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harley rowe Nov 2018
I've learned sensitivity is not taken kindly
                      but,
                         please tread lightly
                                           As everyday, I bruise with greater certainty
Shofi Ahmed Apr 2017
Just a dew drop, let alone the sea,
and a handful of earth, not the Planet Ge.
Not a shade of blue, save the rose for bee
Purely a clear drop didn’t spill in the core,
because the whole sphere feels the pinch.

Singing chorus rains down, bouncing back
to earth the only open-through planet.
No black hole is as deep as the sun jumps,
dives in the dew on every flower they wet.
Every bird in the trees sings and tweets,
yet one is stone quiet, shouldn’t even hiss.
Shh! shh, the sleeping beauty is sleeping!

Cut above the rest, the unique earth
brimming with the infinite finishing line
by design pans out to the transcended pi.
Pure spring, the waterfront by the Moon,
untouched, unspoiled is her swimming pool.

How she goes by, wetting her ****** toe
Only to bubble high up the transcended circle
If only the sun could rise high in that pole,
for the rest of species could sneak a peek.
She’s there with the capstone of the pyramid!

Shots beyond the fixed circle, netting the eyeballs.
The stars, the Moon on the move for pure freedom.
The thrilled earth did come out, smelling of roses
Off the golden cut pi-decimal-abyss digital spring.
With a handful of earth and a drop of water dew
This is a pure mirroring thanks to the original, you!

At the end of the string apt you took her by hand
She took it in emptying her heart and soul
Earth is now too thin on stock, she is no more
Just a shadow, a 360-degree hollow flute!
Oh light at the end of the tunnel shine and show
Play in like in the Night of Ascending once more!
This is a poem from my book Zero and One available on Amazon.
EyeGaddaKu'upMiBosch
EyeGaddaKu'upMiBosch?

KuppingMyBoschMaegMyF­eldSafF...

The nur-see tain't weetchin'

Shh, don't look around
they don't see if you don't look around...

SCRATCH EARS!

That one,
is okay, he's mowin' the lawN with his hands,
and smiling...

NO PILLS! NO PILLS!

wait a, no, wait, no, wait, no, wait...

EyeGaddaKu'upMiBosch
EyeGaddaKu'upMiBosch?

KuppingMyBo­schMaegMyFeldSafF...

I've got to cup my *****, cupping my ***** makes me feel safe.

wait, no, wait, no, wait, no wait...

iF i bITe MY FINGeRNaILS THEe TaStE LIKE WAx




wax
Astra Jul 2018
Listen,
Breathe,
Shh silence she’s asleep,
Quite to not make a peep,

The child made of concrete and leaves,
Is fast asleep,
Move to quickly and the ground will shake,
allow the vibrations to awake,
A silent soul so pure and innocence,

Yet the world decided to scream,
CHILD MADE OF CONCRETE YOU DON’T DESERVE TO BE,

Frightened and confused the child moves just to quickly,
To hear the earth raddle as the body meets the floor,

I wish they would have just
listened some more..
Listening , All rights reserved,  written by fragilehalo
The children they run, jump through the Sun,
...scream at the Horse for nary the fun.

What have you seen? What do you believe?
Did you get burnt on St. John's Eve?

Which day is it? Oh what the time?
Who be the meaning of old fabled rhyme?

Can you see stars? Oh great the heavens...
...can you see stars, so great the heavens?
Can you see stars? Oh great the heavens...
...can you see stars, so great the heavens?

Shh, here she comes, break black -the night!
...washed away the horse with infernal delight!

One is left ******, burnt, torn, pieces broken,
..and Momma, please Pappa; one's life merely token.

The children they run, jump through the Sun,
...ritual of the fear, for New Age begun.

