"sof" poems
I
WilL
NeveR
Weep iN
Fear. tearS
Gently to thE
Ocean swim sofT
Upon a tiny breezE
And relieves me of I
My angst, my tearS
Are eternal in aN
Ocean deeP
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 3:50 AM UTC
if the curves of my stomach offend
you
i suggest you get the
**** off
of
me
but when this rage comes you speak
so
sof
t
ly
and wonder why i look at you
like you burned
me but
you don't understand how predecessors of your gender have treated me.
kind words have never been spoken to me
soberly or
without weight behind them
like bartering in a dark corner bed while everyone else sleeps
where i stop being a woman, an entity, and become an unfeeling orifice whose name has suddenly become
baby
because a few kinds words were mumbled against the shell
of my ear
you don't understand
how hands have grabbed me in the dark
and how my own hands have grabbed
only out of desperation
to feel something
you don't understand how hard it is for you to touch me and
for me not to feel lightening hot repulsion
as i lay drunk, ready to sleep.
you don't understand how when people touch my hair
all i can feel are hands curling against my scalp
and the way cold-shaking hands curled around my dress
and the way fear has been etched into the lines of my brain like a map of the city i know so well
like that alley i can't walk down alone at night
or that part of lexington where men shout at me hungrily
or the way stranger's hands sometimes 'slip'
you will never understand the weight of my insecurity because no amount of sweetness you can pour onto me can replace the venom fed to me by the men before you
no matter how 'enough' i may be with you
you will never understand how 'enough' isn't tangible
how beautiful doesn't really feel like a compliment
and how much
i doubt you actually love me
Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 12:40 PM UTC
Anything visible, and
anything that can be grasped by thought,
is bounded.
Anything bounded is finite.
Anything finite is not undifferentiated.
The boundless is called Ein Sof, Infinite.
It is absolute undifferentiation in
perfect,
changeless
oneness.
Since it is boundless, there is nothing outside of it.
Since it transcends and conceals itself,
it is the essence
of everything hidden and concealed.
Since it is concealed, it is the root of faith
and
the root of rebellion.
As it is written, "One who is righteous lives by his faith."
We comprehend it only by way of no.
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 12:50 PM UTC
Finally
Award moments passed
Bound in the future
Free of the past
Illiterate
Unable to read minds
Tell what your thinking
Crossed lines
Thin
Translucent
Visions crystal clear
Clawing out
Drawing near
Closets open
Step through
Experience
Passion
Pleasure
Emotions of your soul
I wont tell
No one knows
Friendly flirtation
Sticky situations
Tip of your tongue
Searching for explanations
Just having fun
Put in a box
Categories aren't me
Touch my heart
Little black sheep
Big lion roar
Spread your wings
Soar
Air breezing round
Sulking cross town
Tell that you feel
Kiss sof
Unreal
Dreaming up a lifetime
Seems laying here
Smell of ammonia
White everywhere
Your my lifeline
Broken pieces beating as one
They wont accept our love
Murray
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 12:29 PM UTC
Finally
Award moments passed
Bound in the future
Free of the past
Illiterate
Unable to read minds
Tell what your thinking
Crossed lines
Thin
Translucent
Visions crystal clear
Clawing out
Drawing near
Closets open
Step through
Experience
Passion
Pleasure
Emotions of your soul
I wont tell
No one knows
Friendly flirtation
Sticky situations
Tip of your tongue
Searching for explanations
Just having fun
Put in a box
Categories aren't me
Touch my heart
Little black sheep
Big lion roar
Spread your wings
Soar
Air breezing round
Sulking cross town
Tell that you feel
Kiss sof
Unreal
Dreaming up a lifetime
Seems laying here
Smell of ammonia
White everywhere
Your my lifeline
Broken pieces beating as one
They wont accept our love
Murray
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 12:29 PM UTC
.
She gazed upon †he grea† expanse,
sof† sand hid small †oes on her fee†.
A deser† daisy gen†ly caressed her hands,
†he sunshine made her day comple†e.
She walked alone on this beautiful day.
This li††le angel had jus† †urned seven.
†o ga†her her momma a fresh bouque†,
for some reason has lef† her for Heaven.
Each flower was burdened with a clump of dir†,
I wi†nessed the swee†es† †hing †oday.
I had cried and wiped †ears on my shir†,
when my mind said †o jus† walk away.
"Daddy, can Jesus le† her come ou† †o play?
How do you answer a young girl of seven?
"Jus† like we did †he o†her day."
"We can, when we ge† †o Heaven."
.
Feb 14, 2010
Feb 14, 2010 at 10:35 PM UTC
Explain to me,
mother,
why it is that
I can breathe
easier with his hole in my chest?
