"seamlessly" poems
The sun is setting on a hot day, he hides coyly behind tall sycamores, his reflection playing on the undersides of trees on the riverbank. His warm breath is the breeze that kisses my cheek. The river carries me on, over pebbles and rocks below the glassy surface. Dragonflies dart around, flying gems that glisten in the sun. The heron, with diligent patience, hides seamlessly in the trees awaiting his next meal. He takes off when I get near, his frame is much larger in flight. The sweetness of honeysuckle is thick in this warm air. The trees on the riverbank are laden and dripping of the sweet flowers. As I gently glide through the water, the waves lap against my boat, almost making the sound of kisses. This is my river time. All these beautiful things, I love. There is passion in Nature, it is in birdsong and in the breeze. It is in the river as it moves along and the swaying of the trees. This is where I breathe.
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 7:14 PM UTC
She controls her laughter,
lets it slip from the edge of her mouth,
the corners of her lips lift ever so slightly,
then, she makes a sound,
seamlessly, her fingers graze my thighs,
smoothly, her eyes meet mine,
and in her eyes, I see my reflection—
aflame, abashed, and fiery,
She is the answer I’ve scoured the world for,
and yet, she, herself, remains a mystery,
Ah, I see,
She controls her laughter
as easily as she controls me.
Feb 22, 2019
Feb 22, 2019 at 11:54 AM UTC
You are the practicality that keeps me grounded;
I am the spontaneity that drags you along.
You are the reason to my irrationality;
I am the tumult to your calm.
You are the answer to my questions;
I am the words to your quiet deeds.
You are the engineer I cherish;
I am the bookworm you esteem.
You are the chef I rate as top;
I am the baker you adore.
You are the handyman I can count on;
I am the seamstress you prefer.
They say opposites attract, and it seems that might be true.
Like two pieces from the puzzles we both love,
We fit together seamlessly.
To be cliche, you complete me,
But in ways I never knew weren't whole.
Apr 3, 2011
Apr 3, 2011 at 8:34 PM UTC
My freckle flecked love
stirs the speckled paintbrush soft, dousing it's hairs so that,
as I pull it back,
all the bristles bend
seamlessly, and when I let go
they ping forwards,
smattering
a scattering of stars,
onto snowy canvas.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 5:43 PM UTC
Stuffed seals.
Sits shelf,
soaking sunshine,
standing sentry,
soliciting smiles.
Shoppers smitten,
strike smiles,
spending silver.
Storied seals,
send shoppers shrilling.
Somewhere,
seamstresses
stitch supplementary shipments,
shaking store,
sustaining sales.
Sales staff splendidly stock shelf.
Seamlessly.
Such salvation, seals seeks.
Successfully, seashells.
Logan Robertson
8/1/2018
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 7:53 PM UTC
A little thing,
a simple gift,
Flowing seamlessly in a lift,
Giving life to its cool, concerned touch
Raising a calm,
excited, but rapid bunch
Through the bushes and into the flood,
Flowing in to the hearts of the ones
Over each shade and tint--becoming one value.
Weightless like air it flies,
Sprinkling the ground with joy,
As it brings out the younger girls and boys,
To play as if it were the very last day,
Of the first summer vacation,
And not a rainy day.
Apr 30, 2012
Apr 30, 2012 at 12:51 AM UTC
Her smile was more radiant than any sun. Her eyes deeper then any body of water. And her heart, warmer then any volcano. All these elements mixed seamlessly into one soul?
No wonder they call love a hurricane
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 12:09 AM UTC
he wasn't
exactly
what I expected
him to be
he kept his hair short and messy,
wore funny clothes and enjoyed
comic books, Daft Punk and
ginger-lemon-tea-brewing
of all things
and bless,
he thought his earrings
made him seem tough
In the end, it was
his confidence
that won me over
his smiley eyes
so seamlessly dissolved
my doubts and skepticism
and took with
them,
unexpectedly,
my heart
the kisses he'd plant on my forehead would
drag me into
his silly world where
wonderfully weird hats were worn seriously
and music played on our
candy-coloured 2000s cd player
while we read together
on the couch
he offered to massage
my feet and I blushed and thought
that I was falling for him and
he laughed and pulled me
close into his chest
while I wept with joy
for I'd found
happiness
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 8:15 PM UTC
She wakes up with a shock, instantly feels the blood boil from her head down to her toes. Its the sound of that door.
