"shure" poems
I fell in the sea
and it was made of love
And the love became the taste
Of saltwater on her neck
And she taught me to dive
With my eyes wide open
Looking through the water at the sun
Breaking the surface.
"It's like just like dying," she said.
And I heard "diving"
Because it was like diving
But it was also unlike diving
And so it didn't seem a silly thing to say
Though all the things she said
Like them fishes in a sea of love
Hooked by a line at night
That came out of a boat
And made us shure
That the unsaid things
Were both unsaid
Were silly.
I forgot my shoes.
We made love between the boats
Gently pulling ourselves along the rope
From one wine dark evening
To the sunlit morning below...
And even my lips
Remind me of her
Waking so close
Her eyes could touch mine
Nice dream
Like the lift of sunrise
Between us
And the need of nothing else
But these warm shivers and...
Blistering Barnacles!
I just fell in the sea
And it was made of love.
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 7:06 PM UTC
Exchanging
recommendations under flickering lights ! we transpose the nature
? of our insect-like movements
$
with the slick of our collars,
our dull-shine badges.
Eye
makeup
arrayed in sheens
to blow your eye's burn
away
back into
the cold of space,
where you belong
the skirt of the star's burn,
to sear you (un)clean
without alarm.
with a certain sweltering silent charm
Somewhere, saturations swell
in non-
casual ******** singsong.
Klarity is substantiated.
Forgive a whiff into cigarette dust.
Into reticulated (t)rust.
✙
How many leaves
connect
to form the tree's glow?
I'm sorry for asking
now
*I must go*
...
Forbidding madness
with a
keen
brow-
bent
glare
ballroom harpies
chase you backwards
down
a
flight
of
stairs
.
.
.
*what is this caution
here cushioning me
porous like bed foam
harm eating me slowly*
?
smirking consistent smart
a loneliness for hatred
.
.
.
Tear me up for what is holy in me
crumpled 'piss-poor' regard, it's a satin-shure smile
I am churning and I know (not the exit)
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 4:23 PM UTC
Nobody's perfect I do what I can
If your perfect good luck with that
Your one on your own, cream of the crop
Trouble is I think your a ****
Your brilliant with figures, that can't add up
We call it deception, you call it a job
You magotty toad you utter *******
You bought all your friendship one day it will end
Behind bars or a ditch I'm not shure witch
Who ever gets you first you horrible ****
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 10:33 AM UTC
Why do we leave the womb?
Why
Why do we go astray into depths unknown,Only to come back with a diffrent understanding
Of what you already knew
And isolate ourselves if all we seek is company
It is the knowledge the wind wispers just out of reach
So we misinterpret it all but ask yourself
If a theory is tought in an institution
Does it make it any truer?
Truth should be defined individually by what the heart feels
Not by the ideals of your peers
So the real question is
What do i find true?
Does one ever find the purpose in there existence
Or do wift like leaves in the wind
In a way we're all like waves
Taking of in a burst of fury
But as soon as we reach the shallows we fall
And crash against each other,
The only shure outcome is that we'll return from where we came
And all that remains is the calm.
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 9:49 AM UTC
On Hello Poetry, they are all the rage,
See them each day trend for awful sake.
Massive egos with single digit readerships,
Their whole purpose on HP is puff-fakery.
The pests shure love their odd, fake names,
To comment on themselves, how very lame.
Look at them but do not, seriously read,
Each poem they write is but a base need.
A bad yearning to fill their empty souls,
Please don't 'like' them - it's rather old.
Shiftless and hollow are their fleabag pleas,
Wannabes will always, pathetically, wanna be.
Some pests like to pose they are dying,
All pests fake they are meaningful, crying.
Some pests pretend to be smart as Rabbis,
Writing wisdomless couplets endearing swine.
Some pests pretend to be noble as wolves,
Feeding their sheep the ranks of their stools.
Most pests on HP are prodigious sycophants,
First they love, love you until another chants.
Fly-by-nighters are all the brown-nosed pests,
Wallowing in the very dirts they feign protest.
If you see a pest on the sad pages playing,
Just ignore them, they may soon go awaying.
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 9:50 PM UTC
day ride, after night shift, runnin forgetting, and
always letting go, love is not enough, with a slave of their trade
y write with the spits on my face, and assume that you will understand
that, months ago all end up, with out even star, vaya con dios, or wiTh the ala, and please let my ******* go.
after all the shame of the spits on my face, strong and short and smeling like a pig, you were right, i'm all of those and, c'est fini, after all
i'm just a game an easy game, relax live your life, and please let me tha **** ALONE, after all, to special and to sweet, is a good thing matte,
am mellow to the core like thoreau's autumnal sun, a lover, that for the girls how love creeps, still can't love and be loved , and it was all about that little creepy, shiit, blocking and destroying mi life, so he could feel like ubermensch, so vaya con dios, and please let me ******* go, dance with zeus or ala, or your little creepy **** after all 7 months ago y let you go.
theres no rage or pain, just disappointment. this lover and this beast is to special, for you, to sweet and stinky and short, so please let me go, and vaya con dios, this is the end beautiful not me friend,
i'm friend with a little boy that is my litle bro,
and the one how harm this little bro, is going to pay it all,
after all the pain after all the little rapes, after all the creep liking me as as y was sleep, after all, still you help him, and put me in danger, so shut a **** up, and, just let me ******* go, this is a clear, adios, rad, the last two have one line for you this is all yousr kid, could y, shure.
i'm already gone, and i don't want you in my life, take mahomas hand and fly to the sun, i'm going alone, and love maybe knocks on my door, and
after all still i'm here saying to you, vaya con su dios,
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 2:18 PM UTC
You kiss the back of my neck,
as we curl up to sleep.
This was never part of the agreement
(not that i dont like it) and
i know you were drunk and
dont mean it.
I'm not usto it
just not shure how to take it.
When i feel your eyelashes on my hair
I consiter it,
but i don't.
Sometimes you suggest that i take other men home,
i consiter it,
But i dont.
It's not that i have only eyes for you
Dear.
It's just that no one else catches my eye.
Knock it off.
Callm your **** down.
Don't be getting all
sent-a-ment-al.
Company is company and
company is nice.
If you get your pantys in a twist
it might ruin the whole night.
so lets just enjoy it
i like you
you seem like a decent sorta guy
I know that im awkward,
and ********
But i think you kinda are too.
Also,
i dont mean anything by it
when i dont **** your ****
Tts just a tick.
And dont you worry,
ill get over it.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 3:16 PM UTC