"relaying" poems
Do You Ever Find … ?
That Words Sometimes …
KEEP On … " Runnin' " …
Through Your Mind … ?!?
Sometimes ...
My Rhymes And Words Are …
...... STUNNING ….. !!!!!
These Days I Find My Word Designs …
Refine And Dine Just Like FINE Wine … !!!
So Here's A Few To Give You … " Clues " ...
of Some of The Ways My Wordplay Moves …
Wordplay … ?
Just … RIDICULOUS … !!!
Volume … ?
Straight Up … INFINITE … !!!
Inception Is … " Synonymous " …
With BIG VIRGE The … EPONYMOUS … !!!!!
Conception …
NOT …. " Inglorious " …. !!!!!
******* NOPE … ERRONEOUS … !!!!!
My Use of Verse Is … " GLORIOUS " … !!!!!
In Fact It's … " MERITORIOUS " . !!!!!!!
Because It's TIGHT NOT Porous ….
Chorus … NO … !!!
Because It Flows …
And Has NO PLACE In …
... " Talent Shows " … !!!!!
TALENT ... ???
Whoooooaaaaa You'd Better KNOW … !!!!!
What I Construct May One Day BLOW … !!!
A Hole In ALL These Shows For … " Ho's " … !!!!!
Prostitution …. NO …. !!!
NOT How I Roll … !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Talking of THOSE …
NO TIME For Coc’ … !!!
Or Yes … ******* … !!!
Because My Nose ...
Does NOT House Notes … !!!!!
Where AIR Should Flow … !!!!!
FLOWS … ?!?
I Got …Those … !!!
QUOTES That Rock Boats … !!!
Races Places So Many Faces …
Sometimes My Mind ...
DEFINES … INVASIVE …
WAIT ..................................................................... !!!
I'm Just PLAYING And Relaying ...
Words of Verse …
From The Thoughts of …
….. " Big Virge " ….. !!!
My Head … ???
It HURTS ... Just Like My Arm … !!!
Because I Write …
Like Those Who Fight …
And Wear The Garms' …
of Those Who Choose To ...
YES … " Bear Arms " … ?!?
Violent … NAH … !?!
Big Virge Is …
….. Calm ….............................................................
I'd Rather Charm …
But PLEASE BE SMART … !!!
Before My Words …
Get In Your ... " CLAAT " … !!!
Or Your …... " RASSHOLE' " ….. !!!
Am I Bajan … ???
NO ... But Here's The Quote …
I'm … ENGLISH Born …
So Know of Their Scorn … !!!!!
But Am Now REBORN … !!!
With … CARIBBEAN Views …
Just Down The Road …
From My NEW Bedroom … !!!!!
On BAJAN' Shores …. !!!
NOT Cold But WARM … !!!
I'm HAPPIER NOW … !!!
That I Have FOUND …
A Place For Myself …
On My Parents' Ground … !!!!!
Africa Next … ?
Well … More or Less …
So MUCH of This WORLD … !!!!!
I Haven't Seen … YET … ?!?
Girls … ?!?!?
That's Where This Poem ENDS.
SO MANY Look FINE But I Just Can't find …
One Whose Down To … " Fool Around " … !!!!!
With The Man … Big Virge ...
... " The Connoisseur of Spoken Words " ...
I Guess That's Why … ?
I Write These Rhymes …
And Put In Verse …
Words That … " Traverse " …
That I NOW FIND …
" Run Through My Mind " …..
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 4:32 PM UTC
I convince myself
conforming my thoughts
changing my memories
lies
I tell others
relaying imagery
that has never been seen
by my own eyes
but I believe them to be true
the stories
insanity
my own lies
turn to fact in my mind
and i wonder
what is real anymore
confusion
my life is a lie
my mind is convoluted
but sometimes it is better that way
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 3:14 PM UTC
it seems came her
adrift on mellow breezes
faintly scent o' strawberries
red dawn golden lashes in rhythms
upon a meadow painted by
Emerson words and Van Gogh splashes
so lightly afoot
so not to spoil any of nature
listening
relaying
being
her.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 6:47 AM UTC
Electromagnetic Motion Ocean Of Pure Focal Emo-tion.