The repetitive sound of that door slamming is a reminder of the poison in her life who seamlessly seeps into her heart continuing to infuse her mind with hate.
That door is used for a swinging entrance into her soul leaving it with touches of darkness until she simply can't understand how to love another person; how to empathize with another's time of distress. She loses touch, suffering to understand what love is.
The life who uses that door brought her into this world and smothers their existence with cold truths, lies, neglect, and stories of their past; inflicting damaging images and thoughts that cannot be unheard.
She's trying to persevere, but they persist to acknowledge their unreceptive response to her cry's for help, it destroys her light; leading her down the path where the poison starts to consume all her thoughts and distorts her rights to express herself with the constant feeling of never being heard.
You built darkness in her and every layer affects even the smallest of challenges in life but you left her with a flame of curiosity to understand what others could not even care to comprehend; she sustains her curiosity for life.
Mar 15, 2019
Mar 15, 2019 at 6:39 PM UTC
Welcome to the maze, the maze of life.
Solve the puzzle, get to the end.
And your efforts will be rewarded.
There are no rules to this maze,
but here are a few to help you along.
Rule number 1: The maze is forever changing.
So always be alert!
Rule number 2: Be careful who you trust, and those you befriend.
And rule number 3, the most important rule:
NEVER mess with the maze!
And you can be assured that the same will be done for you.
Make a wrong move; you've reached a dead end.
Stray off the path, now you're ******
Every exit, Leads to an entrance.
Just another puzzle...
Waiting patiently to be solved
A few last words, before you begin
This is the maze of life.
It may appear seamlessly endless,
But don't be fooled.
Good luck, and always stay strong.
And just remember this;
For there ever to be a beginning…
There must always be an end.
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 5:30 AM UTC
The plump moon lights up my room.
My mind is now a flat graph
no desire no lust no dream
the cold winds from the rumbling sea
make no dent on me
I look at my palms
and see the cracked floor
gnarled roots of mangrove on the wall
blend seamlessly with all I have
like once I had her in this room
love together
taking wingless flight to the moon
but now I more like sitting here
prospecting no words to rhyme
not angered at the blankness
for in this vacuous moonlight
I wait without a hope of gain
without a despair of loss
unconstrained for time
contoured by fireflies
alone
recounting a new beginning
from the end.
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 11:00 AM UTC
dissuaded seamstresses seamlessly string
together thoughts throwing out convention
and convection ovens hold the bones of history
hot air blows through them and out
the mouths of bloated politicians red faced
with misplaced values and encouraging
a broken caste systems’ continuation
as classism hides beneath value menus
radically altering the fabric of not only society
but also the genetic code in which we all stem
wilted flower petals stick to flattened tires
wired children snorting Ritalin pick locks
placed by scared parents
frightened by Fox news and Vioxx side effects
stashed cash smashed in mattresses
waits for the next prescription election
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 11:49 AM UTC
There are many different masks that adorn my wall
Always at the ready for such time they would be needed
Each one of them summoned to answer a specific call
Each one of them used so that the truth can't be uncovered
With time and wear these masks grow all the more necessary
They protect me from situations that render me vulnerable
Kept contained all the emotions that I wish to bury
Kept in check all of my thoughts so I stay capable
I've had these masks for as long as I can remember
Afraid if they have begun to redefine the true me
They assume their roles seamlessly as if it's second nature
Their roles they would assume without fail, ever so diligently
But as much as they would protect from my own naivety
They also would protect others from the words that I wield
These poison-laden words fueled by my poor misguided sanity
Could easily stab and wound if not for the masks that shield
Often wondered these masks if I've ever taken them off
And function as is without hiding behind bolted doors
Would I be able to walk the line without temptation to scoff
Will I be compassionate yet honest; without causing new-found sores
Such a tough questions to which the answers I know not
Despite having pondered till my head grew sore and weary
Something I should have done before delving in deep thought
Is to now remove the mask that my face does carry
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 11:01 PM UTC
Your clothes,
my back.
Your scent
entangled in every inch
of the fabic.
It was my favorite part
of being drowned
in your clothing.
Your scent.
Your safe presence.
No longer.
On the ground, drowning in your clothes
after you promised
it’d never happen again.
Round number 8 now.
Tears seamlessly running
down my face. Drowning.
Your scent, a reminder of each broken promise.
A prisoner of your love.
Chained by your clothing.
Drowning.
Held captive by your scent.
