"sevenths" poems - Hello Poetry

My solitude comforts Doubt, like a lover's lie. His fickled fingered Digits chokes my heart. Second guessings elevated to thirds, fifths, and sevenths. Crippling and seducing what ego and self reliance I have, away. My solitude that comforts Doubt. Betrays me. I have no solemnness nor reassurance. I can not banish Him I never welcome Him But yet He stays.

0

Feb 24, 2012

Feb 24, 2012 at 4:18 AM UTC

daniel-c-jones

Solitude

My solitude comforts Doubt, like a lover's lie. His fickled fingered Digits chokes my heart. Second guessings elevated to thirds, fifths, and sevenths. Crippling and seducing what ego and self reliance I have, away. My solitude that comforts Doubt. Betrays me. I have no solemnness nor reassurance. I can not banish Him I never welcome Him But yet He stays.

16

SING the lines sweetly not harsh or deranged VERSES put neatly to music arranged IN four part harmony music is kissed HARMONY'S angels sing sevenths in mist... Distant, my father yet so close to me singing his part to an old melody someday we'll see him for Jesus is there Barbershop harmony filling the air sing with me sweetly not harsh or deranged verse written neatly to music arranged....

0

Aug 25, 2014

Aug 25, 2014 at 10:29 AM UTC

igclair

barbershop harmony

SING the lines sweetly not harsh or deranged VERSES put neatly to music arranged IN four part harmony music is kissed HARMONY'S angels sing sevenths in mist... Distant, my father yet so close to me singing his part to an old melody someday we'll see him for Jesus is there Barbershop harmony filling the air sing with me sweetly not harsh or deranged verse written neatly to music arranged....

20

As candy thaws neath my tongue My eyes take dilation. I fall into an inception as I walk into a place where my tender age went... Then, I saw sevenths of an illusion Acidic iridescence Suffused in a type of dimension I was present. Bound to life's existence... Each and every Earth-bound object was formed by masked bodies that cradled each other. Lifelessly connected to one another. Expressing the same dainty love we are mad for... Jade orbs were absorbed by a topiary lord. Beating. Circulating. Captivating. Caught me devoted in all sorts of emotions. Repetition. Repetition. Sight distortion. Colors stacked on colors. I saw modulations. But they spoke to me in motions. I felt as if I was breathing this all before. And that I was anticipating on something that I could not get myself to ignore. Some moral. That I've been awakened for... I was reverted back into a timeless age, where matters were forgave and where passions were seemliness. and because of awareness you become unable to love like a child when you abandon your innocence. So here's the message. "Seven is perfection." The eye to see life. Making a connection. Breathing Earth's affection.

0

Aug 13, 2014

Aug 13, 2014 at 5:49 PM UTC

melissa-bee

Eye Candy

As candy thaws neath my tongue My eyes take dilation. I fall into an inception as I walk into a place where my tender age went... Then, I saw sevenths of an illusion Acidic iridescence Suffused in a type of dimension I was present. Bound to life's existence... Each and every Earth-bound object was formed by masked bodies that cradled each other. Lifelessly connected to one another. Expressing the same dainty love we are mad for... Jade orbs were absorbed by a topiary lord. Beating. Circulating. Captivating. Caught me devoted in all sorts of emotions. Repetition. Repetition. Sight distortion. Colors stacked on colors. I saw modulations. But they spoke to me in motions. I felt as if I was breathing this all before. And that I was anticipating on something that I could not get myself to ignore. Some moral. That I've been awakened for... I was reverted back into a timeless age, where matters were forgave and where passions were seemliness. and because of awareness you become unable to love like a child when you abandon your innocence. So here's the message. "Seven is perfection." The eye to see life. Making a connection. Breathing Earth's affection.

45

You say I don’t need a poem to capture the day in a frame and tuck it beneath my pillow But I’d like to have it there in case I forget the way the armadillo on the side of the road lay belly up, beer bottle in paw a redneck's respects for the deceased or the feeling of three in the morning pounding in my skull, soaking in memories trivia pursued and articles of obfuscation: the elucidation of the world seen through bottle-green binoculars and heard through the neighbor's windchimes ringing out diminished sevenths and questions I don't want to answer or even ask out loud I want to tuck it in my wallet for times that I can't remember your faces or the scent of your shampoo, or the order of keychains on your keyring, or the times we drove to East Jesus Nowhere and you ripped the leaves from my calendar, ticking and turning my seasons by the mile markers in the cement I do this to engrave it in my cerebrum the nights we ran outside in our pajamas in the rain and danced for a while, then danced some more, turning and leaping and spinning and reaching and falling down to weep for no reason mourning the morning among the sharpened blades of grass You laughed at me once remember that? how you scoffed and snatched my paper from my spiral and stuffed it in the trash can telling me not to write fiction in history class but it's just as much history as every other Jefferson another amendment you'll never read But I forgive you. you're not the first to tell me to get my feet out of the clouds because my head's already gone too far for saving or to attempt to stifle my addiction to the scratch of pen on paper the scent of ink on tree the pulse of blood in my brain I cling to syntax like religion keeping the words pinched in my fists like pixie dust hoping if I say the right abracadabra the pen will turn to a wand and I can paint you the details one day at a time

0

May 15, 2010

May 15, 2010 at 8:40 PM UTC

bailey-b

untitled thoughts.

