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"pumps" poems
i’ve given up on days that begin in late afternoon, skipped breakfast and lunch, days that fade slowly and end with ****** cut-out holes in eyelids because the second i close them and it all goes black, every moment with you comes back played on fast-forward, the memories moving so quickly that both our faces are blurred and it feels like everything i’ve ever felt for you is overflowing the tub, filling the washroom with suds that take forever to melt i’ve given up on those days. i’ve traded them for ones that begin with sunrises instead of sunsets, days that are spent falling forward instead of trying to chase the past, and i don’t look back and see something broken, or something that was better off left unopened i look back and see our bodies so close together that you can’t tell where yours begins and mine ends, i see my heart that grew twenty-three times its size, i see you and me wrapped up in something that i didn’t know existed outside of blurry 35 mm and overdue and falling-apart library books that sit on the nightstands of middle-aged women who are bored with their lives and i’m just so happy i got to love you at all. but i’ve folded up all the days spent with you and taped them in the messy pages of my journal and now i’m running into the sun, running away from every lie that’s trying to wedge its way in between my ribs, running in the opposite direction of words like "regret" and any feeling that insists that none of it was worth it because all of it was worth it. every moment we were together pumps through my veins, and it will always be there; it will be there when we’ve both graduated, when you move out west, when you kiss your family goodnight, when you sit in your backyard with tears in your eyes because you’ve lived a life you are proud of it will be there when i finally make it to new york city, when i kiss someone who isn’t you, when i find the answers you inspired me to search for, when i sit on my rooftop with tears on my cheeks because i’ve lived a life fuller than i could’ve ever imagined and you and i will live these lives apart, we’ll move on and forget what it felt like to wake up beside one another; we’ll find what we’re looking for elsewhere and we’ll understand why this all had to happen the way that it did but what we had will always exist somewhere, in rotting apples and old mail and unplayed mix CDs, in mosaics that line the city streets, in sirens and red and white flashing lights that shine through your window while you are asleep you and i were magic, we always will be.
0
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 11:25 PM UTC
madisen
atoms
i’ve given up on days that begin in late afternoon, skipped breakfast and lunch, days that fade slowly and end with ****** cut-out holes in eyelids because the second i close them and it all goes black, every moment with you comes back played on fast-forward, the memories moving so quickly that both our faces are blurred and it feels like everything i’ve ever felt for you is overflowing the tub, filling the washroom with suds that take forever to melt i’ve given up on those days. i’ve traded them for ones that begin with sunrises instead of sunsets, days that are spent falling forward instead of trying to chase the past, and i don’t look back and see something broken, or something that was better off left unopened i look back and see our bodies so close together that you can’t tell where yours begins and mine ends, i see my heart that grew twenty-three times its size, i see you and me wrapped up in something that i didn’t know existed outside of blurry 35 mm and overdue and falling-apart library books that sit on the nightstands of middle-aged women who are bored with their lives and i’m just so happy i got to love you at all. but i’ve folded up all the days spent with you and taped them in the messy pages of my journal and now i’m running into the sun, running away from every lie that’s trying to wedge its way in between my ribs, running in the opposite direction of words like "regret" and any feeling that insists that none of it was worth it because all of it was worth it. every moment we were together pumps through my veins, and it will always be there; it will be there when we’ve both graduated, when you move out west, when you kiss your family goodnight, when you sit in your backyard with tears in your eyes because you’ve lived a life you are proud of it will be there when i finally make it to new york city, when i kiss someone who isn’t you, when i find the answers you inspired me to search for, when i sit on my rooftop with tears on my cheeks because i’ve lived a life fuller than i could’ve ever imagined and you and i will live these lives apart, we’ll move on and forget what it felt like to wake up beside one another; we’ll find what we’re looking for elsewhere and we’ll understand why this all had to happen the way that it did but what we had will always exist somewhere, in rotting apples and old mail and unplayed mix CDs, in mosaics that line the city streets, in sirens and red and white flashing lights that shine through your window while you are asleep you and i were magic, we always will be.