Nov 20, 2017
Nov 20, 2017 at 8:57 AM UTC
My mind feels
As though it
Flickers.
“Tick,
Tic,
Ti,
T.”
To experience ADD
is to have your brain
Switch between
Six different channels,
Six different themes.
It will always feel like you are
Rocketing between things.
In the span of a second,
Your mind will explore the dying children
In Mozambique.
In the next ponder,
Your mind indulges in the roleplay of
Naruto and the pink-haired chick.
I have no power over
Who dances in my play.
I know they bring flames,
But I’m uncertain as to
Who is managing the stage.
I am the director of this show, yet
I was banned to say.
The show has no ending, no beginning,
My life didn't come with instructions.
So I ****** it up and just lived with it.
In the moments that I daydream,
I always force myself to be in the present.
In fear that the world will think
I'm too dumb or complacent.
But that's just how my brain works.
Ten seconds gone,
I am travelling across the pool.
A red bruise on my lips and
A crack on my tooth.
I ask myself again,
Then and there,
How and when
Did I get this bruise?
It can be such a disadvantage,
It can be such a gift.
To be wholesome in a way,
But to also lack the basics.
I feel like I’m constantly living between
The two binary opposites.
As regulating emotions
can become a huge problem
I may have creativity and the sway,
But I'm also managing my impulsivity every day.
Do you know
Why I zone out
And lose focus?
My world inside
Can just be too chaotic.
But trust that I'm working on it.
Regardless,
I know this faucet will flow seamlessly
And being more aware of this condition
Will only help me manage it.
So what have I to lose,
In the midst of this plight?
I’ve been writing a lot of poetry,
Haven’t I?
AOA
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 9:31 AM UTC
*there is a tourniquet on his tongue.
he is a risqué bloke
with alkaloid fingers,
they are wearing
yellow asylum jackets
yet he calls me
mad-
emoiselle, his, in between the lines
he cuts with razorblades and mirrors.
i find myself in between legs
of a stanza (not standing),
pale femurs and inner thighs
french-kissing into
surpine ampersands
where the first word
is a proclaimed ugly disease -- perhaps 'love.'
and the other, its escapade -- perhaps 'tuberculosis.'
but i must be the period:
oxidised bones.
within the eyes
of a stanza (still not standing)
abides no fancy lines
no avarice for contemplative meanings
there is but space and void
and i've filled his femur marrows
with metaphors
to the verge of the patella.
he writes poetry for me
with a needle
and an eight-ball.
there is a tourniquet on his tongue
and his spine fits my stocking
seamlessly.*
Dec 9, 2010
Dec 9, 2010 at 5:12 AM UTC
As I approached this new anomaly I couldn't help but notice how seamlessly it was dancing...
Flowing through the street like a land-based whirlpool with the elegance of a veteran ballerina
It's distressed white plastic tutu left drifting freely, spinning into a pirouette in spite of it's singular audience
A defiant **** between sidewalk blocks--It's simple presence, a larger then life statement
As if to say "Go on, try to stop my freedom! I'll just pirouette away!"
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 2:16 PM UTC
Fetch me out of my case
Handle with care my prized lacquered face
Rest gently my wooden veneered base
Cradle my neck and prepare to lace
Wipe off my fret with a towel
Gift to me your first string
Fasten one end with a dowel
More to do before I sing
Other end, goes into my head
Through one pinhole, allow some slack
Remaining strings, the same you will thread
Strung side by side, along their tracks
Now tighten, wind them taut
Work away the looseness
Stash aside all other thoughts
My voice almost heard albeit tuneless
Here I lay; quiet and strung
You'd have to give me my voice
Then I'd speak but only in your tongue
Then I'd sing only if it's your choice
Prop me up, caress my earthy spine
I'd mouth your words according to pitch
United through movement, manipulate my lines
Your script; my mouth, seamlessly we'd stitch
Your fingers, they twitch and flick
Willing the most lifelike of gestures
Rising and falling of my strings you'd pick
Whimsical dance between slaves and masters
My body over which I have no control
Helplessness overcome my entire being
In my fibres, grains and knots, bore no soul
Without you I lay limp; close to nothing
You need me to project your speech
I need you to make me feel alive
Off of each other, we'd feed and leech
As both hosts and parasites, together we'd thrive
I am one of yours but not the favourite pet
I am just an extension of your unfortunate self
I am wood, dead and lifeless; a strung up marionette
Not a guitar but your fancy puppet sitting on the shelf
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 5:43 AM UTC
Rather I did, once. No longer.