The Very Sound Of The Creators Verse And Rhythm In Loving Notion Pouring Through The Crystalline Endocrine Indoctrinated Shock Ra Of Shocking Unblocking Colorful Tones In Unmolested Focus And Definition.
To Flow Your Emo-tions Through Your Core And Manifest In Your Intended Notion All Without The Misidentified Horror Of The Wrongfully And Negatively Defined Emotions, One Finds That The Mere Act Of William Tell And That Apple Upon The Head Must Have Been One Hell Of An Interesting Interaction, Yet Instead Of The Reassuring Smiles And Calm Demeanor Of The Archer As They Lock Eyes, What Pray Tell You Think The Eyes Of The Archer Looked Like On That Very Frozen In Time Moment As He Released The Arrow To Guided Love Of Perfected Intent And Delivery Of Safe And Demanding Fortitude Of Action To Defeat All Possible Variable , As If To Need To Bend The Very Laws Of Nature If They Were To Cause An Number Of Odd And Unpredictable Events To Derail The Intent Of The Man Shooting The Apple Off The Head Of His Dear Child's Head, For Not A Bird May Pass Between, Not A Gust Of Wind Be Seen, Not An Earthquake Be Fabled To Accrue, Not A Single Action But The Undeterred Focus Of Absolute Might In Will, His Fee Will In Flight. What Might His Eyes Be Relaying In That Frozen Moment? Reassurance, Pity, Fear, Confidence, Or The Electric Fire Of Electromagnetic Motion Ocean Of Pure Focal Emo-tion To Get The **** Thing Done And Without Foolish ******** Reactions To The Real And True Focus Of Emotion, And Pray Tell, What If The Child Mistook This Look In A Moments Notice And Flinched Out Of Concern That The Father Was Angry With Him? Or Is It Best To Realize The Real Importance Of This Story As It Is The Trust In The Definitions Of Intended Focus And Not Of Simple Trust.? ,... Yes, Intended Focus Of Emotions Being Trusted As True And Not Negative In Nature, Dear Friend, Yes. So Let Your Soul Be Your Pilot, Let The Flow Of Emotion Be Free And Not Dictated By The Restraints Of Control And Be Seen And Used In Negative Ways, For These Are The Crimes Against All Mankind And The Bigger Part Of Why Spoken Word Is The Very Spell That Binds The Psyche, For The Focus Of Or The Lack Of Focus Of Emotions True Meaning And Purpose Is The Crime Against All Life Indeed. Live Free And Pilot This Love Ship Successfully By No Longer Defining Self By The Ways And Means That Have Caused Us To Fear Our Own Power To Move Mountains, And Kept Us All Mustard Seeds When We Are Truly Far More Than You Can Believe. Feel Free, Yes, By All Means Feel Free.
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
Two broken halves split by 4 seas
Two wanting hearts in each other's relief
What am I to be without you here with me?
Only with you do I ever feel so complete.
What held us bound are just 2 screens
Relaying our hearts' wishes for each other to see
My mind ponders over the distance between we,
Hoping that in your heart, you'll think of me
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 4:22 AM UTC
The emotions of a human
Can be lightly
Played and strummed
It can resemble the steady beat of a heart
The sound cannot be replicated
Repeated or duplicated
Once the disturbing melody starts
The highest strings
Penetrates the mind
Representing the sadness and anxiety
For now you are quite alone
The shrillness will increase in strength
But will remain dark in tone
The lower strings
They are the loss of hope
Relaying disillusion
These strings are taut
Specifically for you
In my composition
I will most certainly use them
To complete my vengeful melodies
The strands I pluck and choose
Shall be your life's situation
For you, my sly one are the harp
And I am the musician
I strum the strings one by one
In a familiar rhythm, you know
I am smiling at your rapid demise
As your heart implodes silently and slow
I will continue to play you
Throughout your life
My tunes filled with retribution
Have no doubt
We both know it is true
You are the harp
And I am the musician
The strange and eerie song I play
Notes chose for their intent
For all the damage you have caused my dear
The strings I choose will represent
Now I perform this song
For your blackened soul
Upon which there will be many lesions
Till the echoes of this music
Shall drive you into madness
For you are the harp my darling
I am the musician
This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 6:01 PM UTC
I remember when the photos treated Sam kind,
and yet on the late nights (coffee, gin, cigarettes, the like) --
instead of relaying stories of interstate thighs,
instead of talking in fistfuls and mouthloads --
he spoke of internet ***********
Me, Greg, and Greg's cousin who was named after
an Eastwood western would sink the sofa.