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60
Once, monster feet were all you wore, pounding its claws upon wood floors. Well now the beast is walking in your skin, that you have lived, and fought them in. How much can a human body take, When horns pierce your skull, to keep you awake? People say faking's profitless, while I'm choking demons back in my esophagus. An intervention for dented hearts, that were beats, you wrote apart? Do they await indented bumps, a heart, bitter, selfishness pumps. Alert the shadows as I bow to them, poetic, inadequate, I lost to them. What worthy life have I built to live, if pain is all I know to give? ------------------------------------
0
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 7:51 PM UTC
Carbon6_dio
Monster Feet
Once, monster feet were all you wore, pounding its claws upon wood floors. Well now the beast is walking in your skin, that you have lived, and fought them in. How much can a human body take, When horns pierce your skull, to keep you awake? People say faking's profitless, while I'm choking demons back in my esophagus. An intervention for dented hearts, that were beats, you wrote apart? Do they await indented bumps, a heart, bitter, selfishness pumps. Alert the shadows as I bow to them, poetic, inadequate, I lost to them. What worthy life have I built to live, if pain is all I know to give? ------------------------------------
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17
Millions, trillions And more and more None of our finger prints are same None of our retinas are same Why do we limited to a group All of our bloods are Red And every heart has four chambers (arteries and ventricles) Common oxygen to breathe Why we are bounded to one group Everyone has birth from womb of a mother Every heart pumps the blood But Why we are confined to one group We are humans This was the only group We had with us Unity in diversity is what we want It should not be limited only for sayings We should follow this
0
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 12:40 AM UTC
Babu-kandula
525. Unity in diversity
Millions, trillions And more and more None of our finger prints are same None of our retinas are same Why do we limited to a group All of our bloods are Red And every heart has four chambers (arteries and ventricles) Common oxygen to breathe Why we are bounded to one group Everyone has birth from womb of a mother Every heart pumps the blood But Why we are confined to one group We are humans This was the only group We had with us Unity in diversity is what we want It should not be limited only for sayings We should follow this
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19
I rolled out of bed to start my day, but the power was off my all electric home, as still as a grave. No coffee, or toast. The refrigerator not cold, the freezer started dripping the contents soon to spoil. No computer, no cell phone service! I began sweating profusely, no air conditioning to cool me. Not even a TV Emergency Broadcast Alert, to release this uneasy feeling of topsy-turvy . I drove into town seeking a pay phone, with not a single one to be found, gone the way of the dinosaurs, extinct now too I assumed. My old truck had no computer chips, most cars did and were dead in their tracks. I needed gas but the gas station pumps electric computer driven, all DOA to boot. The Nations electric grid had crashed, blacked out, stone cold dead everywhere. All heavenly satellites blacked out, expired. Everything computer related (and that is about everything), had ceased to function as had the electronic reliant world we had created.   The street throngs of dazed people walked around like zombies, clutching blacked out dead computer devices, knowing not what to do. Not even talking, forgotten I guess how to do that too. As dependently defectively programmed as the useless devices in their hands. In a panic I did awake finding that this scary dream world was indeed all fake, a nightmare of fearful unconscious thinking. My electric clock was still churning, It's music alarm blaring, birds outside still singing, my cell phone started ringing, it was merely another Robot call, Welcoming me back to the 21 century.
0
Jul 17, 2017
Jul 17, 2017 at 10:51 PM UTC
stephen-e-yocum
Dinosaurs and Devices
I rolled out of bed to start my day, but the power was off my all electric home, as still as a grave. No coffee, or toast. The refrigerator not cold, the freezer started dripping the contents soon to spoil. No computer, no cell phone service! I began sweating profusely, no air conditioning to cool me. Not even a TV Emergency Broadcast Alert, to release this uneasy feeling of topsy-turvy . I drove into town seeking a pay phone, with not a single one to be found, gone the way of the dinosaurs, extinct now too I assumed. My old truck had no computer chips, most cars did and were dead in their tracks. I needed gas but the gas station pumps electric computer driven, all DOA to boot. The Nations electric grid had crashed, blacked out, stone cold dead everywhere. All heavenly satellites blacked out, expired. Everything computer related (and that is about everything), had ceased to function as had the electronic reliant world we had created.   The street throngs of dazed people walked around like zombies, clutching blacked out dead computer devices, knowing not what to do. Not even talking, forgotten I guess how to do that too. As dependently defectively programmed as the useless devices in their hands. In a panic I did awake finding that this scary dream world was indeed all fake, a nightmare of fearful unconscious thinking. My electric clock was still churning, It's music alarm blaring, birds outside still singing, my cell phone started ringing, it was merely another Robot call, Welcoming me back to the 21 century.
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44
Little pieces of you flow through my veins among the plasma and blood cells. Bits of you bump into molecules of oxygen and they smile. My heart loves you. It pumps you through my ventricles and asks my body not to filter any of you out. My brain sends out constant oxytocin in your presence and my hippocampus keeps memories of your touch within easy reach. My body loves you just as much as I do.
0
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 10:33 PM UTC
anonymousm8
Pieces of Pisces
Little pieces of you flow through my veins among the plasma and blood cells. Bits of you bump into molecules of oxygen and they smile. My heart loves you. It pumps you through my ventricles and asks my body not to filter any of you out. My brain sends out constant oxytocin in your presence and my hippocampus keeps memories of your touch within easy reach. My body loves you just as much as I do.
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1
breathing the turquoise like lavender, and sipping the blue summer. bitter cold clouds glide and morph lava lather, floating whispers cut by sweet pineapple sunshine. soon, a moment, now rhythms ripple the sky like skipping stones we jump the music like puddles splashing in the frequencies. cobalt bass rumbles the earth hungry, pumps the air with springing spirals pushing and pulling the senses, reverberating through cells. heavy mud humming, stomping echoes through our atoms dizzy; balancing tuned body to innate electricity the fizz of circulating lemonade energy. we jump the music like puddles splashing in the frequencies. strawberry melodies spilling ribbons, dolphin leaps of the spaces inbetween beats, lines of colours overlapping, colliding, mixing, merging, blending in with the forest. washing over souls the life fire sparkles like a clear water cleansing harmonies, sound waves crashing against inertia. phosphorescent glow of re-charged love for the world, for being, animation flowing through burnt smoky ashes of sapphire charcoal skies; dimmed radiation of chlorophyll emerald days. the smell of salt, dry bark, fluffy carbon mists, trembling lights softening the eyes' grip on outlines, loosening lies. watching the cycles of patterns tumbling colours through a mill rotating, and the silence of listening when the music comes to an end.