Can you see stars? Oh great the heavens...
...can you see stars, so great the heavens?
Can you see stars? Oh great the heavens...
...can you see stars, so great the heavens?
The ritual of the May, the Spring, May-Queen, Beltis and Bacchus as Beltane for both are one; two sides. The Catholic Church folded mythology into it's own canon by deifying Celtic, Greek, Norse and Roman gods. St. John's Eve is the ritual of Bacchus. In this ritual a fire pit is made and children jump through the flames; pass through the fire of the Sun. They do this while fleeing the two men dressed up as a white horse; the Pale Rider which is the Moon. Enacting the two sides of Janus; all coins have on their face an image of the sun god or sun king and an image on the obverse of a horse or horse's head. The moon has three faces that can be seen by the naked eye and if you look at it you will see one of them appears to be grey spots that form a horse's head. They are chased by the moon and saved by the sun but one is caught and torn apart the way Bacchus was killed. In the longer form one constellation character is, "caught," each Spring as the Age of Precession and once every 2,160 years a new one is, "saved," by the Sun passing through him.
JayceeJellies Dec 2014
You taught me how to be pro,
It's not like I was ever proficient,
Tibbers goes where he pleases.
But of course you knew that,

You've always been 100 percent-
Cheesey. And because of that,
You sound silly all the time.
Well, okay maybe that's a lie.

But you are a true goof ball.
And I know I'm a dork, but
You catch me when I fall.
And I love that about you.

Shh, that's supposed to be a secret.
Oh yeah, I mean.. it's not like I meant it.
We all know he's an idiot, right?
Wrong. But I won't keep going on.

What am I saying? My words are all over-
The place. Look me straight in the face.
I want you to know that I want to embrace-
You. But I'll give you your space, it's okay.

I don't need it.
My heart is
Complacent.
You are my-

Inspiration.

To land that stun.
You know I will.
We'll get the ****.
Don't say you're done.

We got this Thunder Lord,
Now don't be blunt.
Tell me your opinons,
You know I want to hear em'

Whether it's about past topics,
Or about what I'm writing.
Tell me what you think about-
Anything, just don't get toxic.
carminayasmin Dec 2018
shh
love she supports her souls with will not be sufficient I think someone must tell her truth that she is suffering alone and quiet. I think it’s time someone turned the lights off in the daylight and left her put in the dim dark of the orange street lights transparent through the window when the street lies asleep and she releases her songs to the paper and her heart can rest and she can erase stupidity hilarity from her show and perhaps stay silenced for a while until she can speak what the street lights hear when the neighbours sleep.

when this happens it seems eveyone became deaf
3:14 wakeupeveryonelistentomescreaming
George Anthony Sep 2018
Shh
I am aware
of all things present,
the pinch behind my eyes
the pressure in my nose
my deep, soft,
too loud–heavy–quiet breathing
(How?)
Give me back my bones
Give me back my sleep,
my dreams.
Too close, too much, not enough:
I am endlessly ending

Cry

Please let me sleep–end–cry–
somethinganythingplease
yúyīn Jan 2017
Everyone comes with scars,
But you can love them away.
I told you that I wasn't perfect,
You told me the same
'You don't get it, I-"
'Shh, I love you, imperfections and all',
You said
But a month later,
Everything changed
You looked at me with disgust-
Like I was **** on legs
'I'm breaking up with you',
You said
'Why', I asked
'You're not perfect, I don't love you'
Hysterical sobs, at the loss of-
What I thought was love
'But I love you!',
I screamed at the closed door,
For you walked out on me
Your previous words meant nothing
I'm not worth loving, why?
The cuts on my thighs?
My eyes full of hurt?
My mouth full of lies?
The pain you caused,
Hurt more than the fresh cuts-
I just made
These were dedicated to you
Etched into my skin,
The perfect reminder of the pain you caused
'I love you' it said,
Used my blood to make-
a small heart on my tear-stained cheek
Then I slashed both wrists
They were dedicated to you
I love you
Hours later, remembering something-
You left
Found me lying there,
With the note cut into my hand,
'I love you' it said
The perfect reminder of the pain you caused
Kemy Sep 2018
Can you feel it
Shh, allow the galaxy to pamper your body, blanket the essence of your mind, bit-by-bit
Travel on a higher awareness to understand the galaxy’s gentle gift
Close your eyes and allow your mind to softly drift

