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"seethe" poems
Body of ocean, milk and sky, We are tangled in the hope of night. The lips of the milky way, creaming us, Stains and is **** with a taste keening; All is creation.  My meteors crash Into your ruptured Earth.  I flame Upon your must and moisted furrows And my toes are locked, rooted in yours. Body of ocean, milk and sky, In the deserts of the day you are true Oasis.  The curves and waft of your sands Seethe and sodden my barren plains, Are erasing all my wandering memories Of an endless sky and now your eyes Are the only stars I know, and your skin; A sheet that holds the heavens shimmering. Body of ocean, milk and sky, Your ******* are the heaving of grasses And wind, loft and laden in the rounded Hills, a hoard of ****** bread, bountiful, Ripe and strange.  Your hair is an endless Savannah, your valleys are gold and honeyed With milk, seared, filled by my penetrating sun. In passion we play; low on earth and deep in sky.
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May 27, 2012
May 27, 2012 at 2:49 PM UTC
Body of Ocean, Milk and Sky
"Getting sick of married life? Tired of your ageing wife? Well, you can create her face anew With plastic skin and pink tissue!" "Yes, in only three short days, She'll be worthy of your praise. Just send a cheque to this address And trust us, friend, we'll sort the rest!" The bill-boards scream in the night As wolves in the canopy. Like lasers, they seethe and cut Through the diamonds of your wet eyes, Convincing you all too soon that You are not already perfect.
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Nov 7, 2018
Nov 7, 2018 at 10:10 AM UTC
Superficial
I am the entourage Of a fantastic mirage I am the agent Of my mind's figment I am a believer Of mythical creatures I am a builder Of splendid architecture I am a drunkard Tripping on futures so absurd I plan construction Of my own destruction I am the feeder To dreams of grandeur I am a magician Of wild, potent concoctions I am a tycoon Of emotional typhoons I am an adept Skilled in exploiting concepts I am a parasite Brandishing fangs that bite I play host To a monstrous, hideous ghost I am an addict Of thoughts derelict I am the dreamer Incapable of anything lesser I am a diver Sinking deeper and deeper I am an insatiable thief Claiming trophies without grief I am an emotional hermit Hoarding my all in a bottomless pit I am a weaver Fabricating tales that meander I am a Neanderthal Adopting behaviours and habits that appall I am an ape Mending wounds that gape I am but me I'm blind, fighting to see I am rhymesmith I lie through my teeth Getting hard to breathe Heart to words, I seethe...
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Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 7:28 AM UTC
Me
I wanted to know the sighs Of mercy.  On the bed she lied, Laid bare in the shocking light That twitches, as she rolls I hover and cage her in question, With moist eyes, abandoned By loves interrogations, I stab at the untruths and confusions. I wanted to hear the supplicant Murmur of indolence and shame. With windy caresses I break Her arms, she ropes me red In tangled hair and I struggle To let go.  I wanted to taste  The twin defeats of victory And indifference, when in the light Of darkest night there are cries of yes And no and false accusations, There is consuming pain and excruciating Pleasure and as we squirm And seethe, she teases, Goading me and then, I loose it.
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Jul 28, 2012
Jul 28, 2012 at 10:25 PM UTC
Loves Prisoner
*your smile, it makes me sad like the eiffel tower alone in stand your laugh, it makes me gloom like a flower that never bloom your voice, it makes me seethe like an angry man that can't breathe your face, it makes me brood like a woman that's never been wooed for i have fallen in love with a man my existence will never know*
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Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 12:07 PM UTC
other side of love
I seethe within what echoes disdain for all things wanting, because I can't seem to keep what's there to begin with The desire to purge prior prose and start from scratch beseeches my mind to scrawl what dire nuance calls my name, but I don't look it in the eyes It's my demon; my voice that resonates deep within; the call of all things mired by fate-less whispers of what's more, or right But I know, it can't be how I desire. What can be will only come when time sets right the means to seek it out; to reach for whatever may be reaching back at me I can't move forward unless I know for certain what's there would not bring more desolation. I am a coward, but am I human? I ask myself that every waking moment I crave nothing more than to be normalized and reverberate with twining string of fate that actually calls my name, not the sour tones of dissonance and disdain as before I crave reality to be my own, rather than reality to own everything I can not I seek, eternally.. I find nothing but light that touches the surface, but never does the sun actually rise. Bring me to my own horizon, bring me fate, bring me peace.. I hope..