Sam would go through the bottles, and he spoke of
internet *********** with complete delicateness.
"Their eyes always get me. The way they stare into the camera,
and every once in awhile, the veil comes down. You see they
don't want to be there. You see an eager, teenage **** reflected
in their black pupils. You see her quivering lips.
You see the ritual. It's heart-breaking."
Sam would rub his forehead -- carved by time.
Greg would ask how the real ladies were treating him.
Sam never answered.
Time made deeper creases in Sam each day,
behind a closed door,
in the secret hours,
all to the glow of a laptop screen.
He had given his love to the distance
in the **** actresses' eyes.
Mar 31, 2012
Mar 31, 2012 at 4:31 AM UTC
Why poets are overcome by the need
To scatter words across the universe
Many wind-blown seeds.
To splash their sadness on paper
Paint black their rage,
A sea of raw emotion
Where melancholy rules as queen
I often wonder
If they ever desire to escape
From the fantasy worlds
Sometimes willingly created.
Relaying their loves, dreams, and trysts,
Oblivious to the reality
That in truth they don't exist
They are after all only a projection of light in the dark
Simple words of the poet.
The artist of thought.
This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M Darby 2/3/2016
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 11:06 AM UTC
Is a true hero one like Superman?
Name spread across the front page
Bold symbol blazoned across his chest
Or maybe a hero is like Batman
Operating in the shadows
Name barely dared whispered by evildoers
On the off chance he'll appear.
Perhaps a heroine is like Oracle
Helping from behind the scenes
Relaying crucial information
Maybe Daredevil is,
Defeating personal as well as social
Obsctacles, physical and mental
But no, I think a true hero is brave
Or kind or welcoming or even
Small-scale rebel or revolutionary
And needs no emblem shot into the skies
Needs no great ceremony of recognition
Or semblance of public thanks
Just a smile, or the thought that
A life has been changed for the better.
Nov 18, 2012
Nov 18, 2012 at 9:58 PM UTC
I saw....
Two black crystal *****
Rimmed with white
Reflecting an indefinable emotion
Glowing with some intense passion
Riveting
Entrancing!
Two eyes of oceanic depths
Relaying the most intimate message
“I love you” (?)
So piercing were those eyes
That I couldn’t stand their electric glare
From those eyes, rose the Promethean fire
Glistening like molten gold
At once sending out
The light of a hundred galaxies
From the fire bursting through those eyes
My body was turned into a conflagration
And my soul rippled like fermented wine
An ocean was stirring within
Whose whirls could never again be tamed
In those flooding pools
Let me cast my fishing net!
Feb 14, 2017
Feb 14, 2017 at 4:55 AM UTC
With her black eyeglass frames and sensible heels,
the psychiatrist is a contrived portrait of neutrality.
The timer on her desk ticks sickeningly,
counting off the missed opportunities for revelation
that pass with each minute.
I ask her if she has considered a Victorian fainting couch,
she does not smile.
I make cheap cracks about diet ads and the plight of the modern anorexic,
she scribbles something on a legal pad-
from where I sit, the only legible word is "questionable".
She is not describing herself,
yet I can think of nothing more dubious
than being paid to listen to another's tedium.
I spend one hour each week with my hired companion,
and she, in turn,
spends her time relaying information
to another army entirely,
sending reports to the other doctors,
leaking statements to my family.
She is the informant, and I,
the gullible sap who believes in
"conditional confidentiality".
I pretend I know nothing of the arrangement,
and try to speed time by imagining alternate realities.
