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"seive" poems
Wisper, because time passes so quickly. Wisper for fear the clock strikes one too many The hours like sighs rob us of our moments the good, the bad, the indiffrernt I try to hold you . Like the seive holds water Through my fingers you glisten you glimmer, you disappear Time, time, my elusive one You make my life appear like a dream I hardly dreamt You are going, you are gone Of all the sunsets of my days I'll remember but a few....time so dear So unpalpable You are gone Colette Anne Naegle copyrights 2006
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Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 4:29 AM UTC
Time
I came to this place on two broken Knees. Six words said: Can I have a drink Please. They are not that expen- seive I believe I can deny my carnal Needs I know even wizards can Bleed Profusely some Gods speak languages Falsely. And certain people speak but stare Blankly. Layman's terms: the majority is Lying
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Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 5:44 PM UTC
E and I
not got poetry within me... have searched and sought, found only dry bones and hollow whispers mirages to a soul that sighs. mirages to a soul that cries... bones that clack and clatter, whispered words that natter and scatter and dissipate ....at an alarming rate my ear aches, my heart aches and those bones, do break... and shatter mirages drift, mirages drift... as i sift and seive a tired mind, yet no poetry do i find....
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Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 4:50 PM UTC
panning for gold
Blinded by fake-ups and look-sees Brainwashed by surgeries and fakeries Withheld by ridiculous ideals Restrictions aided by societal feels To them she was an outcast But she was my Aphrodite They could jest all they wanted But I was taking home this deity To remove all the tussles Seive out the floccs Solve all the puzzles Open my Pandora's box Whatever I found I wouldn't fright Rather I think I'd take delight Take me oh seductress to your chamber Of your soul I'd love to be a member Where they saw flaws I saw beauty I saw angels doing their duty They thought what I saw microscopic I thought their primitive minds myopic This strange creature unlike any I'd seen Had pulled my heart and tugged at the seam As she tore it open all I could find Was I was a goner and I didn't mind Her beauty had left me mindless My entire being insentient I could all but do her bidding To this I was very willing
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Dec 17, 2016
Dec 17, 2016 at 1:46 PM UTC
Mindless
Soften the membrane of Creative Thought not the memory taught Let the Seive of Osmosis relax into action not the pounding thought but the Natural Draw and Release Ease into Ideas and construct a Tidy Bed a Cleared Desk of Concentration an Operation of My Dreams Structured as a Part Within The Worlds Form Rightful in place and Marked Out then Mailed Out When Ready Make me A Use that I may In Simple Create. © Jon Thenes 2015
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Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 1:45 AM UTC
Accessing Creativity
I have a love/hate relationship with morning, And not for the reason you might think; No, I have no problem with alarm clocks Or early jobs, cold breakfasts, Or the grogginess only cleared by a cup (or three) of coffee. No, I have a problem with literally waking up. On days I wake up without an alarm clock, I hate it. Well, hate is too strong a word; Really, it's bittersweet. I swim up towards consciousness From the warm depths of sleep. I float on the strange, ever shifting barrier of The dreamworld, A silver sea rippling with black and white reflections, Hints of rainbow. My brain is trying to tell me something, I'm sure of it, if only I could See the message for a bit longer. There is one moment, One single, tiny, brief, glorious Moment Where I know that I'm dreaming. My dream-self is warm and fuzzy and Right in the midst of an imaginary...something, And I know that this instant is all I have left of it. I strain, focusing all of my real-or-not energy On decoding whatever it is that I can't quite see. I revel in the mysterious firing of synapses deep down Within my brain, forcing pictures of Life Onto eyelids that have never seen The bright-hued portraits I hang before them. And I won't be able to think about it Until that last, final instant, I try to keep it with me like water in a seive, But I cannot stop myself from floating up, Out of Dreamworld, off the surface of the pool, Away from, from..from.... It's gone. I can't picture it anymore as I am Inexorably dragged up towards my life. I wake, eyes flashing open. Heart pounding. Out of breath from my struggle to See the other side. A tear escapes from the prison of lashes. **** I was so close this time...
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Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 12:14 AM UTC
Dream Land
I have a love/hate relationship with morning, And not for the reason you might think; No, I have no problem with alarm clocks Or early jobs, cold breakfasts, Or the grogginess only cleared by a cup (or three) of coffee. No, I have a problem with literally waking up. On days I wake up without an alarm clock, I hate it. Well, hate is too strong a word; Really, it's bittersweet. I swim up towards consciousness From the warm depths of sleep. I float on the strange, ever shifting barrier of The dreamworld, A silver sea rippling with black and white reflections, Hints of rainbow. My brain is trying to tell me something, I'm sure of it, if only I could See the message for a bit longer. There is one moment, One single, tiny, brief, glorious Moment Where I know that I'm dreaming. My dream-self is warm and fuzzy and Right in the midst of an imaginary...something, And I know that this instant is all I have left of it. I strain, focusing all of my real-or-not energy On decoding whatever it is that I can't quite see. I revel in the mysterious firing of synapses deep down Within my brain, forcing pictures of Life Onto eyelids that have never seen The bright-hued portraits I hang before them. And I won't be able to think about it Until that last, final instant, I try to keep it with me like water in a seive, But I cannot stop myself from floating up, Out of Dreamworld, off the surface of the pool, Away from, from..from.... It's gone. I can't picture it anymore as I am Inexorably dragged up towards my life. I wake, eyes flashing open. Heart pounding. Out of breath from my struggle to See the other side. A tear escapes from the prison of lashes. **** I was so close this time...
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