"recurve" poems - Hello Poetry

Sometimes the night is soft. A dream of children. They say: "An Angel has touched them" I'm sitting and looking at you. I don't count the daily stones. I forget about those who in the morning with brushes sharpen the teeth - white ones (they're looking for death). I forgot about those who in the morning with soap wash the hands - the white ones (they're looking for death). I forgot about those who in the morning with ink recurve the eyes - the serene ones. (they're looking for death). Oh, my daughter! The night is soft. The original: Седя и те гледам Понякога нощта е мека. Сън на деца. Казват: „ Докоснал ги Ангел” Седя и те гледам. Не броя дневните камъни. Забравям за тези, които в утрото със четки изострят зъбите –белите ( те търсят смърт). Забравям за тези, които в утрото със сапуни умиват ръцете – нощните ( те търсят смърт). Забравям за тези, които в утрото със тушове извиват очите – ясните ( те търсят смърт). О, дъще моя! Мека е нощта. *Translator Bulgarian-English: Vessislava Savova rarebird © bogpan - all rights reserved.

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Jun 29, 2011

Jun 29, 2011 at 2:27 AM UTC

bozhidar-pangelov

I'm sitting and looking at you

Sometimes the night is soft. A dream of children. They say: "An Angel has touched them" I'm sitting and looking at you. I don't count the daily stones. I forget about those who in the morning with brushes sharpen the teeth - white ones (they're looking for death). I forgot about those who in the morning with soap wash the hands - the white ones (they're looking for death). I forgot about those who in the morning with ink recurve the eyes - the serene ones. (they're looking for death). Oh, my daughter! The night is soft. The original: Седя и те гледам Понякога нощта е мека. Сън на деца. Казват: „ Докоснал ги Ангел” Седя и те гледам. Не броя дневните камъни. Забравям за тези, които в утрото със четки изострят зъбите –белите ( те търсят смърт). Забравям за тези, които в утрото със сапуни умиват ръцете – нощните ( те търсят смърт). Забравям за тези, които в утрото със тушове извиват очите – ясните ( те търсят смърт). О, дъще моя! Мека е нощта. *Translator Bulgarian-English: Vessislava Savova rarebird © bogpan - all rights reserved.

51

It's better this way-- Infinitely gracious through some colossal mistake of philosophy, Fists bleeding crumbs and spent cartridges but no, not here Not even heaped in trembling awful coarse and remnant parts So I gulp my spent errors - hid in the corner cloaked and dripping, All chin-slicked rivers and dead raw mouthfuls my Open-jaw distention retching light and dread obscenity. And already I'm done - the earth is too rich and your face is too much And my skull is not a crown And my eyes are not a crown and My fingers, stretched in nets of elegant blue recurve all casual magnetism Slow repose and measured coronas of flesh and revelled refraction But no, still not a crown Not even down here where the rainclouds cough And as I lift my face and tongue all wrapped all very strange in Feathers and claws and elegant uniforms still no still no ah! here there's nothing. But the maps are not a science and never you promised me never no Never, not even as we stretched and turned in revelled liquid bursts of languid sanity. My skull's a cracked chariot, never not a crown And it never could it hold, not even for a moment, Even a broken-down notion of you.

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Sep 26, 2016

Sep 26, 2016 at 2:57 AM UTC

andrew-lees

Down here

It's better this way-- Infinitely gracious through some colossal mistake of philosophy, Fists bleeding crumbs and spent cartridges but no, not here Not even heaped in trembling awful coarse and remnant parts So I gulp my spent errors - hid in the corner cloaked and dripping, All chin-slicked rivers and dead raw mouthfuls my Open-jaw distention retching light and dread obscenity. And already I'm done - the earth is too rich and your face is too much And my skull is not a crown And my eyes are not a crown and My fingers, stretched in nets of elegant blue recurve all casual magnetism Slow repose and measured coronas of flesh and revelled refraction But no, still not a crown Not even down here where the rainclouds cough And as I lift my face and tongue all wrapped all very strange in Feathers and claws and elegant uniforms still no still no ah! here there's nothing. But the maps are not a science and never you promised me never no Never, not even as we stretched and turned in revelled liquid bursts of languid sanity. My skull's a cracked chariot, never not a crown And it never could it hold, not even for a moment, Even a broken-down notion of you.