You say I don’t need a poem to capture the day in a frame and tuck it beneath my pillow But I’d like to have it there in case I forget the way the armadillo on the side of the road lay belly up, beer bottle in paw a redneck's respects for the deceased or the feeling of three in the morning pounding in my skull, soaking in memories trivia pursued and articles of obfuscation: the elucidation of the world seen through bottle-green binoculars and heard through the neighbor's windchimes ringing out diminished sevenths and questions I don't want to answer or even ask out loud I want to tuck it in my wallet for times that I can't remember your faces or the scent of your shampoo, or the order of keychains on your keyring, or the times we drove to East Jesus Nowhere and you ripped the leaves from my calendar, ticking and turning my seasons by the mile markers in the cement I do this to engrave it in my cerebrum the nights we ran outside in our pajamas in the rain and danced for a while, then danced some more, turning and leaping and spinning and reaching and falling down to weep for no reason mourning the morning among the sharpened blades of grass You laughed at me once remember that? how you scoffed and snatched my paper from my spiral and stuffed it in the trash can telling me not to write fiction in history class but it's just as much history as every other Jefferson another amendment you'll never read But I forgive you. you're not the first to tell me to get my feet out of the clouds because my head's already gone too far for saving or to attempt to stifle my addiction to the scratch of pen on paper the scent of ink on tree the pulse of blood in my brain I cling to syntax like religion keeping the words pinched in my fists like pixie dust hoping if I say the right abracadabra the pen will turn to a wand and I can paint you the details one day at a time

46

How does the sun get its radiance emerging from centuries upon centuries of reactions Similar to the ones in my belly when you walk up to me on our favorite weekends If true love could exist then why was I born to unhappy parents and unhappy hands tore me out of the womb And I cannot begin to solve the enigma of how love tends to fade but who am I to say that we were not in love and who am I to decide your fate (my love, you wanted to and you did so very often on our unfavorite weekdays) And who am I to say I cannot wait until the weekends? Who am I to wish away five-sevenths of my year to drown myself in 'self-fulfilling' activities that get me through five long days of things I am no longer passionate about? And to that, I say I am human! And I am a product of nature and like the pigs and the penguins I like having *** and I like to eat and I shall do as I please! So please do not try to convince me that I cannot decide for myself; it is this illusion that gets me through three-hundred and sixty five days every year

0

Jan 8, 2014

Jan 8, 2014 at 10:19 PM UTC

hedonic-nihilist

The True Love Algorithm

How does the sun get its radiance emerging from centuries upon centuries of reactions Similar to the ones in my belly when you walk up to me on our favorite weekends If true love could exist then why was I born to unhappy parents and unhappy hands tore me out of the womb And I cannot begin to solve the enigma of how love tends to fade but who am I to say that we were not in love and who am I to decide your fate (my love, you wanted to and you did so very often on our unfavorite weekdays) And who am I to say I cannot wait until the weekends? Who am I to wish away five-sevenths of my year to drown myself in 'self-fulfilling' activities that get me through five long days of things I am no longer passionate about? And to that, I say I am human! And I am a product of nature and like the pigs and the penguins I like having *** and I like to eat and I shall do as I please! So please do not try to convince me that I cannot decide for myself; it is this illusion that gets me through three-hundred and sixty five days every year

9

The droning bass the big piano swells Like the swells of my heart Growing GROWing GROWING Like my affection for you once did.... Flitting of keys High and piercing Sweet dissonance Minor seconds...the major sevenths Coming together in sweet cacophony Just as our bodies once did.... The warmth of the chords Sending sweet chills through me Making me close my eyes to enjoy The music entirely My body surrendered to music Just as it once did to you.... Now it's just my music The swells The dissonance The warmth That is what love is So I shall make love to music I shall make it mine I shall love and be loved Just as it once was us...

0

Jan 20, 2012

Jan 20, 2012 at 12:06 PM UTC

rosie-wisniewski

The Music and Me

The droning bass the big piano swells Like the swells of my heart Growing GROWing GROWING Like my affection for you once did.... Flitting of keys High and piercing Sweet dissonance Minor seconds...the major sevenths Coming together in sweet cacophony Just as our bodies once did.... The warmth of the chords Sending sweet chills through me Making me close my eyes to enjoy The music entirely My body surrendered to music Just as it once did to you.... Now it's just my music The swells The dissonance The warmth That is what love is So I shall make love to music I shall make it mine I shall love and be loved Just as it once was us...

