your moved guts, Strings that I borrow. 12 At an open window, All the day obtuse, I hear birds in your vibrations, Untouched air of blue guitar. 13 I do not know anything, Music is lathed on an open fret, The heart is beating to a note of bliss, Hole set in the body braced by wood, Time cuts as it is sectioned, a staff fires, All the chords are listed in primes, Is the ear a window or is the eye, Blind in the choral songs we make, All things are ephemeral, wonderings, Variations we work as structure fades, As the blue guitar is touched, turning light.

0

Feb 8, 2016

Feb 8, 2016 at 11:22 AM UTC

Thirteen Thoughts on the Blue Guitar

. 1 In the corner stands My blue guitar, Mirrors my grimace. 2 I have played you So like dream was the dear song Where you playing me? 3 Your body makes mine Shudder as I imagine A woman in my arms. 4 At the top of your body Are keys unwound at the ready, Silver spirals of tunings. 5 My soul is near hollow But the blue guitar Is filling in the foundations. 6 What makes the blue guitar So shining in the mundane, All the world is makeshift. 7 My fingers wet with you, What water sounds like, As it kisses the earth. 8 Deep in the strings I summon my being, Always blue as sheer sky. 9 Blue guitar, silent, singing, My fingers ***** your neck, Never do you scream. 10 Once I heard music, The sweetest tabulations Of sorrows in rosewood. 11 My fingers ache on steel, These are your moved guts, Strings that I borrow. 12 At an open window, All the day obtuse, I hear birds in your vibrations, Untouched air of blue guitar. 13 I do not know anything, Music is lathed on an open fret, The heart is beating to a note of bliss, Hole set in the body braced by wood, Time cuts as it is sectioned, a staff fires, All the chords are listed in primes, Is the ear a window or is the eye, Blind in the choral songs we make, All things are ephemeral, wonderings, Variations we work as structure fades, As the blue guitar is touched, turning light.

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sometimes mistakes are forever and regret is the undercoat that primes your life perhaps foolishly it might seem calmer (karma) on the surface to forget the original dream than to colour it over with shades of new intention when all you want to do is bleed the red out of your eyes until the copper rusts your face and runs finally clear; a dried salty ash, the only pock-marked stain on your ****** canvas the minimalist collector your highest bidder

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Jul 15, 2015

Jul 15, 2015 at 6:07 AM UTC

sometimes mistakes are forever and regret is the undercoat that primes your life perhaps foolishly it might seem calmer (karma) on the surface to forget the original dream than to colour it over with shades of new intention when all you want to do is bleed the red out of your eyes until the copper rusts your face and runs finally clear; a dried salty ash, the only pock-marked stain on your ****** canvas the minimalist collector your highest bidder

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The fire in her eyes tonight calls forth the thought that they invite, though I recall, not long ago my absence seemed more apropos. The smile that lingers on her lips says more than many verbal slips - the times it pierced me, sad and grim lie in the past, though far from dim. She flayed me once... nay, more than twice, she flayed me both with flame and ice, and once again, predictably, she primes me for catastrophe. The curious naively watch her try to carve a deeper notch, for even they don’t claim to know the depths to which she’d really go. Upon my face a smile appears which hides my thoughts, obscures my sneers, for now I too have learned the rules from her - ah, yes, the best of schools. Because I’m acting somewhat cool, thus pouring on her fire, fuel, she burns and yearns and wants me more than when I was her cuspidor. Since, unbeknownst I’m not the same, she plans again her guileful game. But when her teardrops seep and swell, will she be proud she taught me well? The others leave, I stay behind (they all know what she has in mind) and take her in my arms once more then slip her through her bedroom door. She whispers secrets in my ear, as I once did (she didn’t hear); I listen with a mirthless smile while thinking of a desert isle. The night is passed, her trusting grows; I leave before the morning glows. Aroused, she’ll seek a waking thrill but find instead a dollar bill.