0
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 3:48 AM UTC
Horizon
I cast the muse into the sea to wake her from a peaceful sleep. This poet’s quill is void of ink; it needs her words to strike the page. She’ll fight the waves Poseidon sends til Sirens drive her back to shore to sip an oleander brew and hoist the cup of Socrates. Bring wolfsbane and a death morel! Bring nightshade and curare too! We’ll fatten her with woe and pain! We’ll ready her for war and hate! She’ll writhe and quiver, seethe and foam until she spews her putrid verse upon the blackened sands of time from which men’s darkest dreams are built. And when the gods are satisfied, when Ares’ sword has slashed and burned, this poisoned pen will rest at last. Calliope shall sleep once more.
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Jan 5, 2021
Jan 5, 2021 at 8:23 PM UTC
Calliope
I'm trying to find solace in anything. Anything. But I realize I'm angrier than before. I stand in the shower for 30 minutes and just seethe in anger. Anger at God. Anger at my mom. Anger at my dad. Anger at my sister. Anger at the guy who hit my brother. Anger at my boyfriend. Anger at me. Anger at my brother. Sometimes I wish I could just scream in there, But I know my parents would probably freak out. Maybe even bust the door open and see me in all my glory. That'd be embarrassing. I feel like I hate everyone. But I also can't be mean to anyone. I feel bad when I get mad at my boyfriend. But **** sometimes he makes me wanna beat the **** out of him. And then sometimes I just wanna pounce on him. All these emotions got me ****** up. I'm over here reminiscing old memories of my brother hoping for some sort of solace. But I end up in tears just wishing the good Lord would just take me. And I know its selfish but in this kind of moment, you only think of the pain now. I can't see my future anymore. The man I love doubt's me all the time and he has good reason to. I don't know where I'm heading. And it breaks my heart that he does. But oh well. I couldn't even convince my own brother to stay in the end either. So much for solace.
0
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 8:12 PM UTC
solace
Like a lotus emerging Unsullied From the mud, So have you appeared, In this world, Yet not of it. I consider myself Most blessed of all men For having glimpsed upon your face. Not even Michelangelo, With all his magnificent frescoes, Could have conceived of such beauty. The most flowery prose of Marquez wilts, Inadequate to fully describe your radiance. The supple, rich compositions of Mozart Are a rancorous cacophony Compared to the melody of your voice. Your entire being is a testament To the masterful craftsmanship of our Lord. I may circumnavigate this world Sample the most luscious of delicacies Climb the lofty peak of Everest Swim the English Channel Trek the Ural Mountains Watch the Caribbean sunset Walk the entirety of the Great Wall But none of these shall hope to compare with the blissful moment When my eyes fell upon you. It was truly a day of days, One which no other can rival. You stood out A swan Regal in its repose Amongst Ducks Babbling away In their ignominy. I have found my muse -- Alas! -- But for a moment. Yet I shall not rage. Neither shall I weep. Just because He got to you first. Just because He is Perhaps More worthy Of you. I shall not fly Into a maelstrom of emotion Sulk with resentment And seethe with envy Just for losing Something Someone I never even had. Just because She will never be mine. I shall not have To lower and abandon myself To the maddening clutches Of grief To wantonly fling My artless soul At the burning altar Of undignified melancholy. For it is foolish. Yet I cannot help But do exactly this. Act like the boy, The child, That I am. For what else am I? I am not a man Like him After all. Not adequate For anything Resembling a soulmate For anyone Like her. I can never hold you In my arms Never gaze Into your eyes My ears can never hear you Whisper Sweet nothings. And My lips shall never Meet yours. So what Else Can I do But mourn?
