"rds" poems
•i
was
once
whole
•full and
complete•
grand desi-
gns adorned
upon my very
soul•always...
would land on
my feet•my wo-
rds now partially
broken•resembli-
ng that of an ail-
ing crescent• i...
am still here, i...
watch and i lis-
ten• scouring
for mediocre
remnants
that still
remain
abs
en
t•
.
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 10:25 AM UTC
By the by,
I am a tweak of reality,
Quite f'rtile. Touch me
And impregnate me
With w'rds.
F.Z.N
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 1:39 PM UTC
conversational tones too often
tumble into sloppiness, leaving
my words marked with fumble
-d caresses and stuttering half-t
-houghts. i don't leave you with
my leftovers on purpose, they d
-ropped into my purse when i c
-ame to see you today. a lot of th
-ings drop into my mind when i
see you. but it's mostly your wo
-rds. perhaps my only love affair
was with the letters you placed
under my name. i never wanted
to be beautiful until you wrote o
-f it with a ball point pen; never
dreamt of living extravagantly u
-ntil you dusted me in spices and
sparks with flecks of ink and the
marks of your fingers. you crafte
-d everything you loved about m
-e. you are the only reason i am e
-xtravagantly in love with the fle
-cks and sparks under my skin. y
-ou planted whispers beneath my
eyes and called them dangerous.
but only you were dangerous
to me
Nov 20, 2017
Nov 20, 2017 at 6:17 PM UTC
A tyrant king, a
Vandal’s scream
Of moor & rock
And fair I sing;
Life’s to its
Test, guer-
don of unrest,
&strife; believed!
Milked out
like utter red; lipids
****** hard
at birth: semi-
born: made
three legion’s ****
careful; cuz fate’s,
Allectus, mean.
Made in sheaths
An aural memor-
y lock, a- nswer ur
calling; tricky to
be bad &get; a-
way w/it! Caraus-
ius’s on guard
duty; he’s in.
Fog in chan-
nel; no lights:
Bware! Usurp-
ing cou- ntry,
mauling& killing men
To ob- tain
Power; @any
risk in Britain.
gold insignias!
shine ur lite!
greed can’t
pay—poenas dat!
Ascle-
piod-
otus
hears:
He, Allectus does a-
way w/.
Besei-
ge in London—rime
the trea-
sure al-
located;
Vain he found, good.
Crack souls’ ice;
To ruin comes
conceit, comes
that rip- ped part.
Ah, to p’wer& knifes
Like wo- rds...
P’wer slashes
Carves, &impales;.
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 11:53 PM UTC
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Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 1:28 AM UTC
There was an old man of Boulak,
Who sate on a Crocodile's back;
But they said, 'Tow'rds the night,
He may probably bite,
Which might vex you, old man of Boulak!'
1.2k
when i applied for edinburgh
i was thinking:
i have to get away from these people!
i could have applied
for Oxbridge without thinking,
i applied for Bristol - fair enough,
if some dean asked me to recite
Wordsworth i'd have recited
a recipe saying 'rustic ambiance, you
see, better a recipe off the top
of my head than a date in a chinese restaurant
citing woo 'rds' worth',
like today with leftover Moussaka -
is aubergine the national veg of greece?
anyway, the salad:
spring assortment of cow dung in reverse,
cucumbers, cherry tomatoes, basil,
spring onions, a drizzle of ****** olive oil
infused with chillies,
balsamic vinegar, and half a teaspoon of honey,
salt and paper to taste... wordsworth can ****
his magpie and lark's worth of recitation,
i rather recite a recipe, in line with his
rustic residence -
like me tonight, in no man's land between
shy-urban (suburbia) and the wild parts of
the land, three beers perched on a fence
looking into the dark void of a scaled down
forest - you don't get any crows in urban areas...
indeed Edinburgh was the prime gothic
resurrection, Frankenstein's monster could
have been my neighbour -
whereas some in the grizzly north
attack the sky with colours like the houses
in St. Petersburg (pink, azure,
chickpea), other's embrace the grey
with very mundane coloured architecture,
thus when a chance sunshine comes through
people tend to look up and watch with glee -
Edinburgh brown - stonemasons' slip
of the tongue.
a murky yellow moon, a sclerosis of the moon,
the shining part in reverse
where the night the x-rayed sclera
and the moon the pupil fully illuminated with
gossiping sun in want of a listen;
a murky sclerosis yellow moon - fine agreement
with the thinning clouds that
could never be used for Mickiewicz's castles
in perfect blue and perfect cotton cauliflower contrast
of the zenith by the perpetuated day in mirror-standstill.
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 6:49 PM UTC
She will find herself lost in books that give her the sense of adventure she needs.
Wishing she could fall into the pages of book;
mix in between the lines of characters,
explore all the imaginary places,
get lost in the story line.
She brings those fantasies into her dreams, where she can play it out in her own style.
Imagination is what she breathes on.
Way better to live in a fantasy than in reality.
-rds
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 11:24 PM UTC
Your words
that hold
No meaning
Will
Choke you
In the end.
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 8:41 AM UTC
Reading this
can see h w distra ght I am
I'm missing ut letters.
N t j st an letters th gh.
Three little letters that remind me f .
I find it hard t talk ab t .
Even t be in the same r m.
I av id it all.
I'll even av id writing the w rd 'av id'.
Ir nical.
H sterical.
C mical.
All w rds with a part f in them.
Wh am I kidding?
I can't pretend.
It's all that's in m head.
You.
Jun 25, 2018
Jun 25, 2018 at 9:18 PM UTC
S rds?
mi wo
le in ............................................
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 4:32 PM UTC
U.
You.
Hue.
You.
You are the reason why I can’t write anyou
it is taking me so long thinking ofyou
styles, figyoures, metaphyours,
I can’t even finis-
any sentenc-you
Stop.
You’re the reas-you
Youarethereaso-you.
**** Even if I think faster, you can still keep pace-you.
You are a mountaintop between dawn-you.
I can’t write anyou.
How you can you I you write you any you poetry you
make you art you you you-
if there’s always you slipping between my wo-you-rds and thoughts.
I can’t you
You.
You.
Now I know why poets can’t write when they are in lov-you.
You.
You.
Sorry love but how can I make you a poem when there are no words
I can think of that can describe you except …
You.
You.
You.
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 2:11 AM UTC