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May 1, 2013

May 1, 2013 at 7:48 PM UTC

The fire in her eyes tonight calls forth the thought that they invite, though I recall, not long ago my absence seemed more apropos. The smile that lingers on her lips says more than many verbal slips - the times it pierced me, sad and grim lie in the past, though far from dim. She flayed me once... nay, more than twice, she flayed me both with flame and ice, and once again, predictably, she primes me for catastrophe. The curious naively watch her try to carve a deeper notch, for even they don’t claim to know the depths to which she’d really go. Upon my face a smile appears which hides my thoughts, obscures my sneers, for now I too have learned the rules from her - ah, yes, the best of schools. Because I’m acting somewhat cool, thus pouring on her fire, fuel, she burns and yearns and wants me more than when I was her cuspidor. Since, unbeknownst I’m not the same, she plans again her guileful game. But when her teardrops seep and swell, will she be proud she taught me well? The others leave, I stay behind (they all know what she has in mind) and take her in my arms once more then slip her through her bedroom door. She whispers secrets in my ear, as I once did (she didn’t hear); I listen with a mirthless smile while thinking of a desert isle. The night is passed, her trusting grows; I leave before the morning glows. Aroused, she’ll seek a waking thrill but find instead a dollar bill.

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I have been here so many times, Experienced many falls and many primes. I am merely a visitor, a player, in this game, Here for a while before I shed my face and name. But I play this game, and I do not play alone. I know of people from the Aether; my true home. They had come with me, but first I remember none, Of who they are in this game, and where have they come and gone. But our hearts will always bring us back to, Each other's embrace, those words are true. A wise man said that love is forever. Past this life and beyond, we've been together. When we find each other, we would rejoice, For our union is beyond a mortal body's choice. But I feel sorrow for the day of my soul's return, To this place, and forget them for one more turn. My dear family of soul and heart, Please hear me now before we part. I love you all, my words are too true. I'm glad we've united. me and you. I hope one day, when our lessons are done, When we drop this video game to finally have fun. I wish to explore infinity and beyond, With you, until stars come and gone. Thank you, my soul family...

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Feb 2, 2018

Feb 2, 2018 at 8:29 AM UTC

I have been here so many times, Experienced many falls and many primes. I am merely a visitor, a player, in this game, Here for a while before I shed my face and name. But I play this game, and I do not play alone. I know of people from the Aether; my true home. They had come with me, but first I remember none, Of who they are in this game, and where have they come and gone. But our hearts will always bring us back to, Each other's embrace, those words are true. A wise man said that love is forever. Past this life and beyond, we've been together. When we find each other, we would rejoice, For our union is beyond a mortal body's choice. But I feel sorrow for the day of my soul's return, To this place, and forget them for one more turn. My dear family of soul and heart, Please hear me now before we part. I love you all, my words are too true. I'm glad we've united. me and you. I hope one day, when our lessons are done, When we drop this video game to finally have fun. I wish to explore infinity and beyond, With you, until stars come and gone. Thank you, my soul family...

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New! (maybe) "Prime Poems" Syllables in primes One then two then three then five Think back to math class at school for the others Is it starting to come back yet or are you struggling And the prime numbers are the easy part, wait til you have to find words Then you'll be wishing you'd paid more attention in English class as well as math Which of the two will fail you first, will it be knowing the next number or finding the right words

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Jul 11, 2010

Jul 11, 2010 at 2:51 PM UTC

a-thomas-hawkins

New! (maybe) "Prime Poems" Syllables in primes One then two then three then five Think back to math class at school for the others Is it starting to come back yet or are you struggling And the prime numbers are the easy part, wait til you have to find words Then you'll be wishing you'd paid more attention in English class as well as math Which of the two will fail you first, will it be knowing the next number or finding the right words

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This is the journey I've gone so so many times Experience I acquired without you remains an Ocean of lines The mathematics to solve this equation you set goes beyond the Primes As for every blunder I make, drives me far away you, that, Penal crime I think of you in a million second to loose signs I bury all pains to present to you a smile In the Ocean of troubled mind I still carry you as Nile Even while I lost all wars, the only thing that dangle in the sky are your beauty Kite I've smelt Roses of different flavour Scents in castles that bury Valour They've all really tried though Tried enough to hit the wall of smell bank to blow Imagine! They hit so low to outweigh that, which hoose from within your shoulder margin I adore God and respect human How do I treat you best as a Superhuman? Let's feel the case that I run a million miles around the Globe Climb Mountains with a single step like I'm in Dope Conquer machinery that outfit Achilles Just to carve your Statue on every Hills I can look the East Imagine the West to find the best I can even be a nut enough to dare the North Believe me Chantel, even if the world sought Sought to move me away from you,I won't leave for South As much as I please your Highness, Angels can pout.