I picture her as a talking doll-
A string protrudes from her back;
when pulled, a mechanical voice says
"I see", or occasionally,
"How do you feel about that?"
I stifle a laugh,
and glance over at her glazed expression-
there isn't much of a difference.
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 8:52 PM UTC
Everyday I am born to gods relaying
lineage through winged messengers.
****** radiance enkindles immaculate retinas
in solar flares
and picturesque mornings' idolatry.
Tones entrancing, blue jays
or northwest mockingbirds,
their range of majestic differences
eluding attentive innocence,
elation ebbs to pain's perpetual flow,
streaming hypno-suggestive claims
finding me inexorable
to beliefs I've not died.
Impassioned voices usher me through,
by mid-day I've learned
to speak their tongues,
strange hisses
and twisting trebles
an attempted appeasement for
conforming to continued cyclical living,
instinct selection seeking final detention,
rebirth a trapped evolutionary trait.
Dreading each twilight,
coping through whichever maiden
may allow my musings
to conform to her form
for the night,
overlapping until I
am but a shadow
dominated by her presence,
her brilliance illuminating every scar
of the side perpetually left
to the dark,
enlightenment held
in the warmth of her touch
until she too
falls beneath the horizon.
Sun setting upon this silhouette
and whispering tomorrow
in stagnant sleep speak,
settling to sacrifice's sufficience.
I fear this rest.
Gleaning premise from barbaric genealogy
qualitated as residual spatial pandemic,
leaving this life cycle
reduced to just one more death.
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 9:17 PM UTC
............................................... on the.................................................
moth eaten pages,
i pen
the discovery,
i dread
my existence
in this world.
in the abode of black men,
among the filth of mankind,
scattered in those dimly lighten ghettos
relaying an unforgivable legacy
i stood
as a moss covered relic
silhouetted against the light
a moppet,
born in this tabooed world
a scar upon my kins
who likely preferred a boy
biped,
standing alone in the moor
beheld a future
turned into debris
like flies ,
swarming around a glare
many a cold hapless eyes ,
i met
hovering over me
eyeing me - a hellion
and soon they drew my fate
every door
shut upon my face
forcing me
to creep in to corners
and live
under the shadows
to defy them proved grim
only to be hugged
often by heartless whips
or burnt by cigarette thuds
thus like a ****
amid st the bean stalk
they uprooted me
from their lives
and thawed my efforts
to seek the world
after all who am i
a girl
yes a girl
a taboo....
or a disgrace?
i was killed
murdered...in my mothers womb
my blood spilled
before i was born
before i could see
before i could breath
they choked me
to death
from life
from
me ....
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 10:02 AM UTC
the CIA will never make the money off ******
it made off *******
******* is for parties
dance clubs
good times in social settings
****** not so much
dark alleys with ***** dealers
selling black tar
to hopeless souls
Mexican mules with **** cavities
brimming
carrying kilos into Nogales
or maybe Calexico
bow legged and sweating
just 35 more trips and sweet little Consuela
can be an American
until Trump gets his wall –
article after article relaying tragedy
the poor, lost in addiction
desperately seeking a coping mechanism
something to stem the tide of despair
and general malaise
dead in their prime
over a twenty sack
and low self-worth….
many friends and family this same tale…
some folks heritage is in ranching,
thousands of head of cattle
driven across the open plains
grandfather to grandson,
uncle and cousin….
others,
political dynasty
papa congressman
and auntie judge
but not mine –
the crest of my tree looks like the biohazard symbol
as generations of drug addicts litter the undergrowth
their weight attempting to hold me
lock me into familial history
unfortunately or fortunately
my will, and recognition of god’s power
flowing within me, as it..