Soft Moonlight Dust
Illuminating the night skies, given warmth of its inner trust
Centered in the sky, a star abates for its enlighten ******
Kindred minds to enrapture, as souls physically adjust

So gentle, as a touch to the skin
An inner space to conquer, there an exploring craving begins
Awareness of self stirring into the constellation
Bodies attuned beyond the stretch of imagination
Savoring on the flavor of the alignment sweeten taste
Desires igniting an inferno, the heat of its flames refusing to wait

Overheated friction surrendering without debates
Runaway yearning weakening in the presence of fate
The ecstasy of the moonlight’s dust felt, abiding to the crack of dawn
Emotions of the elixir slowly withdrawn

A Cheshire moonrise
Always a sacred communion given in surprise
Masked feelings hidden behind the stars in our eyes
Sprinkles of pixie dust as the moon becomes full
Paired upon, as lace meets wool
Interwoven and tenderly spun on a galactic spool

Stars In Exile
Twinkling for eyes to glimpse beyond the earth’s smile
Canopus to Antares, oh how you make me shine
Closing my eyes, coveting your point as I’m making you mine

Settled and glittering as small diamonds binding in the sky
A wondrous elopement to experience in the blink of an eye
Soft whispers to the ones that shoot right before they fall
Such a beautiful and breathlessly cadence to wish under them all

The Gift Of The Sun’s Stroke
Umm, shooting stars kept me awoke
Relentless bodies bathing under the moon
Caresses, touches, entwined souls echoing the note of its weakening tunes

Sweeter and sweeter, deeper and deeper
Bodies fueled, hot as a heater, bodies climbing steeper and steeper
Heat consumes the interior of the temple
Sweat of life, as movements come together and then disassemble
Elated, sedated, dipping in a cool blue lagoon
Kisses under the sun on a beautiful afternoon
Temperatures rising not a moment too soon

June slamming into summer’s heat
A merriment of a sun stroke basking in the glorious feast
The galaxy and its spicy passion
A gift to the world to enjoy in any unbridled fashion
She would give them order. She would create constellations.
Thomas Pynchon
Kara Jean May 2016
I thought **** this is it, I'm done
I'm honest to god going crazy
Then after a bottle of wine and a personal pep talk,
I realized I'm just a stay at home mom
Waiting on life
In otherwords, I'm failing
Failure is now the new accomplished feeling
So yes
I'm a mess
Mayhem at its best
That's ok because I'm proccessing  
One day I'll hit those goals
Today I'll just do lots of cardio, canceling out my midnight drinking
Shh!
The kids are sleeping
This is meant to be sarcastic and humorous
Please no numbers to therapists
MJL Feb 16
Our cupped whispers
Our blanket fort
Our candy bracelets
Our secret shh
Our tiny giggles
Our childish valentine
Grows
Time agnostic


© 2019 MJL
Allan Frei Feb 2017
Bustling tall building
Height of success
I'd climb it if I could
With my young hands
But the topic will digress

And take up an idle way
With some ADD
On OCD, undeserved
Funny how things are no matter
******* and your life

When work's to be done
Here's shying from, shirking from
Working until done
We can overcome

Right after this segment
Oh shh, show is back on
....