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Jun 21, 2013

Jun 21, 2013 at 5:05 AM UTC

RIGHT NEXT TO YOU

This is the journey I've gone so so many times Experience I acquired without you remains an Ocean of lines The mathematics to solve this equation you set goes beyond the Primes As for every blunder I make, drives me far away you, that, Penal crime I think of you in a million second to loose signs I bury all pains to present to you a smile In the Ocean of troubled mind I still carry you as Nile Even while I lost all wars, the only thing that dangle in the sky are your beauty Kite I've smelt Roses of different flavour Scents in castles that bury Valour They've all really tried though Tried enough to hit the wall of smell bank to blow Imagine! They hit so low to outweigh that, which hoose from within your shoulder margin I adore God and respect human How do I treat you best as a Superhuman? Let's feel the case that I run a million miles around the Globe Climb Mountains with a single step like I'm in Dope Conquer machinery that outfit Achilles Just to carve your Statue on every Hills I can look the East Imagine the West to find the best I can even be a nut enough to dare the North Believe me Chantel, even if the world sought Sought to move me away from you,I won't leave for South As much as I please your Highness, Angels can pout.

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Wait..wait.. wait.. Who's in these shoes? Wait .. weight..? wait!! I feel my sole ripping Weight? Weight!? Wait.... A stranger behind the wheel Wait.. Wait! No Wait! He's caused all this pain I feel The wait for this weight's extinction Has rot the strength to stand straight Only to question if the weight is fiction Or is it that I just have to wait to feel great Grabbing that wheel can be hard at times Closing their eyes and failing at their primes Was it the weight? Or the wait? Who's to say? We all wait for the weight of Death's arrival

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Mar 26, 2022

Mar 26, 2022 at 8:25 PM UTC

Wait..wait.. wait.. Who's in these shoes? Wait .. weight..? wait!! I feel my sole ripping Weight? Weight!? Wait.... A stranger behind the wheel Wait.. Wait! No Wait! He's caused all this pain I feel The wait for this weight's extinction Has rot the strength to stand straight Only to question if the weight is fiction Or is it that I just have to wait to feel great Grabbing that wheel can be hard at times Closing their eyes and failing at their primes Was it the weight? Or the wait? Who's to say? We all wait for the weight of Death's arrival

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she said her name was: "Zeta Ampersand!" "Wot?" I wotted? her Da had named her after some mathematical function Ampersand she just liked the sound she even signed her self ζ (& ) "...the artist formerly known as my self!" "59 & 509...both primes!" she smiled "30, 031...isn't!" "!?!" I said I watched a snake of sweet sweat slither between her cleavage "...the Buckmisterfullerene molecule is like a soccer ball...blah de blah.." "Uh huh..yeah...I'm...eh...listening..." to my heart beat wildly out of control she an Everest...I the foothills said she liked Daft Punk & kissing "Now there's a coincidence..." I whispered Daft Punk I didn't know but I had a 1st Class Honours in kissing &...stuff we made love with AROUND THE WORLD on replay "Call me Z..." she sighed *** with her was like voicing alveolar sibilant fricatives "Gee Zee...geeee!" was all I could say I was an quantic entity experiencing wave/particle duality for the first time forever

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Aug 8, 2015

Aug 8, 2015 at 8:15 PM UTC

FROM RANDOM PRIMES TO ORDERLY ZEROS

she said her name was: "Zeta Ampersand!" "Wot?" I wotted? her Da had named her after some mathematical function Ampersand she just liked the sound she even signed her self ζ (& ) "...the artist formerly known as my self!" "59 & 509...both primes!" she smiled "30, 031...isn't!" "!?!" I said I watched a snake of sweet sweat slither between her cleavage "...the Buckmisterfullerene molecule is like a soccer ball...blah de blah.." "Uh huh..yeah...I'm...eh...listening..." to my heart beat wildly out of control she an Everest...I the foothills said she liked Daft Punk & kissing "Now there's a coincidence..." I whispered Daft Punk I didn't know but I had a 1st Class Honours in kissing &...stuff we made love with AROUND THE WORLD on replay "Call me Z..." she sighed *** with her was like voicing alveolar sibilant fricatives "Gee Zee...geeee!" was all I could say I was an quantic entity experiencing wave/particle duality for the first time forever