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Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
Lotus
Like a lotus emerging Unsullied From the mud, So have you appeared, In this world, Yet not of it. I consider myself Most blessed of all men For having glimpsed upon your face. Not even Michelangelo, With all his magnificent frescoes, Could have conceived of such beauty. The most flowery prose of Marquez wilts, Inadequate to fully describe your radiance. The supple, rich compositions of Mozart Are a rancorous cacophony Compared to the melody of your voice. Your entire being is a testament To the masterful craftsmanship of our Lord. I may circumnavigate this world Sample the most luscious of delicacies Climb the lofty peak of Everest Swim the English Channel Trek the Ural Mountains Watch the Caribbean sunset Walk the entirety of the Great Wall But none of these shall hope to compare with the blissful moment When my eyes fell upon you. It was truly a day of days, One which no other can rival. You stood out A swan Regal in its repose Amongst Ducks Babbling away In their ignominy. I have found my muse -- Alas! -- But for a moment. Yet I shall not rage. Neither shall I weep. Just because He got to you first. Just because He is Perhaps More worthy Of you. I shall not fly Into a maelstrom of emotion Sulk with resentment And seethe with envy Just for losing Something Someone I never even had. Just because She will never be mine. I shall not have To lower and abandon myself To the maddening clutches Of grief To wantonly fling My artless soul At the burning altar Of undignified melancholy. For it is foolish. Yet I cannot help But do exactly this. Act like the boy, The child, That I am. For what else am I? I am not a man Like him After all. Not adequate For anything Resembling a soulmate For anyone Like her. I can never hold you In my arms Never gaze Into your eyes My ears can never hear you Whisper Sweet nothings. And My lips shall never Meet yours. So what Else Can I do But mourn?
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98
I crack an egg over the pan, And drizzle it with salt The oil seethe with anger, As the sides of the egg turns brown I push a spatula between the egg and the pan, Then I slowly lift it and transfer it to a plate The yolk wiggles in a funny motion A whiff reaches my nose and it lingers for a while The last one joins the other plates on the table.
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Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 9:38 PM UTC
Eggs
Way up there In the thin, thin air There sits a man Who laughs and grins And fiddles with his double chins A lunatic, if you must know He paces, paces, To and fro Not love, nor hate Does Steve perceive But TV programs make him seethe Xanax, ****** amyl poppers None of these are Steve's show stoppers Thorazine would do him good But he won't take it Like he should So Mumbling Steve will grimace/grin Until it's time to cry again His mother loved him not a whit Flushed Steve away, like so much **** He killed his daddy, uncle, too He killed that man, with Devil's Brew Mumbling Steve drank up the rest Of that that killed the old ****** Then laughed and laughed And flashed a grin Then burned off his extra chin JNc 3-16
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Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 11:38 PM UTC
Mumbling Steve
I am never enough In your scowling eyes, Your voice is coarse and rough, No care for how the blood dries. No care for my welfare, Just how it affects you. Remember when you said 'she left you because of the drugs'? Well **** you too. And **** when you told me 'I never said that' Where is your sympathy You gas lighting rat. Go ahead and press my buttons To see me light up, And when I do, You play victim. The meds I take Are to deal with you. Your care is fake, You pretend you don't have a clue. When I try and tell you How I feel, The words don't get through, Responsibility not so quick on your heel. You make dinner For everyone but me, My patience is growing thinner, Your hate is like a tree Taking root under my family, And now I am the wretch, The cans in my room, so pretty, You self absorbed ***** Not big on self regulation, Or object permanence, Day on day commotion Starts again, what a performance. The rage I have for you, You taught me well, I am black all the way through, And water does not quell. Alcoholic, Just like you taught, This life is chaotic K cider 7.5% store bought. Why does Dad have to die of cancer And you continue to breath? You death dodging dancer, Every sip is a seethe. You shouldn't be allowed around children, You dangerous psychopath, A hateful haven, Blood soaked epitaph. So here is wishing You a swift death, Or maybe go missing, I don't want to hear another breath. You won't get a funeral. You are being cremated. And I won't be there To bring you back from the crematorium.