I am my own master
and free to fashion my branches
to whatever my liking desires –
undercover government agents line street corners
whispering illusionary tales of release
stories of becoming void of pain
parables relating a free mind
to personal freedom
through chemical alterations
I whisper back
“I bet my **** is delicious,
wanna taste?” –
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 12:35 PM UTC
“Weights to the body that want all too exercise
Your Muscles want you to energize
Two Fitness Enthusiast were known as the “Iron Brothers”
The movie was centered around Exercise, Physical Transformation, Muscles and Bodybuilding
Yet it was a creation forming a Fitness Enterprise and Bodybuilding Affiliation Organization
Weider Muscles want your attention please
Stand and Flex but move with ease
But there was Rivalry between two George and Joe Weider all having a mission for Bodybuilding with a Higher Recognition Bodybuilding Prize
The convince being a hard realize
So George had a title that was called “Mr. Universe 1940”
Bodybuilders were all competing for the title
However, Weider was denounced to have anyone from his organization to compete, and there was a struggle
But Joe Weider saw a bigger picture of Bodybuilders in creating the “Mr. Olympia 1950”
Victory being on Joe Weider’s mind
But having a magazine that will enhance
The mission was about giving all Bodybuilders the competing chance
Bodybuilding Magazine relaying Bodybuilders and Bodybuilding coverage
Expressing to the world Bodybuilding was a sport
But don’t cut the sport short
It was going to take persuasion and instilling Bodybuilding appreciation
So the journey being a determined mission
Yet, it was on to discover Arnold Schwarzenegger Whose name Joe Weider had heard of
This Writer actually met Arnold Schwarzenegger personally when he was competing during his Bodybuilding days and the title was “Mr. Olympia” in New York City
I met Mr. Schwarzenegger at the Mid-City Gym in New York City
Arnold would often have trouble saying my name Anthony
Today, he would have no trouble saying my name because he was once a California Governor and a Movie Star
However, I was intrigued to see Sergio Olivia, Jr playing his Father in the Movie, Sergio Olivia, SR
What a combination?
Now the Sergio Olivia, Sr was a Cuban Weightlifter, and became a high Ranking Bodybuilder standing with Arnold Schwarzenegger
What makes Sergio Olivia, SR was when he posed in the ***** pose with humongous Lats when it came to Bodybuilding competition
So Sergio Olivia, Jr was following in his father’s footsteps with destination being stardom
But the Mr. Olympia is still the number one Bodybuilding competition today
Joe Weider saw the vision and how Bodybuilding will make the Mr. Olympia competition worthwhile
Are your muscles pumped to perfection?
Joe Weider’s legacy left behind, “Muscles pumped to Victory”
There’s training to be done
It’s Bodybuilding Victory I want all too be among
Yet, remember what I accomplished in looking upon.
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 7:03 PM UTC
the worst thing I’ve ever done
was letting the world
know that I write,
it’s not the 2am phone calls
asking if I’m okay,
it’s not the regret of
of relationships or
the running away,
it’s the look in my mothers
eyes when I write about dying,
it’s the regard to kin
when holding certain
emotions in,
forging positivity
and relaying
the antiquities
of struggle,
the minuscule
moments of will
drill into minds
painting all kinds
of doubtful abstracts,
creating spousal transacts
of how to fix their son,
it’s not the questions
about what I mean when I
say my skin spits goose flesh
or my eyes wrap yesterday
in spruce mesh that
eventually frays,
it’s the days where
I get kindred
phone calls
wondering if I’ll pick up
because of writing
the night before
stating that
I’m skating
on thin ice,
I dont want them to worry
I’ll be fine,
but for now it’s the pen
that has to unwind
the noose from
confining words
I refuse to say.
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 1:23 AM UTC
It all started in the town of Orangeville
There is an upcoming commotion relaying still
The pumpkin patch being on the move
A mission having everything to prove
The pumpkins were tired in being carved and having to show their scars
It’s time for a change
Let the world feel our range
The pumpkins move through the streets and pulsate their weapon juice
Revenge is certainly taking place
This is something the world will never erase
The world becomes stuck in their running tracks
They were together being a pack
Their faces became pumpkin faces
Scars design beyond any human form
The world now knows
It took a pumpkin to actually show
Pumpkin vow victory has become theirs
The pumpkins now can preserver
Now the pumpkins troops march on
It was a battle that seemed long
The pumpkin patch multitudes that showed they were strong.
Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 1:04 PM UTC
In the meantime, I'll smile, as if waking up was "waking up" to the relaxing music played by an ocean's waves.
