Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
"saged" poems
Why do people readily believe When you tell them: There are 7 billion stars but check when the paint is wet? Fall and I'll catch you, No need to look back over your shoulder, I'll be there, I promise. I used to be indecisive, but now I'm not sure, I do know however My intentions are pure. How come sand is yellow, Why is it that when you draw a tree it always looks like broccoli? Why is it that when I eat broccoli I always imagine it to be a tiny tree? I munch delicately on this green leafy thought nugget, tasting each sprouty morsel, savoring its saged wisdom.
0
Apr 29, 2011
Apr 29, 2011 at 2:52 AM UTC
Broccoli
translation from russian by rolanda                                                    E.К I write you from ex-colonia grounded twenty centuries ago by romans-sounds like a symphony for hyperborean ear, hundred time increased distance till addressee. Looks like Agrippa knew what she did the sister, worth by her madness of her brother. Further cinematograph-nude body bent and etc..accordingly screenplay maid lapping in marble bathtube horns leads triumphal aria with a long sound. On the backstage usual complaining on the fate, tangent glance to the east, muscle of cease  walk the female wolf her concrete ****** snapping, moving back to the building of arsenale lost fatten twins. I recollect what you didnt finish to say me closing second door on the bolt, on same spot there is a snow, cover up Prachechnij bridge panorama of river, filled up by ice, something with tear through two thousand miles or old age with saged belly. In our age, verticals are soaring unreachable, slipping to result of life, just right to dress on sandals but hardly happens to slip into toga. Invariable law of falling drops down, no matter- fontain, rain, ****** Harbour of postscript...rats storm the ship. Funeral office offers moire from spring collection for upholstery of coffins, grief on the faces of personals, just in time served coffee with cream soften disaster of final account. I write you, for what? - after victory of foreign football team from the closeness of prosperous summer, connected Alps and Andes by wave of psychose from tv, inflicted by joy of superiority above..(not clear what of), and their poses of victors is sign of ugliness from point of view of observer- old neurasthenic and misantrope. Contemplating fly of pterodactyl by eye of stamped cyclop, gilded **** on short spike of chirch scream by voice of Luter: "Be blessed folks cars!", and  morning flow down by sunrise on wood by Dmitrij Poparev
0
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 10:27 AM UTC
Letter from town K.
translation from russian by rolanda                                                    E.К I write you from ex-colonia grounded twenty centuries ago by romans-sounds like a symphony for hyperborean ear, hundred time increased distance till addressee. Looks like Agrippa knew what she did the sister, worth by her madness of her brother. Further cinematograph-nude body bent and etc..accordingly screenplay maid lapping in marble bathtube horns leads triumphal aria with a long sound. On the backstage usual complaining on the fate, tangent glance to the east, muscle of cease  walk the female wolf her concrete ****** snapping, moving back to the building of arsenale lost fatten twins. I recollect what you didnt finish to say me closing second door on the bolt, on same spot there is a snow, cover up Prachechnij bridge panorama of river, filled up by ice, something with tear through two thousand miles or old age with saged belly. In our age, verticals are soaring unreachable, slipping to result of life, just right to dress on sandals but hardly happens to slip into toga. Invariable law of falling drops down, no matter- fontain, rain, ****** Harbour of postscript...rats storm the ship. Funeral office offers moire from spring collection for upholstery of coffins, grief on the faces of personals, just in time served coffee with cream soften disaster of final account. I write you, for what? - after victory of foreign football team from the closeness of prosperous summer, connected Alps and Andes by wave of psychose from tv, inflicted by joy of superiority above..(not clear what of), and their poses of victors is sign of ugliness from point of view of observer- old neurasthenic and misantrope. Contemplating fly of pterodactyl by eye of stamped cyclop, gilded **** on short spike of chirch scream by voice of Luter: "Be blessed folks cars!", and  morning flow down by sunrise on wood by Dmitrij Poparev
Continue reading...
55
Mercurial in my moods, I switch up, off and on Mercury rules me Disputations nailed upon My churches doors Gemini explores Sagittarius saged and Cancer galore You cannot buy indulgences And use them on me The only swaying I do Is when the wind blows the trees On a cool summer evening When the Moon is nigh And Orion looks down From his hunt in the sky
0
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 4:27 PM UTC
95 Theses
The past is throbbing in the back of my hippocampus Bringing back redundant memories They are not wanted My brain has been saged Cleansed from the unwanted presence My soul has been purified
0
Jul 24, 2019
Jul 24, 2019 at 2:08 PM UTC
Saged