0
May 4, 2018
May 4, 2018 at 8:19 PM UTC
victoria-rachael-nash
Synesthesia
breathing the turquoise like lavender, and sipping the blue summer. bitter cold clouds glide and morph lava lather, floating whispers cut by sweet pineapple sunshine. soon, a moment, now rhythms ripple the sky like skipping stones we jump the music like puddles splashing in the frequencies. cobalt bass rumbles the earth hungry, pumps the air with springing spirals pushing and pulling the senses, reverberating through cells. heavy mud humming, stomping echoes through our atoms dizzy; balancing tuned body to innate electricity the fizz of circulating lemonade energy. we jump the music like puddles splashing in the frequencies. strawberry melodies spilling ribbons, dolphin leaps of the spaces inbetween beats, lines of colours overlapping, colliding, mixing, merging, blending in with the forest. washing over souls the life fire sparkles like a clear water cleansing harmonies, sound waves crashing against inertia. phosphorescent glow of re-charged love for the world, for being, animation flowing through burnt smoky ashes of sapphire charcoal skies; dimmed radiation of chlorophyll emerald days. the smell of salt, dry bark, fluffy carbon mists, trembling lights softening the eyes' grip on outlines, loosening lies. watching the cycles of patterns tumbling colours through a mill rotating, and the silence of listening when the music comes to an end.
Continue reading...
38
She left Reno in a satin slip the color of hot coins pouring from slots, wearing chewed-up tennis shoes, mirrors multiplying her, the marquee burning out letter by letter, a hush pressed between her teeth as if saving the last note. I followed, a gangly shadow, mother’s voice in my ear: "life is not a freeway exit." But she was the exit. She drove west through a glittering throat. In Tonopah she was a waitress, red stains on her wrists, sleeves tugged low, coffee pouring thin as blood. In Barstow she was a sun-bleached Madonna, halo blistered, mouth lit in stained glass. At a gas station in Needles shimmering into a coyote’s shadow and slipped behind the pumps. Then movement along the fence, low, quick— gone again. Casinos blinked like electric relics. Truckers called her sugar, greedy hands counting her ribs as if she was the paycheck sweating in their fist, but she slipped away each time, her silhouette already moulting- a serpent skin, a smoke-trail, a saint’s shadow burning off the wall. By Malibu, the night had softened to velvet. The pier at Zuma leaned into the Pacific like a broken bridge. She sang to me— low, cracked— then let the slip fall. Her body cut into the dark tide, no disguise. I waded in after her, ankles bruised by rock. Water lit with jellyfish, each pulse a warning. I stopped where it deepened, felt the pull take hold. No exit left, just the Pacific’s mouth closing around her.
0
Sep 1, 2025
Sep 1, 2025 at 8:08 PM UTC
William-A-Gibson
Dust Madonna
She left Reno in a satin slip the color of hot coins pouring from slots, wearing chewed-up tennis shoes, mirrors multiplying her, the marquee burning out letter by letter, a hush pressed between her teeth as if saving the last note. I followed, a gangly shadow, mother’s voice in my ear: "life is not a freeway exit." But she was the exit. She drove west through a glittering throat. In Tonopah she was a waitress, red stains on her wrists, sleeves tugged low, coffee pouring thin as blood. In Barstow she was a sun-bleached Madonna, halo blistered, mouth lit in stained glass. At a gas station in Needles shimmering into a coyote’s shadow and slipped behind the pumps. Then movement along the fence, low, quick— gone again. Casinos blinked like electric relics. Truckers called her sugar, greedy hands counting her ribs as if she was the paycheck sweating in their fist, but she slipped away each time, her silhouette already moulting- a serpent skin, a smoke-trail, a saint’s shadow burning off the wall. By Malibu, the night had softened to velvet. The pier at Zuma leaned into the Pacific like a broken bridge. She sang to me— low, cracked— then let the slip fall. Her body cut into the dark tide, no disguise. I waded in after her, ankles bruised by rock. Water lit with jellyfish, each pulse a warning. I stopped where it deepened, felt the pull take hold. No exit left, just the Pacific’s mouth closing around her.
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57
The Heart is Selfless. Literally. When the human body gets hurt, And life seems to be bleeding out, It knows. It pumps out more blood, Stops itself from taking any of it. Just to keep our brain, lungs, and kidneys working. It doesn't think really think of itself, It thinks of the needs of others. Shouldn't love be like that too?
0
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 9:42 PM UTC
CamilleMarie
The Selfless *****
The Heart is Selfless. Literally. When the human body gets hurt, And life seems to be bleeding out, It knows. It pumps out more blood, Stops itself from taking any of it. Just to keep our brain, lungs, and kidneys working. It doesn't think really think of itself, It thinks of the needs of others. Shouldn't love be like that too?