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Anticipating to see the light I overlooked the darkness but moonless primes offered stories where even sunshine couldn't battle. ©_shade_of_a_lonely_girl_

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Jan 1, 2019

Jan 1, 2019 at 12:30 AM UTC

shade_of_a_lonely_girl

Anticipating to see the light I overlooked the darkness but moonless primes offered stories where even sunshine couldn't battle. ©_shade_of_a_lonely_girl_

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The moonlight deprived those couples of an Asian slum as if herded together in a plastic drum who lived in a roofless brick- less shove much like a Mal- functioning, Primes-stove. It also deprived those, whose tin- sheet- roof bore gaping cracks as the results of heavy monsoon downpours as the result of unruly monkey- like clouds’ aqua- missile- attacks. These youngsters were robbed by the silvery - mask –clad bullies of the moonlight who shackled them in their homes and held them tight. It robbed them of the throbbing- pillows of arms of caressing balms, of cuddles, of charms, of lullaby- songs. As a giggling newlywed bride pointing index- finger at sky, said " I am scared of the full moon, as I proceeded the other day to hug my man he stared from above , like a mischievous goon. " It denied privacy to the folks who sobbed in embrace together in pain. Their elder son was, in a religious frenzy stabbed and the middle was crushed under a streaming train. It denied the anonymity to the bald tooth-less woman who was caught sipping coke from the fridge and who, by her grandson was whisked from the kitchen Store- room --- which she shared in her late husband- built- house, with a jumbo mouse-- and asked to sleep on the fan- less Veranda. Where she lay reminiscing the crate- fulls she stuffed, -- as she smiled and coughed-- into her fridge, in her youth of Cokes and Miranda !

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Sep 26, 2015

Sep 26, 2015 at 2:50 AM UTC

Said A Bride : As I Proceeded To Hug : Full Moon Stared From Above Like A Goon

The moonlight deprived those couples of an Asian slum as if herded together in a plastic drum who lived in a roofless brick- less shove much like a Mal- functioning, Primes-stove. It also deprived those, whose tin- sheet- roof bore gaping cracks as the results of heavy monsoon downpours as the result of unruly monkey- like clouds’ aqua- missile- attacks. These youngsters were robbed by the silvery - mask –clad bullies of the moonlight who shackled them in their homes and held them tight. It robbed them of the throbbing- pillows of arms of caressing balms, of cuddles, of charms, of lullaby- songs. As a giggling newlywed bride pointing index- finger at sky, said " I am scared of the full moon, as I proceeded the other day to hug my man he stared from above , like a mischievous goon. " It denied privacy to the folks who sobbed in embrace together in pain. Their elder son was, in a religious frenzy stabbed and the middle was crushed under a streaming train. It denied the anonymity to the bald tooth-less woman who was caught sipping coke from the fridge and who, by her grandson was whisked from the kitchen Store- room --- which she shared in her late husband- built- house, with a jumbo mouse-- and asked to sleep on the fan- less Veranda. Where she lay reminiscing the crate- fulls she stuffed, -- as she smiled and coughed-- into her fridge, in her youth of Cokes and Miranda !

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Gaze on face on Underground lives on... Mic like fire flames I spit on... I possess and embody the powers that lies spiritually and its so real Habitually I used to write about candy and liquor. But now I write how candid and equal I stay up all night to perfect my rhymes, dialect the words and discard all primes I've never been known- no one like... Oh he's nice or he's got skills Before the days of rhyming and sleep pills Mic ********** the nucleus of knowledge I pass on. Amidst evil I strive on Assuage every lyrical latent I was born to spit flames with hypothetical cadence I am the light that shines from the dregs I am he with the strength of helium mixed with sweat

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Apr 8, 2016

Apr 8, 2016 at 6:23 AM UTC

The Underground (About Hip Hop)

Gaze on face on Underground lives on... Mic like fire flames I spit on... I possess and embody the powers that lies spiritually and its so real Habitually I used to write about candy and liquor. But now I write how candid and equal I stay up all night to perfect my rhymes, dialect the words and discard all primes I've never been known- no one like... Oh he's nice or he's got skills Before the days of rhyming and sleep pills Mic ********** the nucleus of knowledge I pass on. Amidst evil I strive on Assuage every lyrical latent I was born to spit flames with hypothetical cadence I am the light that shines from the dregs I am he with the strength of helium mixed with sweat