What was it we were fighting for?
Oh well, I forget it
bulletcookie Aug 2017
these winds have no chords tonight
drifting over a prairie of loneliness
knotting oozing thoughts of nostalgia
into tumbleweeds of emptiness

weaving darkness follows dusk
as incomplete eyes silently search
canyon phantasma in moonlit cascade
there fairy wisps of fog bank lurch

astride a hairy back enchanted mule
rides this only-monkey's whimpering
Shh-e, Titania, waits there for you
hidden among musk rose whispering

go falling upon thorny-hairy eared cactus
as time does stream disjointed desire
in this wasteland of a singular tactus
caught in swayed affections of heart's briar

-cec
jonni inferno Mar 2017
shhh -
in this sylence
i do listen
to the words
thou hast written

of the nyghte
there was spoken
true heartes' devotion
an 'dayes that followed
brought laughter
now sorrowe
an' in the darkness after
beats a hearte
that is hollowed

what one mustte bare
when the hearte be torn
be there a one that cares ?
'twas all for naught ?
'tis all love forlorn ?

shh -
in this sylence
i do listen
to the words
thou hast written
of true loves disaster
an' the mourning after

i send this note
that alle may read
an' it matters not
if none pay heede
as long as
She Does

.
Pic Poem
http://oi60.tinypic.com/rti2aw.jpg
.
.
this piece was inspired by the poetess "She Does" -
from the now defunct - poets.com site
(it was bought out by another poetry site
and no longer has the same format...)
Arianna Jun 3
Silence crowns the hill in emeralds.

The medicine rattles sh-shh in steadily ebbing flows,
but their medicine tastes and feels like poison.

No harm intended, I only wished for rising
to the challenge posed towards the shadows creeping
over true and longed-for expression.

Wasn't sure what to expect,
just hoped to connect,

Although, grave anticipations
now manifest,
blossoming crossroads beneath moons of foreboding.

Brimming possibilities
suggest
triumph or heartbreak
on the other side of catharsis.

Seeking peace over pleasure,
the medicine rattles lull me to fitful rest.

I can wait.

May I wake
senseless of Time,
enchanted by insight and compassion.

In the meantime, grant me patience.

Through ebbing and flowing,
I can wait.
Yan F Apr 2018
Pay close attention

My heart is still beating,
My heart is still alive.
It’s just our love that stopped burning.
It’s our clock that stopped ticking.
Our world that stopped revolving.

Shh just listen

I’m still hurting,
My love is still blazing,
My clock still clicking,
My world still rotating—

Over you…

My heart,
My love,
My clock,
My world,

Not over you…
For my (I can't even say her pseudonym lel)--- I'm not even obsessed, it's just my words that keep coming back to her though.
Brianna Bushee May 2018
Eyes open. Forward facing. Lights are on, but he's not listening. Headset. Dont fret. I love you he says. Glowing screens. Angry screams. Come to bed. Shh not yet. Back turned to us. Don't interrupt. Why are we not enough? Days off. Curtains drawn. Where has seven hours gone. Eyes wet, blank stares. Do you know that I'm still here? Guns out. Baby sleeping. Meanwhile my hearts still beating.
A girl who just wanted you.
Gary Brocks Aug 2018
Picture a late afternoon
iridescent honey-yellow:

The glance she knows is seen
her cool hand placed in yours
your stripped shirt she rips,
her mouthing, “You’re it!”, hiding,
revealing herself stripped,
her finger tipped shh,
the brush of *******,
surrender and assent.

She'll rise with a rustle
of desiccated pines,
needles will fall from her back,
she'll crumple a cigarette pack,
humming a vacant lament,
fingers caressing a fossil flea,
embalmed in a dangling pendant.

Copyright © 2003 Gary Brocks
180828F

A girl I knew. She said on several occasions, “All my boyfriends remember me”. This was very important to her. Seemingly more important than actually maintaining a relationship with any one of them. Her memories of them were like fossils, like insects preserved in amber in a pendant, that she would rub over after a final *** act with her most recent specimen. Naming her Amber for the way she kept and used her memories (was I to become the flea?), and portraying her actions as a farewell soliloquy in mime seemed like emotionally truthful fun.
I would like to go back delete
all the pain and suffering
I hastily transcribed
in-looking for
that real betterness.
Best let it sit
there.
Shh, it's OK
to be in the past
for a time but, what's past
should remain. Makes me feel unsafe
when things creep into the present's domain,