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11
Platonic Love Song The wind in our hair as our lungs work Screaming out the lyrics to a teenage summer As we drive free, racing, to the waves and mountains Lights in our eyes and hands over hearts Youthful yearning fills us, as we get caught chasing the sky Her laughter fills my soul and she begins to dance While she wraps her arms around me, safe A fire blazes, but our smiles are what light up the night We make the stars jealous,  They beg for half of our shine Embers and vapour fill the air,  Hands trading drinks and smoke and care Music floats and lyrics sink in Lips trading stories and laughter and kisses Engines start, stop, jump, and rumble Her eyes gleam and shift, catching attention Hypnotising and beautiful,  They draw us in, keep us safe, and we ask to stay.  Let yourself love your friends. Let yourself stay with them.  She pumps music into our lives, her voice loud We dance to the wild tempo of our heartbeats Crass and catching, her voice settles in us Let people in, even when it’s hard. Let yourself love them.  She scrunches her face up and tosses in jokes, Making us smile at any price,  She helps us laugh the pain away.  Let people love you back.  I know it can be hard but... She covers her smile with a hand,  Else she’d blind us, but we’d be alright, If that could be the last thing we see If you aren’t in love with your friends, where is your absolution?  She swings her hips and we get lost in her lips, The gold on her skin, the brown in her eyes,  Entrancing on a new level, and we exalt If you aren’t in love with your friends, then something is wrong.  She grabs our hands, reviving and vital,  Her shoulders jump and so do we, she’s got us on our feet Her energy is infections, makes us forget imperfection.  If you aren’t in love with your friends, where are you spending your time?  Existing in a different state, but in the same hearts,  And we are all staring at the same jealous stars.  She feels like a home you’ve never been too.  If you aren’t in love with your friends, then you’re not doing it right.  Because for me, they define ride or die,  The first loves of my life, they mean open Open arms, open homes, open hearts They are coffee in the cold and make up in the night,  Empowerment in the dark and hope in the now.  Love isn’t just for spouses and partners,    Love is for those who you know with your heart,  Who’s soul touched yours, and said,  “Hey, it’s been a while. I missed you.”  And if you haven’t felt that yet then I’m sorry,  But don’t worry, you’ll find them.  And when you do, it will be like coming home.  And you’ll know.
0
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 3:00 PM UTC
GrainneWilde
Platonic Love Song
Platonic Love Song The wind in our hair as our lungs work Screaming out the lyrics to a teenage summer As we drive free, racing, to the waves and mountains Lights in our eyes and hands over hearts Youthful yearning fills us, as we get caught chasing the sky Her laughter fills my soul and she begins to dance While she wraps her arms around me, safe A fire blazes, but our smiles are what light up the night We make the stars jealous,  They beg for half of our shine Embers and vapour fill the air,  Hands trading drinks and smoke and care Music floats and lyrics sink in Lips trading stories and laughter and kisses Engines start, stop, jump, and rumble Her eyes gleam and shift, catching attention Hypnotising and beautiful,  They draw us in, keep us safe, and we ask to stay.  Let yourself love your friends. Let yourself stay with them.  She pumps music into our lives, her voice loud We dance to the wild tempo of our heartbeats Crass and catching, her voice settles in us Let people in, even when it’s hard. Let yourself love them.  She scrunches her face up and tosses in jokes, Making us smile at any price,  She helps us laugh the pain away.  Let people love you back.  I know it can be hard but... She covers her smile with a hand,  Else she’d blind us, but we’d be alright, If that could be the last thing we see If you aren’t in love with your friends, where is your absolution?  She swings her hips and we get lost in her lips, The gold on her skin, the brown in her eyes,  Entrancing on a new level, and we exalt If you aren’t in love with your friends, then something is wrong.  She grabs our hands, reviving and vital,  Her shoulders jump and so do we, she’s got us on our feet Her energy is infections, makes us forget imperfection.  If you aren’t in love with your friends, where are you spending your time?  Existing in a different state, but in the same hearts,  And we are all staring at the same jealous stars.  She feels like a home you’ve never been too.  If you aren’t in love with your friends, then you’re not doing it right.  Because for me, they define ride or die,  The first loves of my life, they mean open Open arms, open homes, open hearts They are coffee in the cold and make up in the night,  Empowerment in the dark and hope in the now.  Love isn’t just for spouses and partners,    Love is for those who you know with your heart,  Who’s soul touched yours, and said,  “Hey, it’s been a while. I missed you.”  And if you haven’t felt that yet then I’m sorry,  But don’t worry, you’ll find them.  And when you do, it will be like coming home.  And you’ll know.
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58
It happens. Will it go on? ---- My mind a rock, No fingers to grip, no tongue, My god the iron lung That loves me, pumps My two Dust bags in and out, Will not Let me relapse While the day outside glides by like ticker tape. The night brings violets, Tapestries of eyes, Lights, The soft anonymous Talkers: 'You all right?' The starched, inaccessible breast. Dead egg, I lie Whole On a whole world I cannot touch, At the white, tight Drum of my sleeping couch Photographs visit me- My wife, dead and flat, in 1920 furs, Mouth full of pearls, Two girls As flat as she, who whisper 'We're your daughters.' The still waters Wrap my lips, Eyes, nose and ears, A clear Cellophane I cannot crack. On my bare back I smile, a buddha, all Wants, desire Falling from me like rings Hugging their lights. The claw Of the magnolia, Drunk on its own scents, Asks nothing of life.