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Title: The underground (about Hip hop) Gaze on face on Underground lives on... Mic like fire flames I spit on... I possess and embody the powers that lies spiritually and its so real Habitually I used to write about candy and liquor. But now I write how candid and equal I stay up all night to perfect my rhymes, dialect the words and discard all primes I've never been known- no one like... Oh he's nice or he's got skills Before the days of rhyming and sleep pills Mic ********** the nucleus of knowledge I pass on. Amidst evil I strive on Assuage every lyrical latent I was born to spit flames with hypothetical cadence I am the light that shines from the dregs I am he with the strength of helium mixed with sweat

0

Apr 8, 2016

Apr 8, 2016 at 6:39 AM UTC

Underground (hip hop)

Title: The underground (about Hip hop) Gaze on face on Underground lives on... Mic like fire flames I spit on... I possess and embody the powers that lies spiritually and its so real Habitually I used to write about candy and liquor. But now I write how candid and equal I stay up all night to perfect my rhymes, dialect the words and discard all primes I've never been known- no one like... Oh he's nice or he's got skills Before the days of rhyming and sleep pills Mic ********** the nucleus of knowledge I pass on. Amidst evil I strive on Assuage every lyrical latent I was born to spit flames with hypothetical cadence I am the light that shines from the dregs I am he with the strength of helium mixed with sweat

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Our time flicked with drops of summer, The numberless nodes, mellow cicadas, Pixelated a world swirling of music— All dates, sweet tabulations of primes, The savours swelling in fragrant breeze, The still waters of pond mist and flame, How your eyes, with mine, gazed into— O sleepy windows of eyes being born, Flowers made a bed and we drank it all, The light of the sun as it passed in grace And the birds sang songs of remembrance, Water fell but once from mothering skies, Wind whined, such days could never last, One flesh of burgeoning— moon in the grass.

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Aug 6, 2013

Aug 6, 2013 at 5:04 PM UTC

Our time flicked with drops of summer, The numberless nodes, mellow cicadas, Pixelated a world swirling of music— All dates, sweet tabulations of primes, The savours swelling in fragrant breeze, The still waters of pond mist and flame, How your eyes, with mine, gazed into— O sleepy windows of eyes being born, Flowers made a bed and we drank it all, The light of the sun as it passed in grace And the birds sang songs of remembrance, Water fell but once from mothering skies, Wind whined, such days could never last, One flesh of burgeoning— moon in the grass.

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Sour, my attempt to write – the flavour lost in every bite. Undecided words, unheard, but seeping out, expelled, disturbed; a self-invaded, cornered bird, un-winged and clipped from flight, while I rumble with poetic temper, my bleeding soul, in part, dismembered; blank, un-whole, alone and undefended. My belly full of passion, yet, my appetite untended, and expression jailed and flawed, dissolving quicker than it pours; a vat of garbled, bubbling troubled thought that rivals typed impression sought to pillage mind and spill from core. Scored, the days it takes between, in floor and wall, to key the lock that binds this isolation door, ancient finds arising in my lust for seeking more and more; buried words upended with surprise, and unintended, for, from I, the Jailor, baseless accusations rise, lashing, fast, acidic wind that primes the rhymes I tongue within. Never one to coat my words too thin, too dry, too weak, it seems (by definition) I resist to drown (at best) or leak, while anchored here, existing, in unblinking frozen speech, but the accidental draining of my purpose-tended bed of prose, is waiting hand on foot with sweetened suicidal pensive throes, as I, with mocking rows and rows of written doubt, release, in lines, my stomach churning through and out demands to hasten one true last and final shout, so, this filtered care that stains my lungs with ghostly stare and soaks my throat as vomitous as stinging air that leaves me rendered, flailed and flared and wounded, brooding, undeclared – through THIS the words escape, an icing on the freedom cake all cherry-topped, and cut, and baked: a timeless meal to share without the food to waste, the friend to taste, the key to exit, smitten, from this solitary mind-induced persisting empty prison space.