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Aug 18, 2023
Aug 18, 2023 at 4:20 PM UTC
Mother
I am never enough In your scowling eyes, Your voice is coarse and rough, No care for how the blood dries. No care for my welfare, Just how it affects you. Remember when you said 'she left you because of the drugs'? Well **** you too. And **** when you told me 'I never said that' Where is your sympathy You gas lighting rat. Go ahead and press my buttons To see me light up, And when I do, You play victim. The meds I take Are to deal with you. Your care is fake, You pretend you don't have a clue. When I try and tell you How I feel, The words don't get through, Responsibility not so quick on your heel. You make dinner For everyone but me, My patience is growing thinner, Your hate is like a tree Taking root under my family, And now I am the wretch, The cans in my room, so pretty, You self absorbed ***** Not big on self regulation, Or object permanence, Day on day commotion Starts again, what a performance. The rage I have for you, You taught me well, I am black all the way through, And water does not quell. Alcoholic, Just like you taught, This life is chaotic K cider 7.5% store bought. Why does Dad have to die of cancer And you continue to breath? You death dodging dancer, Every sip is a seethe. You shouldn't be allowed around children, You dangerous psychopath, A hateful haven, Blood soaked epitaph. So here is wishing You a swift death, Or maybe go missing, I don't want to hear another breath. You won't get a funeral. You are being cremated. And I won't be there To bring you back from the crematorium.
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60
You smell the smoke— so what do you assume? That I’m dying? That I’m weak? Do you think you know fire just because you’ve run from it? I don’t flicker. I don’t beg. I seethe. What did you think light was? A comfort? A cure? I don’t chase the dark. I hold still while it blinks first. This isn’t hope. What would I hope for? Permission? You don’t like what I illuminate— so whose lie are you defending? I never asked to burn. But now that I do— Who’s going to stop me?
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Jul 31, 2025
Jul 31, 2025 at 2:25 AM UTC
I Burn
Here I stand at the edge of the woods, hands trembling At the thought of entering How am I gonna do this My sanctuary I miss But it was taken away One evil dark day Once what brought me joy Now seems to destroy No longer happy memories Me in his clutch is all I see Please my friend take my hand and lead me For the images he left are beastly Hold me tight while I grive For his dark deeds seethe His putrid touch I still feel It's to much, to real I want my sanctuary back I don't want this beautiful place to turn black I want to hear the nightingale's song again Watch the fish in the creeks swim Watch the breeze Play about the tree's I want to once again sit quietly Seeing the deer walk about so skittishly Please my friend hold me tight So these thoughts of his invasion I can fight Please stay right beside So when it gets to much in your arms I can hide This time the darkness I can't fight on my own For the cut he left was down to the bone So grip my hand tight and lead me in One deep breath let us begin Confronting the memory where it began Hold on to me so I can stand Help me dear friend take back this land
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Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 12:19 PM UTC
Taking Back My Sanctuary ***** in the Woods)
Listen to my heart beat For I cannot hear the sound. Listen to the rhythm As water pulls me down. Listen for my call For I cannot breathe. Listen for the cackle As the fire continues to seethe. Listen for the silence For that is our new beginning.
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Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 6:19 PM UTC
Listen
The first days of fall are always warmer than I remember. It just takes one cold morning to make me want the glare back. Now I'm looking for any reason to go outside before dusk begins to swallow afternoons. I'm checking the mail on a Sunday. I'm carrying a broken lamp to the shed. I don't miss July and its quite seethe. I miss the beginning. I miss not knowing when it would end. It's a slice of sponge cake, a half-erased underline left behind in a book that I can't put down. I'll go inside and read it until the pages begin to curl. My nails were made for digging into palms. I only ever want to stay when I know it's time to go.
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Oct 5, 2021
Oct 5, 2021 at 11:13 AM UTC
3/31
WRITTEN FOR HIS MOTHER Dame du ciel, regents terrienne, Emperiere des infemaux palus.... Lady of Heaven and earth, and therewithal Crowned Empress of the nether clefts of Hell,— I, thy poor Christian, on thy name do call, Commending me to thee, with thee to dwell, Albeit in nought I be commendable. But all mine undeserving may not mar Such mercies as thy sovereign mercies are; Without the which (as true words testify) No soul can reach thy Heaven so fair and far. Even in this faith I choose to live and die. Unto thy Son say thou that I am His, And to me graceless make Him gracious. Said Mary of Egypt lacked not of that bliss, Nor yet the sorrowful clerk Theopbilus, Whose bitter sins were set aside even thus Though to the Fiend his bounden service was. Oh help me, lest in vain for me should pass (Sweet ****** that shalt have no loss thereby!) The blessed Host and sacring of the Mass Even in this faith I choose to live and die. A pitiful poor woman, shrunk and old, I am, and nothing learn'd in letter-lore. Within my parish-cloister I behold A painted Heaven where harps and lutes adore, And eke an Hell whose ****** folk seethe full sore: One bringeth fear, the other joy to me. That joy, great Goddess, make thou mine to be,— Thou of whom all must ask it even as I; And that which faith desires, that let it see. For in this faith I choose to live and die. O excellent ****** Princess! thou didst bear King Jesus, the most excellent comforter, Who even of this our weakness craved a share And for our sake stooped to us from on high, Offering to death His young life sweet and fair. Such as He is, Our Lord, I Him declare, And in this faith I choose to live and die. Dante Gabriel Rossetti, trans.