0
9.1k
Sylvia Plath
Paralytic
It happens. Will it go on? ---- My mind a rock, No fingers to grip, no tongue, My god the iron lung That loves me, pumps My two Dust bags in and out, Will not Let me relapse While the day outside glides by like ticker tape. The night brings violets, Tapestries of eyes, Lights, The soft anonymous Talkers: 'You all right?' The starched, inaccessible breast. Dead egg, I lie Whole On a whole world I cannot touch, At the white, tight Drum of my sleeping couch Photographs visit me- My wife, dead and flat, in 1920 furs, Mouth full of pearls, Two girls As flat as she, who whisper 'We're your daughters.' The still waters Wrap my lips, Eyes, nose and ears, A clear Cellophane I cannot crack. On my bare back I smile, a buddha, all Wants, desire Falling from me like rings Hugging their lights. The claw Of the magnolia, Drunk on its own scents, Asks nothing of life.
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40
Why the **** is it called a heartbreak when your heart pumps blood and if you don't have it *you ******* die*
0
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 9:08 AM UTC
andwhentheshipsails
heartbreak
Why the **** is it called a heartbreak when your heart pumps blood and if you don't have it *you ******* die*
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16
Pearl Avenue runs past the high-school lot, Bends with the trolley tracks, and stops, cut off Before it has a chance to go two blocks, At Colonel McComsky Plaza. Berth's Garage Is on the corner facing west, and there, Most days, you'll find Flick Webb, who helps Berth out. Flick stands tall among the idiot pumps- Five on a side, the old bubble-head style, Their rubber elbows hanging loose and low. One's nostrils are two S's, and his eyes An E and O. And one is squat, without A head at all-more of a football type. Once Flick played for the high-school team, the Wizards. He was good: in fact, the best. In '46 He bucketed three hundred ninety points, A county record still. The ball loved Flick. I saw him rack up thirty-eight or forty In one home game. His hands were like wild birds. He never learned a trade, he just sells gas, Checks oil, and changes flats. Once in a while, As a gag, he dribbles an inner tube, But most of us remember anyway. His hands are fine and nervous on the lug wrench. It makes no difference to the lug wrench, though. Off work, he hangs around Mae's Luncheonette. Grease-gray and kind of coiled, he plays pinball, Smokes those thin cigars, nurses lemon phosphates. Flick seldom says a word to Mae, just nods Beyond her face toward bright applauding tiers Of Necco Wafers, Nibs, and Juju Beads.
0
8.4k
John Updike
Ex-Basketball Player
Pearl Avenue runs past the high-school lot, Bends with the trolley tracks, and stops, cut off Before it has a chance to go two blocks, At Colonel McComsky Plaza. Berth's Garage Is on the corner facing west, and there, Most days, you'll find Flick Webb, who helps Berth out. Flick stands tall among the idiot pumps- Five on a side, the old bubble-head style, Their rubber elbows hanging loose and low. One's nostrils are two S's, and his eyes An E and O. And one is squat, without A head at all-more of a football type. Once Flick played for the high-school team, the Wizards. He was good: in fact, the best. In '46 He bucketed three hundred ninety points, A county record still. The ball loved Flick. I saw him rack up thirty-eight or forty In one home game. His hands were like wild birds. He never learned a trade, he just sells gas, Checks oil, and changes flats. Once in a while, As a gag, he dribbles an inner tube, But most of us remember anyway. His hands are fine and nervous on the lug wrench. It makes no difference to the lug wrench, though. Off work, he hangs around Mae's Luncheonette. Grease-gray and kind of coiled, he plays pinball, Smokes those thin cigars, nurses lemon phosphates. Flick seldom says a word to Mae, just nods Beyond her face toward bright applauding tiers Of Necco Wafers, Nibs, and Juju Beads.
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30
She picks up a pen, a whirlwind of words fly around her head. Her stories are written but not really read, as she plants her special words in her book. She pulls her little book closer, as people are wondering why, she sits there and scribbles every day and every night. Her throat swells and her anxiety kicks in, as worry pumps around her within. She wonders what they'll think, is she weird? But she continues her poems with everything unknown.
0
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 6:27 PM UTC
feartheunknown
Hobby
She picks up a pen, a whirlwind of words fly around her head. Her stories are written but not really read, as she plants her special words in her book. She pulls her little book closer, as people are wondering why, she sits there and scribbles every day and every night. Her throat swells and her anxiety kicks in, as worry pumps around her within. She wonders what they'll think, is she weird? But she continues her poems with everything unknown.
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6
When you know what's in my mind, you crawl into my ears and whisper the sweet nothings of your lust You reach yourself into my eyes and hide what you do not want me to see You kiss the veins of my heart and your wicked love pumps through my body And I am your captive And forever will be until you set me free You let me go, and give my tired thoughts and worries back to me.
0
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 5:49 PM UTC
daughter
White Orchids
When you know what's in my mind, you crawl into my ears and whisper the sweet nothings of your lust You reach yourself into my eyes and hide what you do not want me to see You kiss the veins of my heart and your wicked love pumps through my body And I am your captive And forever will be until you set me free You let me go, and give my tired thoughts and worries back to me.
