"rocketing" poems - Hello Poetry

how do you paint water, or clouds? I could read poetry for the brief, of my of remaining life, however brief, and never be satiated, of love, and streams of water, never stilled, always running in patterns that exist, but for milliseconds, admired by clouds born in, of, a moment of re-formation that is perpetuity long: unending shape shifting, like the freedom of flowing water currents, forming, reforming and unthinkable, nay, inconceivable that human eyes or their spoken words could capture their shiny white foamy essence But of love, that we can do, paint, design, recreate its endless loops of undulations, like the radiating circularity of a pebble dropped gently to its burial sight in a quiet pond. Humans know, understand and excel at clasping and grasping at the synapsing of human cells from differing bodies: the exogenous erogenous of human touch that like the clouds and the water, who could paint that, who capable of capturing said sensations that wrack and enliven the body with invisible interior chemical reactions. I cannot. Thankfully better men and women have treatised their entreaties to the powers of the universe and been rewarded with the skilled delicacy of weaving human tapestries, the milliseconds of connectivity, eclectic and electrifying of different currents and differing amperage’s forming and reforming like water moving, just like the clouds changing in response to the externalities of wind and gravity and all the forces of nature that encourage us to study and stare at these flows, hoping to entrance them into standing still for but a moment, and instead, mesmerizing us into standing motionless for hours in awe of their freedom. Love’s undulations too mesmerizing, and freezing us into place, or alternatively caucus to run endlessly arms extending, flying though not airborne, rocketing us upwards while feet never budging, but finding good wards, masterful metaphors to recreate and thus to share the fabulous mystery of this thing we know as love. 2:58AM Friday jul 22 (jewel 22) of the 23rd year of the 21st Century. O.L.P.

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Jul 21, 2023

Jul 21, 2023 at 3:05 AM UTC

onlylovepoetry

How do you paint water, or clouds? Or write of love?

how do you paint water, or clouds? I could read poetry for the brief, of my of remaining life, however brief, and never be satiated, of love, and streams of water, never stilled, always running in patterns that exist, but for milliseconds, admired by clouds born in, of, a moment of re-formation that is perpetuity long: unending shape shifting, like the freedom of flowing water currents, forming, reforming and unthinkable, nay, inconceivable that human eyes or their spoken words could capture their shiny white foamy essence But of love, that we can do, paint, design, recreate its endless loops of undulations, like the radiating circularity of a pebble dropped gently to its burial sight in a quiet pond. Humans know, understand and excel at clasping and grasping at the synapsing of human cells from differing bodies: the exogenous erogenous of human touch that like the clouds and the water, who could paint that, who capable of capturing said sensations that wrack and enliven the body with invisible interior chemical reactions. I cannot. Thankfully better men and women have treatised their entreaties to the powers of the universe and been rewarded with the skilled delicacy of weaving human tapestries, the milliseconds of connectivity, eclectic and electrifying of different currents and differing amperage’s forming and reforming like water moving, just like the clouds changing in response to the externalities of wind and gravity and all the forces of nature that encourage us to study and stare at these flows, hoping to entrance them into standing still for but a moment, and instead, mesmerizing us into standing motionless for hours in awe of their freedom. Love’s undulations too mesmerizing, and freezing us into place, or alternatively caucus to run endlessly arms extending, flying though not airborne, rocketing us upwards while feet never budging, but finding good wards, masterful metaphors to recreate and thus to share the fabulous mystery of this thing we know as love. 2:58AM Friday jul 22 (jewel 22) of the 23rd year of the 21st Century. O.L.P.