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3.1k
Ballade To Our Lady
WRITTEN FOR HIS MOTHER Dame du ciel, regents terrienne, Emperiere des infemaux palus.... Lady of Heaven and earth, and therewithal Crowned Empress of the nether clefts of Hell,— I, thy poor Christian, on thy name do call, Commending me to thee, with thee to dwell, Albeit in nought I be commendable. But all mine undeserving may not mar Such mercies as thy sovereign mercies are; Without the which (as true words testify) No soul can reach thy Heaven so fair and far. Even in this faith I choose to live and die. Unto thy Son say thou that I am His, And to me graceless make Him gracious. Said Mary of Egypt lacked not of that bliss, Nor yet the sorrowful clerk Theopbilus, Whose bitter sins were set aside even thus Though to the Fiend his bounden service was. Oh help me, lest in vain for me should pass (Sweet ****** that shalt have no loss thereby!) The blessed Host and sacring of the Mass Even in this faith I choose to live and die. A pitiful poor woman, shrunk and old, I am, and nothing learn'd in letter-lore. Within my parish-cloister I behold A painted Heaven where harps and lutes adore, And eke an Hell whose ****** folk seethe full sore: One bringeth fear, the other joy to me. That joy, great Goddess, make thou mine to be,— Thou of whom all must ask it even as I; And that which faith desires, that let it see. For in this faith I choose to live and die. O excellent ****** Princess! thou didst bear King Jesus, the most excellent comforter, Who even of this our weakness craved a share And for our sake stooped to us from on high, Offering to death His young life sweet and fair. Such as He is, Our Lord, I Him declare, And in this faith I choose to live and die. Dante Gabriel Rossetti, trans.
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41
dragging forth a smile i stand before the storm of teenage angst set down on worn carpet we are in the eye at rest, becalmed but just for now soon the winds will blow and crack and the seas will roil and seethe and from the mouth all things vile will spout and spew and I and my albatross will rue, having awakened but I will smile even as the albatross whimpers and hides for my smile is my defence against this incoming kingtide of hormonal  soap  opera that is  this class of seveteen teenage pains in my **** this farce of bed hopping and sloppy breakups followed by anguish and x rated make ups all played out before me like reality tv and I and the albatross smile and stand thinking .... one more semester then I am gone from this land..... My albatross and I ... can take to the sea
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Oct 6, 2016
Oct 6, 2016 at 7:45 AM UTC
albatross days
Here I stand at the edge of the woods, hands trembling At the thought of entering How am I gonna do this My sanctuary I miss But it was taken away One evil dark day Once what brought me joy Now seems to destroy No longer happy memories Me in his clutch is all I see Please my friend take my hand and lead me For the images he left are beastly Hold me tight while I grive For his dark deeds seethe His putrid touch I still feel It's to much, to real I want my sanctuary back I don't want this beautiful place to turn black I want to hear the nightingale's song again Watch the fish in the creeks swim Watch the breeze Play about the tree's I want to once again sit quietly Seeing the deer walk about so skittishly Please my friend hold me tight So these thoughts of his invasion I can fight Please stay right beside So when it gets to much in your arms I can hide This time the darkness I can't fight on my own For the cut he left was down to the bone So grip my hand tight and lead me in One deep breath let us begin Confronting the memory where it began Hold on to me so I can stand Help me dear friend take back this land
0
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 2:19 PM UTC
Reclaiming My Sanctuary ***** in the Woods)