I'll smile, like Bob Marley was playing on the radio reminding me "everything is gonna be alright".
I'll smile, as if though that falling star actually made my wish came true.
I'll smile! Like the pain isn't about to claw its way out of my chest, like the anger isn't at my throat- begging to get out! Like the constant disappointments aren't wandering in my mind like an explorer with a broken compass.
I'll smile! Like the hate in my stomach hasn't risen beyond my control, as if my heart hasn't metamorphosed itself into a magnet attracting the insults thrown my way.
I'll smile! Like my attitude wasn't forcefully entered in to the Ultimate Fight Club- with absolutely no fighting experience.
I'll smile! As if my soul wasn't playing tug-of-war with Lucifer, and I don't want to "lose it for" I would become his understudy.
I'll smile! Like I haven't been driving for miles on a gallon of confidence with "patience" as my source of alternative energy- but that too has ran out because of the countless wrong turns I've made.
That glorious crescent between my lips has been turning down for a while, but am about to take a selfie for instagram.
So in the meantime, I'll smile.
I'll walk tall, head straight, steady strides, as if my insecurities weren't f@%king up my spine.
But in the meantime, I'll.... I'll talk to you as if every single word that I've said, I repeated, " 4...5...6 times" in my head, before relaying that message to you.
In the meantime, I'll use indecipherable vernacular and unfamiliar metaphors, so I am sure to say "how I feel" and be equally sure that "you don't understand" and if you dare tell me that you don't...
I'll SMILE
-Steve Flores Jr.
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 1:16 PM UTC
I hope that your the one.
Accompanying tomorrow into today.
The time shared from one conversation to the next.
Painting vivid pictures in each other's eyes.
The moments where time stands still, sitting in each other's embrace.
Rushing to get to the phone, hoping that you'd pick up soon as it rings.
Relaying different thoughts, new things to think about.
How much I've missed you, when could we meet again. Do we require permission to do the things we keep to ourselves.
The smiles that reveal how close we keep each other in thought.
The way you look wearing my favorite color.
The start of our imagination getting the best of us.
Spending time with you, becoming my favorite habit.
The smell of my cologne staining your shirt.
The times when all you need is a look. A slight procrastination that leads into different topic of conversation.
The comfort of voices revealed in low tones.
The perfect day dream, your head laid on a pillow.
A random date somewhere out of the ordinary. Drive in movie. Arms stetched out, pretending to fly like we're kids again.
Big head pretty girl pictured perfectly in my dreams, a pack of starburst filled with pink wrapping.
Real life situations seen as practical. Late night conversations, the need to vent.
Not a thing to do but listen to you speak your mind.
The build up of stress from work, fake friends, the perfect invitation to relate to your favorite vice.
Not everything has to be about *** I want you for you.
Imagining you walk from one room to the next.
The spark of intellectual stimulation, aspiration, the reasons I miss you as much as I do.
The fragrant aroma of your skin lingering, an incense of thought wrapping around the senses.
Waking up finding myself still in a dream.
A kiss to wake up to. Ensuring the future.
The sun peeping through closed blinds, the wiggling of toes.
The smell of decaf. Coffee in the morning.
Fitting perfectly inside the cup of my hands, the swirl of cream, a couple tablespoons of sugar, swirling about in perfect motion.
This is how I picture us together.
All in perplexed but interesting truth.
The simplicity of it all
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 11:30 AM UTC
Each past fortifying moment
tends
to be concluded
by a bitter fall.
Once I awoke
from my
empty dreams.
Standing there,
you were in the distance
with your will
to pervade
all areas of my life.
as I dwelled,
you descended yourself
close
to my reach
as I clasped at
only the amount
of which I could
apprehend.
I was fully aware of
your strong inclinations.
Believe I wanted
nothing more than to
emulate every touch
your heart felt.
But mine was so
incapable of
saturation.
My tender attraction
to torment
fastened me in my
chair of
possessiveness
I was
so faithful to.
My dawdling
from confusion
was so misgiving
until
everything was falsely led.
Your hostile anguish
I comprehend now
so clearly.