28

Ink a new line that drips upon a page; Poetry plays a point that letters spell. When feet are running meter's rhyme and rage, The poet writes of love that's worth the tell. A statement made of stanzas rings a bell In ears that crave the rhythm of a verse Rehears'd in dulcet tones that maybe yell At times when feeling love is but a curse. Volta Velveeta cheese an early hearse And bathroom book of verses by anon. Musical fruits smell better smelling worse; If music be the food of loveplay on. Flowersweet love songs ring with singing turds; Poesy pussy-footing plays with words.

0

Jul 3, 2025

Jul 3, 2025 at 9:43 PM UTC

MetaVerse

Loveplay

Ink a new line that drips upon a page; Poetry plays a point that letters spell. When feet are running meter's rhyme and rage, The poet writes of love that's worth the tell. A statement made of stanzas rings a bell In ears that crave the rhythm of a verse Rehears'd in dulcet tones that maybe yell At times when feeling love is but a curse. Volta Velveeta cheese an early hearse And bathroom book of verses by anon. Musical fruits smell better smelling worse; If music be the food of loveplay on. Flowersweet love songs ring with singing turds; Poesy pussy-footing plays with words.

14

days pass like other days, just lullabies in single, you, and me, and the end of everything: how we had found thoughts, like life, unraveling, in that pristine and angular field, locked up- brilliant, crystalline, and in voices shaded pale cherry, some statement of ephemeral lust, no doubt; we've always been fools, holding ideals, far too grand for the size of our routine worries and, now, the clock's still claiming moments, the faucet hasn't lost it's gauze, yet, the radio's crackling paper moons, in sevenths, and, me, recalling a patchwork sentiment and, then, little charming you, you, you, you, you... made up of scattered electricity, you always leave me lost and drowning; drowning, drowning, drowning, and watching those soft-changing colours, through the drifting canopy as brine-soaked seafloors meander, take place, and me, falling, dreaming in shades of slow loss. so, good night to all the lovers, all the shimmering faces; to all the lights of the cities, all the pleading droplets of rain, all the shortwave signals, furrowing their ways up north, to all the heavyset expressions, long led goodbyes, all the sorrows, left a mess for so many years. good night, that is all, good night.

0

Dec 27, 2012

Dec 27, 2012 at 10:02 AM UTC

tom-mccone

counting the draws

days pass like other days, just lullabies in single, you, and me, and the end of everything: how we had found thoughts, like life, unraveling, in that pristine and angular field, locked up- brilliant, crystalline, and in voices shaded pale cherry, some statement of ephemeral lust, no doubt; we've always been fools, holding ideals, far too grand for the size of our routine worries and, now, the clock's still claiming moments, the faucet hasn't lost it's gauze, yet, the radio's crackling paper moons, in sevenths, and, me, recalling a patchwork sentiment and, then, little charming you, you, you, you, you... made up of scattered electricity, you always leave me lost and drowning; drowning, drowning, drowning, and watching those soft-changing colours, through the drifting canopy as brine-soaked seafloors meander, take place, and me, falling, dreaming in shades of slow loss. so, good night to all the lovers, all the shimmering faces; to all the lights of the cities, all the pleading droplets of rain, all the shortwave signals, furrowing their ways up north, to all the heavyset expressions, long led goodbyes, all the sorrows, left a mess for so many years. good night, that is all, good night.

31

Ti-jean leaves his poems at the entrance to the cemetery and the insane misers of love they try to strip to letters and notes of all silence And it is that silence is the resolution of our sevenths of decrease and sensitive. Ti-jean leaves his heart right in the gate that you open with your poetry; that to elaborate difficult tongue twisters about the freedom to love each other. The pouring rain In my face it's just an echo of you and your shadow: Ti-jean.

0

Apr 30, 2023

Apr 30, 2023 at 1:12 AM UTC

rayenari-das

Rain

Ti-jean leaves his poems at the entrance to the cemetery and the insane misers of love they try to strip to letters and notes of all silence And it is that silence is the resolution of our sevenths of decrease and sensitive. Ti-jean leaves his heart right in the gate that you open with your poetry; that to elaborate difficult tongue twisters about the freedom to love each other. The pouring rain In my face it's just an echo of you and your shadow: Ti-jean.

24

Seven strong stones stand, supporting the silver senate office. Six of which sit silently, while the solemn seventh sings. It sings a song of sadness, in the form of shrieks and sobs, while the other six stand shocked of the shaky sevenths song.

0

May 24, 2015

May 24, 2015 at 8:08 AM UTC

ESR

The Seventh Stones ballad

Seven strong stones stand, supporting the silver senate office. Six of which sit silently, while the solemn seventh sings. It sings a song of sadness, in the form of shrieks and sobs, while the other six stand shocked of the shaky sevenths song.

8