Things to make me heave and sigh. Ah, I rest
on this chair, in the glib darkness, and hear
the city breeze, automobiles' afar off accelerations
become those comforting rustles
carried through the wind.
The dusk sky has dipped.
I'm left wondering
after my travels this weekend.
Connor Oct 2018
"In Heaven
The Water
is Shiny Gold"

In approach of a clearing /
Vernal-Volcanic-Bagpipe-Intimidation-Collapse-Arise-/
empty hopscotches fade with rain, remembrances of my foiled return
lent to after-rather haze mingling line by line
with eyeglasses fogged up

I relinquished the panic of your absence one week ago today, but it wasn't easy, being caught in such swelling strings once desiring to wake in Gold

I was guided by my dream family which led me thus / glimpsing premonition Wyomings sprawl with pine & geyser
flat land fire
down river /
Spring Snow and tribulations sound with elemental reverberations of Spirit colliding with Stone
pirouetting upon a newfound expanse

My restless and uninitiated Tulpa stirs and screams
(I am owed this one) delving to ancient territories of attractive chaos
emerged unkind
but tender enough to fold into my next dressing, appropriately remote

II

By June I ascend further via Nepalese staircases carved from Mountain rock, Sun-showers resplendently endow this band of rattling Sherpas with grace
to hold, to wrap around their necks and deliver to my private Summit

(where many have died, where many have given their flesh to this
Golgotha Sagarmatha)

Sneah Yerng !
away you mortal entity death !

I consume you with Himalayan tea and the heavy sensation of my boots planting their weight to frozen earth - listening, attention to the foreground Chorus exhaling harmonies of Khmer which give further texture to the native brush

(We were once kindling set perfect across the ground - to blaze & become heavenly together - instead subjugated by time's feral will, you - now a Mother and a stranger to me, Myself - continuing & following this sense strangeness which is always present but flickering like cosmic frequency magnetically luring me into a breadbasket of fire & weeping intermittent, into a cycle, a snake - surrounding magic Islands of self-past and self-future
which whirl-about searching feverishly for a path - now that the one preceding has been lost or misguided, you're bound to this breathing child who's not ours - but yours)

This is how our story ends. Where we diverge and become Actual -
carrying separate but respectful momentum in each Epoch of life in all it's various & flowing Identities, just as I'd once predicted in an Altenburg Kitchen reading Rimbaud and sipping hot water quietly, disturbed - knowing, somehow, that we'd irrecoverably commit to being temporary conflagrations in the lives of the other. The end of A summation. Events that in many ways were born there, it is forcibly behind me now.. I was the result of these things. A sword carved from heat, and pressure.

What do I do with this?
So worn with necessity - living
Enjoying occasional rain, timely - capturing passing loves
refusing to stale and finish as Petrarchan - Madame George and Myself as two ambitions which acted both honorably & dishonorably at times. As human nature dictates, as I'll know, a branded truth from now on -
I am proud of you, I love you. I will cherish you, always.

We curate and amend – understand
each other's impossible profundities

(Shh! lights go out unexpectedly ! Your remainder hovers by the door for just a few secret and sacred seconds/ gone...)

These poems have been as much for you as they were for me - But I must exit this vacated place of only peering into the beyondness of things that have outgrown their form
open, step - deliver myself to:
The last poem I'll be posting here or writing for a while. The end of a continuous stream of thought depicting the events and emotions of the last two years. Recent events have called to their end. I'll be ready to write again once this coming new state of mind and being has revealed itself - of which I am optimistic
While we're laughing
And smiling,
Others are
Dying.

While we're eating
And drinking,
Others are
Starving.

While we're running
And playing,
Others can’t
Walk.

While we're reading
And learning,
Others can’t
Write.

Shh…
Do you hear that?
That’s them
Crying for help.

Hold on…
Do you see that?
That’s us
Not helping.
There are people suffering in this world, whether you know about it or not. Those of us who can help, should. Everyone deserves to enjoy life as much as we do.
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