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Aug 22, 2015

Aug 22, 2015 at 1:04 AM UTC

THE JAILED FREEDOM OF WRITING

Sour, my attempt to write – the flavour lost in every bite. Undecided words, unheard, but seeping out, expelled, disturbed; a self-invaded, cornered bird, un-winged and clipped from flight, while I rumble with poetic temper, my bleeding soul, in part, dismembered; blank, un-whole, alone and undefended. My belly full of passion, yet, my appetite untended, and expression jailed and flawed, dissolving quicker than it pours; a vat of garbled, bubbling troubled thought that rivals typed impression sought to pillage mind and spill from core. Scored, the days it takes between, in floor and wall, to key the lock that binds this isolation door, ancient finds arising in my lust for seeking more and more; buried words upended with surprise, and unintended, for, from I, the Jailor, baseless accusations rise, lashing, fast, acidic wind that primes the rhymes I tongue within. Never one to coat my words too thin, too dry, too weak, it seems (by definition) I resist to drown (at best) or leak, while anchored here, existing, in unblinking frozen speech, but the accidental draining of my purpose-tended bed of prose, is waiting hand on foot with sweetened suicidal pensive throes, as I, with mocking rows and rows of written doubt, release, in lines, my stomach churning through and out demands to hasten one true last and final shout, so, this filtered care that stains my lungs with ghostly stare and soaks my throat as vomitous as stinging air that leaves me rendered, flailed and flared and wounded, brooding, undeclared – through THIS the words escape, an icing on the freedom cake all cherry-topped, and cut, and baked: a timeless meal to share without the food to waste, the friend to taste, the key to exit, smitten, from this solitary mind-induced persisting empty prison space.

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. 1 In the corner stands My blue guitar, Mirrors my grimace. 2 I have played you So like dream was the dear song Where you playing me? 3 Your body makes mine Shudder as I imagine A woman in my arms. 4 At the top of your body Are keys unwound at the ready, Silver spirals of tunings. 5 My soul is near hollow But the blue guitar Is filling in the foundations. 6 What makes the blue guitar So shining in the mundane, All the world is makeshift. 7 My fingers wet with you, What water sounds like, As it kisses the earth. 8 Deep in the strings I summon my being, Always blue as sheer sky. 9 Blue guitar, silent, singing, My fingers ***** your neck, Never do you scream. 10 Once I heard music, The sweetest tabulations Of sorrows in rosewood. 11 My fingers ache on steel, These are your moved guts, Strings that I borrow. 12 At an open window, All the day obtuse, I hear birds in your vibrations, Untouched air of blue guitar. 13 I do not know anything, Music is lathed on an open fret, The heart is beating to a note of bliss, Hole set in the body braced by wood, Time cuts as it is sectioned, a staff fires, All the chords are listed in primes, Is the ear a window or is the eye, Blind in the choral songs we make, All things are ephemeral, wonderings, Variations we work as structure fades, As the blue guitar is touched, turning light. .

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Jul 25, 2017

Jul 25, 2017 at 9:09 PM UTC

Thirteen Thoughts on the Blue Guitar

. 1 In the corner stands My blue guitar, Mirrors my grimace. 2 I have played you So like dream was the dear song Where you playing me? 3 Your body makes mine Shudder as I imagine A woman in my arms. 4 At the top of your body Are keys unwound at the ready, Silver spirals of tunings. 5 My soul is near hollow But the blue guitar Is filling in the foundations. 6 What makes the blue guitar So shining in the mundane, All the world is makeshift. 7 My fingers wet with you, What water sounds like, As it kisses the earth. 8 Deep in the strings I summon my being, Always blue as sheer sky. 9 Blue guitar, silent, singing, My fingers ***** your neck, Never do you scream. 10 Once I heard music, The sweetest tabulations Of sorrows in rosewood. 11 My fingers ache on steel, These are your moved guts, Strings that I borrow. 12 At an open window, All the day obtuse, I hear birds in your vibrations, Untouched air of blue guitar. 13 I do not know anything, Music is lathed on an open fret, The heart is beating to a note of bliss, Hole set in the body braced by wood, Time cuts as it is sectioned, a staff fires, All the chords are listed in primes, Is the ear a window or is the eye, Blind in the choral songs we make, All things are ephemeral, wonderings, Variations we work as structure fades, As the blue guitar is touched, turning light. .

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Give me your heart And stay in my hut, And by earth's oceans I promise: We shall be happy in our poor times And more richer in our fortunate primes. I'll stay with you,if you stay with me, And as you are mine,I'll set you free! When your heartbeats sound begins to cease, Our marriage bond will be much stronger And through Death's window,our love lasts longer! When the roads get dark And you can no longer smile or lark, And rosy cheeks aren't as pleasant as this; Because you chose my heart, Your carriage I'll never depart. And when sunny days ensue, And I have sticked to you like glue, Would it be enough for you a bliss To spark the truth out of our love And give me your all even as we starve?