A Bountiful Sky for Foolish Old Men early up, haunted-stoked~woked by a multilingual sky, an impish childish creation of an immature god, inconsistently incapable, of making up his moody mind, whiny then smiley, cloudless besotted, morphed into crystalline blue of a well behaved in Sunday best, warming the souls of the begotten and the misbegotten, the hardened and the poetic souls, tho he laughs at himself, for he too is both, curmudgeon and a mr. softee, whiny child in rapid aging body, wearing of discovery of new places for to ache, pains that don’t fit med scales of 1~10, unless it is the Richter Earthquake formulation. despite all, his eyeballs seethe, immaculate degeneration still allows the seeing of broad brush paint strokes of the team of angelic artistes that do the detailing of the palette above, how! they, love their big bold brushes that sky swipe atmospheric residue into 31 Baskin Robbins flavors, with swirls of caramel chocolate butterscotch that make the man’s complaints whisked into who-cares-a-damn anyway ice creamery reverie and all that other stuff disbarred from the aborning morning clarity of “good morning ole man, where’s my coffee” diurnal tuning that the women hums, reminding those in the earshot crowd of one, that s’mores and chores, tasks and at lasts, dogs need walking, gardens watering, cushions  plumping, evening dishes moving from dishwasher onto wallpaper-covered shelves, geese-away-chasing, and loving poetry by a poetoftheway scribbling… 8:01 AM Frieday, Jun 30
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Jun 30, 2023
Jun 30, 2023 at 8:32 AM UTC
A Bountiful Sky for Foolish Old Men
A Bountiful Sky for Foolish Old Men early up, haunted-stoked~woked by a multilingual sky, an impish childish creation of an immature god, inconsistently incapable, of making up his moody mind, whiny then smiley, cloudless besotted, morphed into crystalline blue of a well behaved in Sunday best, warming the souls of the begotten and the misbegotten, the hardened and the poetic souls, tho he laughs at himself, for he too is both, curmudgeon and a mr. softee, whiny child in rapid aging body, wearing of discovery of new places for to ache, pains that don’t fit med scales of 1~10, unless it is the Richter Earthquake formulation. despite all, his eyeballs seethe, immaculate degeneration still allows the seeing of broad brush paint strokes of the team of angelic artistes that do the detailing of the palette above, how! they, love their big bold brushes that sky swipe atmospheric residue into 31 Baskin Robbins flavors, with swirls of caramel chocolate butterscotch that make the man’s complaints whisked into who-cares-a-damn anyway ice creamery reverie and all that other stuff disbarred from the aborning morning clarity of “good morning ole man, where’s my coffee” diurnal tuning that the women hums, reminding those in the earshot crowd of one, that s’mores and chores, tasks and at lasts, dogs need walking, gardens watering, cushions  plumping, evening dishes moving from dishwasher onto wallpaper-covered shelves, geese-away-chasing, and loving poetry by a poetoftheway scribbling… 8:01 AM Frieday, Jun 30
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26
I don't know why I bother with my voice, A soft, pale thing, That doesn't stretch, No, it falls far and fast And quietly. I can't bring myself to A single utterance Worth my breath And the world's time - God! There is no time to be Loud and brash and fiery. Not when you can seethe Silently. They say a choking throat Shuts you up. If so then Will a slit to my throat Let my voice pour out Like cold, sad blood? Yes? Sign me up.
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Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 8:35 AM UTC
Selective Mutism
treacherously torrid and torrential torrents of totally tangential tumultuous tortuous ; tyrannically torturous adjunct viably salient seethe.     procrastinating pandemic plenipotentiary prosthesis ; prosaically pragmatic parenthetical predication predilection premise prognostication                                                                        panoramic tableau preternatural propensity proclivity prestidigitation gesticulation : gyration guidon ; ghastly gruesome grotesque hideously horrible horrendous heinous grotty gnarly diabolically maniacal dementia brusque macabre abrupt awful amalgamated anathema analysis agnate aggregate aberrance somatalogy virtuoso cognate obduracy worse rudiment ebullience , confluence effluent effusion affluent , prolific profusity opulence , cogent fecund secular secund , recondite redolence abstrusely obstreperous mesomerism resonance resilience protractive perpetude futurity    blither blandishing blabber burnishing boresome blahs lithe blithe jabber prattle chatter tithe morose morsel moribundness   stolid stoic stalwart bastion bulwark
0
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 5:45 PM UTC
Intradoes Tine