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8
Inhale you enter my body tingling oxygen traveling through my veins you give me warmth keeping me alive I hold you in hoping there is something left an endless supply your departure boils my blood your beat-less body my heart pumps for two you leave me cold
0
Oct 6, 2010
Oct 6, 2010 at 2:24 PM UTC
kate-elise
lovehate
Inhale you enter my body tingling oxygen traveling through my veins you give me warmth keeping me alive I hold you in hoping there is something left an endless supply your departure boils my blood your beat-less body my heart pumps for two you leave me cold
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13
He slowly assembles his rifle on the barren rooftop as the      wind blows through his light blond hair. His long overcoat ***** and wraps around his thin long     legs. He places his elbows upon the short wall in front of him,      firmly kneeling on both knees. Glancing into the rifle's sight, he focuses sharply through      its cross hairs; he sees hundreds passing through the sight,      men, women, children, and as he sees it, a maze      of mass hysteria. He thinks of his current desperate situation and with each      passing thought, his heart pumps more hateful      adrenaline through his expanding veins. What am I?....He wonders. "I am the orphan child too ugly to adopt! I am the spit in the street you step in and curse! I am the cockroach so many crush beneath their feet! I wish to love and beloved, for I am ever so lonely,      so empty. I wish to give my whole self to someone to make them      eternally happy! To sacrifice all I possess, including my life, for the one      I love, but I am thoughtlessly branded a stalker! I am the void in all broken hearts. As a child, I only wished to be loved and appreciated, but I was raised the invisible child. There's a painful sore in my throbbing brain, the lethal      virus of society'd disdain. I'm insane!....I'm insane!...Give me peace, God if you exist      Give me peace! He glances once again through the sight's cross hairs, catching sight of a young boy standing alone, mouth wide open     with tears rolling down his cheeks. He pauses.....envisioning himself, his blue eyes cloud      with tears. He pulls back back his loaded rifle placing it against the      short wall, realizing at the moment this wasn't the way to end his      unbearable pain. Reaching into his deep overcoat's pocket, his long fingers      catch grasp of the cool surface of a 9 mm. Pulling it slowly from his pocket, he raises it to his temple, slipping his finger upon its tight trigger he whispers once      again, "God....if you exist, Give me peace."
0
Dec 26, 2016
Dec 26, 2016 at 1:25 PM UTC
daniel-jay-mc-shane
The Rooftop
He slowly assembles his rifle on the barren rooftop as the      wind blows through his light blond hair. His long overcoat ***** and wraps around his thin long     legs. He places his elbows upon the short wall in front of him,      firmly kneeling on both knees. Glancing into the rifle's sight, he focuses sharply through      its cross hairs; he sees hundreds passing through the sight,      men, women, children, and as he sees it, a maze      of mass hysteria. He thinks of his current desperate situation and with each      passing thought, his heart pumps more hateful      adrenaline through his expanding veins. What am I?....He wonders. "I am the orphan child too ugly to adopt! I am the spit in the street you step in and curse! I am the cockroach so many crush beneath their feet! I wish to love and beloved, for I am ever so lonely,      so empty. I wish to give my whole self to someone to make them      eternally happy! To sacrifice all I possess, including my life, for the one      I love, but I am thoughtlessly branded a stalker! I am the void in all broken hearts. As a child, I only wished to be loved and appreciated, but I was raised the invisible child. There's a painful sore in my throbbing brain, the lethal      virus of society'd disdain. I'm insane!....I'm insane!...Give me peace, God if you exist      Give me peace! He glances once again through the sight's cross hairs, catching sight of a young boy standing alone, mouth wide open     with tears rolling down his cheeks. He pauses.....envisioning himself, his blue eyes cloud      with tears. He pulls back back his loaded rifle placing it against the      short wall, realizing at the moment this wasn't the way to end his      unbearable pain. Reaching into his deep overcoat's pocket, his long fingers      catch grasp of the cool surface of a 9 mm. Pulling it slowly from his pocket, he raises it to his temple, slipping his finger upon its tight trigger he whispers once      again, "God....if you exist, Give me peace."
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47
The big angry things sling vocal feces Fleshy phallus-pumps close at hand, cooing Guzzle guzzle ethanol Inebriated petrol-baby "Smash the atom!" "We're too late, we're too late!" Tar (quick) sand ***** Big angry things drown "We gotta gotta drill!" Penetrate the Mother with a steel **** Oedipus laughs As the boulder, finally Crushes Sisyphus.
0
Mar 3, 2013
Mar 3, 2013 at 2:54 PM UTC
andrew-wenson
Oedipus laughs
The big angry things sling vocal feces Fleshy phallus-pumps close at hand, cooing Guzzle guzzle ethanol Inebriated petrol-baby "Smash the atom!" "We're too late, we're too late!" Tar (quick) sand ***** Big angry things drown "We gotta gotta drill!" Penetrate the Mother with a steel **** Oedipus laughs As the boulder, finally Crushes Sisyphus.