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Dec 20, 2016

Dec 20, 2016 at 4:40 AM UTC

Give me your heart And stay in my hut, And by earth's oceans I promise: We shall be happy in our poor times And more richer in our fortunate primes. I'll stay with you,if you stay with me, And as you are mine,I'll set you free! When your heartbeats sound begins to cease, Our marriage bond will be much stronger And through Death's window,our love lasts longer! When the roads get dark And you can no longer smile or lark, And rosy cheeks aren't as pleasant as this; Because you chose my heart, Your carriage I'll never depart. And when sunny days ensue, And I have sticked to you like glue, Would it be enough for you a bliss To spark the truth out of our love And give me your all even as we starve?

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Our time flicked with drops of summer, The numberless nodes, mellow cicadas, Pixelated a world swirling of music— All dates, sweet tabulations of primes, The savours swelling in fragrant breeze, The still waters of pond mist and flame, How your eyes, with mine, gazed into— O sleepy windows of eyes being born, Flowers made a bed and we drank it all, The light of the sun as it passed in grace And the birds sang songs of remembrance, Water fell but once from mothering skies, Wind whined, such days could never last, One flesh of burgeoning— moon in the grass.

0

May 24, 2014

May 24, 2014 at 2:36 PM UTC

Our time flicked with drops of summer, The numberless nodes, mellow cicadas, Pixelated a world swirling of music— All dates, sweet tabulations of primes, The savours swelling in fragrant breeze, The still waters of pond mist and flame, How your eyes, with mine, gazed into— O sleepy windows of eyes being born, Flowers made a bed and we drank it all, The light of the sun as it passed in grace And the birds sang songs of remembrance, Water fell but once from mothering skies, Wind whined, such days could never last, One flesh of burgeoning— moon in the grass.

Continue reading...

. 1 In the corner stands My blue guitar, Mirrors my grimace. 2 I have played you So like dream was the dear song Where you playing me? 3 Your body makes mine Shudder as I imagine A woman in my arms. 4 At the top of your body Are keys unwound at the ready, Silver spirals of tunings. 5 My soul is near hollow But the blue guitar Is filling in the foundations. 6 What makes the blue guitar So shining in the mundane, All the world is makeshift. 7 My fingers wet with you, What water sounds like, As it kisses the earth. 8 Deep in the strings I summon my being, Always blue as sheer sky. 9 Blue guitar, silent, singing, My fingers ***** your neck, Never do you scream. 10 Once I heard music, The sweetest tabulations Of sorrows in rosewood. 11 My fingers ache on steel, These are your moved guts, Strings that I borrow. 12 At an open window, All the day obtuse, I hear birds in your vibrations, Untouched air of blue guitar. 13 I do not know anything, Music is lathed on an open fret, The heart is beating to a note of bliss, Hole set in the body braced by wood, Time cuts as it is sectioned, a staff fires, All the chords are listed in primes, Is the ear a window or is the eye, Blind in the choral songs we make, All things are ephemeral, wonderings, Variations we work as structure fades, As the blue guitar is touched, turning light. .

0

Jun 26, 2019

Jun 26, 2019 at 3:27 PM UTC

Thirteen Thoughts on the Blue Guitar

. 1 In the corner stands My blue guitar, Mirrors my grimace. 2 I have played you So like dream was the dear song Where you playing me? 3 Your body makes mine Shudder as I imagine A woman in my arms. 4 At the top of your body Are keys unwound at the ready, Silver spirals of tunings. 5 My soul is near hollow But the blue guitar Is filling in the foundations. 6 What makes the blue guitar So shining in the mundane, All the world is makeshift. 7 My fingers wet with you, What water sounds like, As it kisses the earth. 8 Deep in the strings I summon my being, Always blue as sheer sky. 9 Blue guitar, silent, singing, My fingers ***** your neck, Never do you scream. 10 Once I heard music, The sweetest tabulations Of sorrows in rosewood. 11 My fingers ache on steel, These are your moved guts, Strings that I borrow. 12 At an open window, All the day obtuse, I hear birds in your vibrations, Untouched air of blue guitar. 13 I do not know anything, Music is lathed on an open fret, The heart is beating to a note of bliss, Hole set in the body braced by wood, Time cuts as it is sectioned, a staff fires, All the chords are listed in primes, Is the ear a window or is the eye, Blind in the choral songs we make, All things are ephemeral, wonderings, Variations we work as structure fades, As the blue guitar is touched, turning light. .