So time faded what
was unwanted and
I have this memory
relaying a
message
I am too aware
of now to discount.
Days are just numbers and
distance can
dispose in the past.
And it’s this second chance
I can’t do without.
And this devotion I’ve recovered
from the deep depths
that’s been with me all along:
My subconscious hope was the epitome of you.
Oct 23, 2009
Oct 23, 2009 at 11:14 AM UTC
We saw her leaving Jericho
Tearing down the walls
Throwing a childish tantrum
Whilst ******** in the halls
We saw her chasing pigeons
In the local council park
We caught her chewing daffodils
Whilst humming 'Baby Shark'
She drank a lot
Ate nothing much
But the ice
Inside the tube
Grit her teeth
Swallowing bubbles
The plastic straw
The noxious fumes
She was forever
Chasing a high
That cost too much
And left too soon
We saw her licking batteries
Relaying messages to Earth
We caught her hiding sanitary towels
Underneath the dirt
That lined the filthy walls
Of her low-rent, low-mood high-rise
Ghosts that wraithed inside her head
Left bruises on her thighs
We saw her join the homeless men
In the shadow of the mall
She combed the streets every day
And still found sweet **** all
She sang a lot
And never slept
Beneath the weight
Of a poisoned sky
We knew she was sad
All the time
But we never saw her
Cry
We saw her live
Her lonesome life
Even saw her when she
Died
From the other side of hell
We decorate our homes
Forget the fine line
The thin divide
Between our professional smile
And the crazy inside our bones
Jan 10, 2019
Jan 10, 2019 at 5:13 AM UTC
to the honey-
(buzz)
here to there
rose!
dandelion
humming-
swaying
relaying
pollen.
The Daisy
stands
awaiting her visit.
All
her petals unfolded,
worlds
sweetest scents,
the bee
visits.
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 12:12 AM UTC
April 2, 2012
I can feel it coursing through my veins.
It starts at the bottom.
My toes feel the warm sensation and start to tickle. The urge to move becomes overwhelming and a tapping begins. The beat is steady and concise. It is inaudible to most not paying attention, but to me I feel as though I am beating on a steel drum being playing into a microphone.
Then it shifts to the legs.
My knees suddenly feel unable to lock in place. I must bend them and set them free. At first I do not know if I can trust their movements. Somehow both legs can flow independently and still work together as a unit to support my frame.
The stomach is next.
I can only imagine that this is how one feels after being reunited with a long lost lover. The butterflies start fluttering, sending my stomach into a natural yet uneasy feeling. A ball of energy is forming. I can feel it start to radiate down my arms, to my fingertips, then return to the midsection. It has nowhere to go but up.
There is a pounding in the chest.
Somehow my heart's beat seems to slow and quicken simultaneously. There is no feeling of joy, pain, sadness, or stress, just the calming feeling of fully observing this natural phenomenon. There is a tightening in the chest followed by a complete and utter relaxation as it takes over control. It is almost complete.
The head is the last stop.
It works together with the brain to send electrical currents relaying how to feel back to the rest of the body. The ear drums get the most pleasure. A sweet humming beings in the cochlea and vibrates down my ear canal and rests on top of my tongue until it is ready to be released. All the while my brain is going crazy soaking it all in at once. There is never too much to be absorbed.
What I feel is music. It surrounds me, embraces me, and ultimately engulfs me completely.
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 3:57 AM UTC
There is true art in words
Past the arguments & debates between worlds.
More meaningful than the daily gossip, wide spread news between groups of girls.
Deeper than the pictures painted, for those who can not see.
Communication without words, resulting in generations acting primitively
More commonly misunderstood, no guidelines to follow
Not even a bible to read, the fruit for uplifting our souls spiritually
No narratives to relate to, or even songs to sing
The expression of one's character, minimized as far as only sight can see.
Even those who can not hear, use words to speak. Swift movement of their hands, body language and gestures
All used to forms words ya see.
Men say women use them to much, women say men don't use them enough
Both parties using them the same, most with intentions of relaying true love
No hobby or passion untouched by its beauty
There is true art words, without them... where would we be? ...
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 10:57 AM UTC