21

please..? not often will you get me to toss my hat in the ring and dance a jig and do it as carefree and upset, and well, run the gambit of real emotions and motions of thought as they truly and in the moment bloom for view and place no filter in between the me , windows roiled down and you. so.. If you have it, then post it ,type it up, ( like I said, spelling, yes I **** at it and will totally ***** it all up) but maybe the honesty of the moment can cause one less to find me so loathsome and just maybe remind them that some of us dudes are not interested in testing the macheesmoe of a guy, and actually wish and hope success finds and smiles on you, even though you a side too, cause I am not out to take yours not critique hows you does it and makes it ryhm the rhythms that are your kingdoms and families, friends and good **** ends and interests. and **** it, you know this by now. and I understand all things have a time they shine and that time comes more than a few times in any mans life for more than he find that time a changing of life thing. so hope I recurve a link to that diatribe of what boys and random thoughts, that I did openly say, ***** it, here, now let us see how bad I blew it. much love and well, only human and a stumbling dance of chance seems the time I tap my knee told and bump my elbows into all my not so funny bones and fumble about all goofy eyed and were pushed the hell does anyone get ugly ads feet like that , and all. smile, cause I am.

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Jul 17, 2015

Jul 17, 2015 at 7:58 PM UTC

ricci-moon-scott-crow-moon

If ya heard it, post it and send me the link..

please..? not often will you get me to toss my hat in the ring and dance a jig and do it as carefree and upset, and well, run the gambit of real emotions and motions of thought as they truly and in the moment bloom for view and place no filter in between the me , windows roiled down and you. so.. If you have it, then post it ,type it up, ( like I said, spelling, yes I **** at it and will totally ***** it all up) but maybe the honesty of the moment can cause one less to find me so loathsome and just maybe remind them that some of us dudes are not interested in testing the macheesmoe of a guy, and actually wish and hope success finds and smiles on you, even though you a side too, cause I am not out to take yours not critique hows you does it and makes it ryhm the rhythms that are your kingdoms and families, friends and good **** ends and interests. and **** it, you know this by now. and I understand all things have a time they shine and that time comes more than a few times in any mans life for more than he find that time a changing of life thing. so hope I recurve a link to that diatribe of what boys and random thoughts, that I did openly say, ***** it, here, now let us see how bad I blew it. much love and well, only human and a stumbling dance of chance seems the time I tap my knee told and bump my elbows into all my not so funny bones and fumble about all goofy eyed and were pushed the hell does anyone get ugly ads feet like that , and all. smile, cause I am.

3

We intertwine like softwing birds: Another sign my heart's reversed In sweet recurve. Each beat is yours, Pumping wine through leaflet doors For evermore. This sacred space, Lover's sighs and rosehip lace And feathers - oh! Let's fly, let's fly... Let's leave it blessed and seize the sky.

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Aug 30, 2016

Aug 30, 2016 at 10:20 PM UTC

andrew-lees

Murmur

We intertwine like softwing birds: Another sign my heart's reversed In sweet recurve. Each beat is yours, Pumping wine through leaflet doors For evermore. This sacred space, Lover's sighs and rosehip lace And feathers - oh! Let's fly, let's fly... Let's leave it blessed and seize the sky.

8

Somewhere, as we breathe, an archeress stretches her shoulders giving way to her bow, crossing in accuracy, hitting no aim at all— her arrow wanders with the wind amongst a desert of emeralds then settles as a thorn in a flora until it’s taken out of its home— and reacquainted with recurve again to find flight somewhere else.

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Feb 24, 2018

Feb 24, 2018 at 3:31 PM UTC

ayeshakot

Archeress and her Arrow

Somewhere, as we breathe, an archeress stretches her shoulders giving way to her bow, crossing in accuracy, hitting no aim at all— her arrow wanders with the wind amongst a desert of emeralds then settles as a thorn in a flora until it’s taken out of its home— and reacquainted with recurve again to find flight somewhere else.

5

Micron thin recurve spines Guided down the grooves in the bones Pulling your sadness through the veins that follow the strings stinging to your toes White powder Glistens in the moon Spreading light. Sap away your stomach Ulcer Festering Hole burned Altering Your smile strips Paint plummets On the top of your foot Left alone two days The paint dried Tears didn't The fence around your neck Holding high your chin and head Squeezes a throat Door Cry Gates bashed with bleached Red Don't want a soul to hop out the opening . Hang the ghost sheet in the closet Use a hanger put your body on it Then hang the bones and meat next to the ***** Cut the sod 24 inches wide Dig deep only 2 feet 5 foot long and crumpled Pieced perfectly for feeding

0

Mar 20, 2018

Mar 20, 2018 at 7:51 PM UTC

Lendonpartain

Meat Ghost

Micron thin recurve spines Guided down the grooves in the bones Pulling your sadness through the veins that follow the strings stinging to your toes White powder Glistens in the moon Spreading light. Sap away your stomach Ulcer Festering Hole burned Altering Your smile strips Paint plummets On the top of your foot Left alone two days The paint dried Tears didn't The fence around your neck Holding high your chin and head Squeezes a throat Door Cry Gates bashed with bleached Red Don't want a soul to hop out the opening . Hang the ghost sheet in the closet Use a hanger put your body on it Then hang the bones and meat next to the ***** Cut the sod 24 inches wide Dig deep only 2 feet 5 foot long and crumpled Pieced perfectly for feeding

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