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Set the mood Redline Build the hill Fill that stem Inhale. Hold it in. Take that breath Relax. Just relax. I'm waving the smoke away Both hands extensions of the atrium that primes the pump I'm beating as bleating Green veil is parted re - vealed Reveals the one I'm afraid of - the old me I'm counting days defeated Dead days used my blood took the look that I sculpted and weaponized - it as something other Set the mood Lazerhawk Build the hill Fill that stem Inhale. Hold it in. Take that breath Relax. Relax. Relax. How am I a slave to myself I wonder I wonder How am I a slave? How am I a slave to myself I wonder I wonder I ride the ghost train I deify the old ghosts - I I never meant to board forever - I Am shadow. Am product. The Ubik. I deify the past as answer - nothing left to say nothing left to say (01101100 01100101 01110100 00100000 01101001 01110100 00100000 01100100 01101001 01100101 00100000 00100001 01101100 01100101 01110100 00100000 01101001 01110100 00100000 01100100 01101001 01100101 00100000 00100001 01101100 01100101 01110100 00100000 01101001 01110100 00100000 01100100 01101001 01100101 00100000 00100001 01101100 01100101 01110100 00100000 01101001 01110100 00100000 01100100 01101001 01100101 00100000 00100001)

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Nov 14, 2017

Nov 14, 2017 at 9:01 PM UTC

Nothing Left to Say| 8. Nothing Left to Say

Set the mood Redline Build the hill Fill that stem Inhale. Hold it in. Take that breath Relax. Just relax. I'm waving the smoke away Both hands extensions of the atrium that primes the pump I'm beating as bleating Green veil is parted re - vealed Reveals the one I'm afraid of - the old me I'm counting days defeated Dead days used my blood took the look that I sculpted and weaponized - it as something other Set the mood Lazerhawk Build the hill Fill that stem Inhale. Hold it in. Take that breath Relax. Relax. Relax. How am I a slave to myself I wonder I wonder How am I a slave? How am I a slave to myself I wonder I wonder I ride the ghost train I deify the old ghosts - I I never meant to board forever - I Am shadow. Am product. The Ubik. I deify the past as answer - nothing left to say nothing left to say (01101100 01100101 01110100 00100000 01101001 01110100 00100000 01100100 01101001 01100101 00100000 00100001 01101100 01100101 01110100 00100000 01101001 01110100 00100000 01100100 01101001 01100101 00100000 00100001 01101100 01100101 01110100 00100000 01101001 01110100 00100000 01100100 01101001 01100101 00100000 00100001 01101100 01100101 01110100 00100000 01101001 01110100 00100000 01100100 01101001 01100101 00100000 00100001)

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There's a black Hair-pinned sliver AKA velvet liver Lying under the bed Catty-cornered Adjacent to where my eyes wed As I count the primes I can't help but roll my eyes And tears stream down my face. The strigiforme released the worm From the pebble teeth lodged in its beak. Double the space from One and three. The song changed, Her morning sickness spoke Fold our lives in leaves, The time we have is brief. She came from under the bed To blame I shook my head and said I did not eject. I was fake She was fake The bed was fake The owl, Melted plastic Left in the sun's wake, Pacific rays, bleak and weak Melding homes. This makes no sense.

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Aug 2, 2014

Aug 2, 2014 at 12:59 AM UTC

Newspaper And Networking

There's a black Hair-pinned sliver AKA velvet liver Lying under the bed Catty-cornered Adjacent to where my eyes wed As I count the primes I can't help but roll my eyes And tears stream down my face. The strigiforme released the worm From the pebble teeth lodged in its beak. Double the space from One and three. The song changed, Her morning sickness spoke Fold our lives in leaves, The time we have is brief. She came from under the bed To blame I shook my head and said I did not eject. I was fake She was fake The bed was fake The owl, Melted plastic Left in the sun's wake, Pacific rays, bleak and weak Melding homes. This makes no sense.

Continue reading...