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13
If I carved the words "I love you" into every inch of my skin, would you believe them? Would you believe me? If I painted a picture of my heart with the very blood that it pumps, would you cherish it? Would you cherish me? If I promised that there was no one else, that there was only you, would you accept that? Would you accept me?
0
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 6:40 PM UTC
chelsey
Would You?
If I carved the words "I love you" into every inch of my skin, would you believe them? Would you believe me? If I painted a picture of my heart with the very blood that it pumps, would you cherish it? Would you cherish me? If I promised that there was no one else, that there was only you, would you accept that? Would you accept me?
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12
It was hard in the Moonta Mines that year For the miners, down in the pit, It wasn’t a place for a weak man, but The Cornish Miners had grit, They burrowed deeper with every day Extracting the copper ore, And the skimps grew high in the heaps that piled Not far from the Moonta shore. They wore their helmets deep in the mine With a candle fixed to the brim, And worked in the glow of the candlelight While the pumps pumped out and in, They pumped for water, they pumped for air For the air in the mine was rank, And water seeped at the lowest lode Where the atmosphere was dank. They built their cottages out of lime And mud, with a building board, On Sundays, that was the only time Once they had prayed to the Lord, The Cornish Miners were Methodists Built numerous churches there, And Cap’n Hancock had said, ‘Attend! Or your job is gone – Beware!’ Those men of flint had hearts of gold And they raised their children fine, Sons would follow their fathers then And go to work in the mine, One Christmas Eve they were gathered there By their hundreds, on the green, A candle lit on their helmets each Like a glittering starlit scene. The wives and children were there as well With their voices raised in praise, The swelling sound of an angel choir With their humble miners ways, They called it Carols by Candlelight And the movement grew apace, It spread all over the world from this The Moonta Miners grace. David Lewis Paget
0
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 3:33 AM UTC
david-lewis-paget
The First Carols by Candlelight
It was hard in the Moonta Mines that year For the miners, down in the pit, It wasn’t a place for a weak man, but The Cornish Miners had grit, They burrowed deeper with every day Extracting the copper ore, And the skimps grew high in the heaps that piled Not far from the Moonta shore. They wore their helmets deep in the mine With a candle fixed to the brim, And worked in the glow of the candlelight While the pumps pumped out and in, They pumped for water, they pumped for air For the air in the mine was rank, And water seeped at the lowest lode Where the atmosphere was dank. They built their cottages out of lime And mud, with a building board, On Sundays, that was the only time Once they had prayed to the Lord, The Cornish Miners were Methodists Built numerous churches there, And Cap’n Hancock had said, ‘Attend! Or your job is gone – Beware!’ Those men of flint had hearts of gold And they raised their children fine, Sons would follow their fathers then And go to work in the mine, One Christmas Eve they were gathered there By their hundreds, on the green, A candle lit on their helmets each Like a glittering starlit scene. The wives and children were there as well With their voices raised in praise, The swelling sound of an angel choir With their humble miners ways, They called it Carols by Candlelight And the movement grew apace, It spread all over the world from this The Moonta Miners grace. David Lewis Paget
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41
It is hard to say Quite where my excitement begins Seemingly deep inside, The adrenaline pumps Straight from my heart. Intrinsic as it is, This energy builds from the drums And the power of the cadence As it rolls off the rims And pounds it's dissonant melody Deep in to my core The roar of a thousand bodies United under a unanimous thought A single goal I nearly cannot contain The passion building inside me The crowd swaying me To wish for exactly what they want I am soon swept far away Lost deep in the energy Propelled by endless streams of Enthusiasm And loud cheers of affirmation I cannot and will not turn back I love being lost here Inside this beautiful cacophony Echoing cries of pure joy And music raised to the stars Underneath these Friday night lights
0
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 12:33 AM UTC
Tophattime
Friday Night Lights
It is hard to say Quite where my excitement begins Seemingly deep inside, The adrenaline pumps Straight from my heart. Intrinsic as it is, This energy builds from the drums And the power of the cadence As it rolls off the rims And pounds it's dissonant melody Deep in to my core The roar of a thousand bodies United under a unanimous thought A single goal I nearly cannot contain The passion building inside me The crowd swaying me To wish for exactly what they want I am soon swept far away Lost deep in the energy Propelled by endless streams of Enthusiasm And loud cheers of affirmation I cannot and will not turn back I love being lost here Inside this beautiful cacophony Echoing cries of pure joy And music raised to the stars Underneath these Friday night lights
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29
Feel the thrill See the wheels Thinking of nothing, As I travel down the hill Just taking in what I see with that turn coming up I can feel the breeze my adrenaline pumps my vision is clear when I'm on the road I have no fear
0
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 12:10 PM UTC
ashley-gonzalez
The Thrill Ride
Feel the thrill See the wheels Thinking of nothing, As I travel down the hill Just taking in what I see with that turn coming up I can feel the breeze my adrenaline pumps my vision is clear when I'm on the road I have no fear
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11
I see Beauty in a ********** Whose feelings you cannot convolute. I see a Businesswoman in a ********** A **** with brains, destitute she made a business plan. At least she did business studies and accounting at school, sells her body to earn, A living. I see a princess in a ********** because no man can resist her. You know when she starts curling her hair Even Pastors ********** then we bring the Saints Holiness into debate. Have you ever seen a ********** aspirate "I want you" ? **** Her voice alone gives ****** healing, Arouses ****** feelings, Pumps vessels, frightened by the spark in her eyes, hormone adrenalin give your heart rate a fast accelerating beatings. I see charisma in a ********** Married men,leave their wives in bed and creep to the streets corner just to cuddle with prostitutes, it was I who said, there's beauty in a ********** I see Beauty in a ********** I've seen Loyalty in a ********** Yes I did. How? What do I mean? Because she ***** all men in the same manner and charge them all the identical amount. That is Loyalty man. I said, I see Beauty in a ********** and I wasn't lying. There is Beauty in a ********** The Beauty that makes Preachers at church retire, The Beauty that make married men divorce, The Beauty that makes Jay Z forget Beyonce, The Beauty that makes Julius Malema forgets his political position The Beauty that makes Jesus Christ want to come back, to save his descendants from sin. The Beauty of a ********** Men have seen it.