We were magnetic, tectonic.
Constantly and consistently converging.
Unfolding.
Seamlessly (it would seem) arranged on
Memory's golden stage.
But today, tomorrow,
Where moves are flimsy and unsure
Lines drop from lips in silence,
Unraveling like gauze,
As we both wait for alarums that cannot sound.
I feel anesthetized, don't I? I—
And the curtain will be merciful.
A breath of disdain perhaps, disastrous.
Your touch is autumn.
I eclipse the sun, suffocate you from it.
Take your warmth.
Leave you colder than Ophelia
And bloodier than Brutus.
My inadequacy was once your balm,
A catechism to ensure another world
That we both know isn't sound.
The very least you can do is become like Icarus
Who was beautiful in his fall
And silent at his end.
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 6:21 PM UTC
Foaming sunlight makes love
with the tender purple leaves of mango trees,
light crafts a crust of luminescence,
over the profusion of yellow and blue blooms,
avenue trees vie with each other to hold forth
their flowers on sun's water fall of light to bath.
Evening doesn't show any sign of waning
the ebullience the day had sowed in the world,
"ANANDA" though unspoken as a word, aloud
is heard by inner being, making everyone rejoice,
living and nonliving seamlessly join in,
and swim in the swelling waters of force of life.
past invisible floats gently to the present
flows towards a sea of tranquility crossing nights.
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 12:24 PM UTC
We who shuffle seamlessly along history's ****** banks,
And think our lives are pointful, filled up with meaning,
Yet believe prayers are unanswered, and demeaning,
But if they're not, could never offer thanks,
Can feel the horrors we have created just beneath our skin;
Writhing, contorting, causing trembles in our hands,
Over nothing so petty as what some god claims is sin,
And won't be washed clean by the hourglass's sands.
I am strongly convinced that, even if I can
(By some miracle), be absolved by God's forgiveness,
That He has absolutely no **** right to do this,
To steal that from me, and to change what I am.
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 4:50 PM UTC
The crystal was perfectly aligned.
It exposed an image of the day I left seamlessly.
But it also echoed the future,
the design of tomorrow.
I wouldn’t follow my wildest dreams,
but I couldn’t say the misuse was improbable.
To the next phase in my elegant maneuver,
I gather the strength from my abysmal insides.
Wide open were the gates of hell.
I withheld.
Then continued,
as the outline of forever,
forever guided me.
Time was traveled.
And as passing eras bettered my intellectual design,
I redefined the reality of Sir Hawkins.
Time travel.
So true.
My speed was increasing,
as was my very corpus.
*And as it did,
so I transcended.*
Amended such as our legitimate antiquity
of the dickity desire.
The feeling of an outwordly choir
singing you to sleep while injecting you
with futuristic methyl-amphetamines.
I dreamt of better things,
but too late.
For I've descended into tomorrow,
and the decisions of the borrowed souls
will cease to follow.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 4:22 AM UTC
You excuse yourself from the party
And sneak off to the second floor
You hide out in your bedroom
And double-lock the door
The taste of birthday cake still lingers
That stupid song rings in your ears
Downstairs your guests are having fun
Though their host is not how she appears
You reach underneath your bed
And grab a box that’s made from tin
Shaking hands quickly remove
The sharp instruments held within
The tools of a sacred ceremony
That follows the emotional drain
The ****** ritual of release
The catharsis brought by pain
You grab the hem of your skirt
And raise it up past your waist
You stare down at battered legs
Milky white flesh you’ve defaced
A terrain map of your body
A reminder of who you are
Some may prefer a tattoo
But nothing lasts like a scar
Each memory is a torturous cell
Trapping you in an inescapable past
The pain and suffering that never ended
And the happiness that wouldn’t last
Ignorance may be bliss for some
But it comes with a price too steep
So relive those nights in your father’s bed
When he made you cry yourself to sleep
Soon you’ll make your way downstairs
And blend in seamlessly with the crowd
That fabricated air of optimism
Is the mask that acts as your shroud
A smile, a laugh or a smirk
False gestures you convey
You find it so easy to lose yourself
Inside the character you portray
Reality is too difficult for some
The real Sarah they can never know
You only do this for their own good
So let’s get on with the show
Jan 2, 2012
Jan 2, 2012 at 12:12 PM UTC