0
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 8:53 PM UTC
siyanda-buthelezi
I See Beauty In A **********
I see Beauty in a ********** Whose feelings you cannot convolute. I see a Businesswoman in a ********** A **** with brains, destitute she made a business plan. At least she did business studies and accounting at school, sells her body to earn, A living. I see a princess in a ********** because no man can resist her. You know when she starts curling her hair Even Pastors ********** then we bring the Saints Holiness into debate. Have you ever seen a ********** aspirate "I want you" ? **** Her voice alone gives ****** healing, Arouses ****** feelings, Pumps vessels, frightened by the spark in her eyes, hormone adrenalin give your heart rate a fast accelerating beatings. I see charisma in a ********** Married men,leave their wives in bed and creep to the streets corner just to cuddle with prostitutes, it was I who said, there's beauty in a ********** I see Beauty in a ********** I've seen Loyalty in a ********** Yes I did. How? What do I mean? Because she ***** all men in the same manner and charge them all the identical amount. That is Loyalty man. I said, I see Beauty in a ********** and I wasn't lying. There is Beauty in a ********** The Beauty that makes Preachers at church retire, The Beauty that make married men divorce, The Beauty that makes Jay Z forget Beyonce, The Beauty that makes Julius Malema forgets his political position The Beauty that makes Jesus Christ want to come back, to save his descendants from sin. The Beauty of a ********** Men have seen it.
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44
Offshore Oil Exploration Months of preparatory work, Permits obtained. Maps explored, sited, Ground and beneath scanned, Each contour drawn, plotted, named. Equipment assemblage. Platform designed and towed, Pre-commencement government inspection Constant. We test. Slowly, the loose, easy dirt, Gives in.  No rejoicing yet, premature. The diverter in place, functions well. The deeper the bit, the harder the resistance. The camera's eyes monitor until We reach depths too deep for their functioning. The derrickhands order about the junior roustabouts, Check the mud pumps, check the pH levels, Do this, do that. The pecking order on board clear. The kings of the rig, the drillers, in charge. Then, disaster. Oil spill. Worse. Not only smiling, She has Opened her eyes and Ceased purring. P.S. This would as is my custom be, Re-entitled properly: First Poem of the Day: Offshore Oil Exploration
0
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 7:02 AM UTC
nat-lipstadt
I. Offshore Oil Exploration
Offshore Oil Exploration Months of preparatory work, Permits obtained. Maps explored, sited, Ground and beneath scanned, Each contour drawn, plotted, named. Equipment assemblage. Platform designed and towed, Pre-commencement government inspection Constant. We test. Slowly, the loose, easy dirt, Gives in.  No rejoicing yet, premature. The diverter in place, functions well. The deeper the bit, the harder the resistance. The camera's eyes monitor until We reach depths too deep for their functioning. The derrickhands order about the junior roustabouts, Check the mud pumps, check the pH levels, Do this, do that. The pecking order on board clear. The kings of the rig, the drillers, in charge. Then, disaster. Oil spill. Worse. Not only smiling, She has Opened her eyes and Ceased purring. P.S. This would as is my custom be, Re-entitled properly: First Poem of the Day: Offshore Oil Exploration
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30
There are never any suicides in the quarter among people one knows No successful suicides. A Chinese boy kills himself and is dead. (they continue to place his mail in the letter rack at the Dome) A Norwegian boy kills himself and is dead. (no one knows where the other Norwegian boy has gone) They find a model dead alone in bed and very dead. (it made almost unbearable trouble for the concierge) Sweet oil, the white of eggs, mustard and water, soap suds and stomach pumps rescue the people one knows. Every afternoon the people one knows can be found at the café.
0
4.7k
Ernest Hemingway
Montparnasse
There are never any suicides in the quarter among people one knows No successful suicides. A Chinese boy kills himself and is dead. (they continue to place his mail in the letter rack at the Dome) A Norwegian boy kills himself and is dead. (no one knows where the other Norwegian boy has gone) They find a model dead alone in bed and very dead. (it made almost unbearable trouble for the concierge) Sweet oil, the white of eggs, mustard and water, soap suds and stomach pumps rescue the people one knows. Every afternoon the people one knows can be found at the café.
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12