It is about
time
that I realize
I've done this
to
myself.
It is about
time
that I realize
I
should give up.
The waves crash against my thighs.
The waves crash against my pelvis.
The waves crash against my stomach.
The waves crash against my chest.
H
hA
haR
harD
hardE
hardeR
softeR
softE
sofT
soF
sO
so what? so what if I drown?
Let the reaper eat my stomach contents.
Let Him drink my spinal fluid;
let it trickle down his fleshless chin.
Recycle my eyes so that I may
see.
Recycle my heart so that I may
smile.
Recycle my brain so that I may
forget.
Nothing's funny when you're bleeding.
Sep 29, 2010
Sep 29, 2010 at 9:05 PM UTC
I REMEMBER NOW, AS I DO EVERY DAY
HOW YOU SMILE
AND LAUGH SO EASILY
YOUR EYES,
NEVER THE SAME COLOUR.
SKIN, SOF AND WARM,
AMPLE TO THE TOUCH.
I LOVE YOUR VOLUPTIOUSNESS.
SUDUCTIVE WITHOUT TRYING.
**** WITHOUT KNOWING.
THE SMELL OF YOU –
*** AND CIGARETTES.
I LONG FOR IT ON MY PILLOWS.
YOUR SHYNESS MAKES ME WANT YOU MORE.
YOUR HIDDEN FRAGILENESS.
I WAN TO PROTECT YOU.
THE BIGGEST OF HEARTS,
SOMETIMES TO YOUR OWN DETRIMENT.
MY ANCHOR
MY SAVIOUR
MY ACCOMPLICE
YOU BREAK MY HEART SO EASILY
AND MEND IT WITH LESS THAN THAT
I WILL REMEMBER YOU FOREVER.
YOU HAVE CHANGED MY WORLD.
YOU ARE MY WORLD
Feb 17, 2010
Feb 17, 2010 at 3:39 AM UTC
Finding seed in fibers needed for the humming bird robe.
Thread twisted so,
fine fine fine,
sof-ein
my point in the twisting tale
The book my culture arose from
knowing any rose is a rose.
thank you, Gert,
this book, the book, our culture- global
post
the elec'ric link to steam and steel
and cotton picking
through
assembly line guns, before automobiles, by Ford.
Yes, as an aside, who saw
- pause the prosody, break the lines
- goto .7 speed
- or bullet speed if you know the idea
As handspinners, we indulge our senses with each new yarn that is spun.
From <https://spinoffmagazine.com/a-practical-guide-to-ginning-cotton-by-hand/>
As handspinners,
we indulge our senses
with each new yarn that is spun.
We are entranced and soothed
as our eyes watch the twist travel through the fiber.
We fluff, stretch,
and tug it into every possible yarn configuration
and enjoy that therapeutic zen
that comes with it.
Ginning your own cotton by hand
adds another layer
of bliss
to the spinning experience.
At a glance,
we just pluck seeds
from a nest
of fiber.
You’ll want
to work methodically
in order
to save time and leave your fiber
as lofty
as possible after ginning.
Understanding how the seeds are organized
within a cotton boll and using the best technique
for the variety
of cotton that you have makes the handginning process go much easier.
Oct 9, 2021
Oct 9, 2021 at 2:22 PM UTC
Can there be anything redder than her lips?
Is there anything colder?
Anything sweeter?
Softer?
Qui e t e r . . .
Can there be anything sweeter than her heart?
Is there anything redder?
Anything colder?
Quieter?
"Sof t e r . . .*
Such a face
With a tounge that can so easily
Put you in your place
With a collar of velvet
That tickles the skin
And a sweet
Soft
Cold
Red
Quiet heart
That has so much to give
And is without sin
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 11:33 PM UTC
Dreams gone past
Laughter fadin
Sof light glowing
Up in the sky
Angels singing
Flowers drifting
Sweetly sending
Peace around
Grass is bursting
Emerald green
Sunset making
a golden softness
Butterflies landing
Amongst the trees
Wings of love
Cascading falls
Memories gone.
Jul 19, 2011
Jul 19, 2011 at 5:29 PM UTC
Now how to figger what makes a feller tick?
They’re hot and they’re cold and they’re nothin’ at all.
(Th’ persuasive arts ain’t no match for a brick.)
A body can stand herself pretty and slick
But he’ll hem and he’ll haw and harrumph an’ stall
Now how to figger what makes a feller tick?
I’d much rather take on a lion that’s sick
Than a certain mouse backed up ‘gin a wall.
(Th’ persuasive arts ain’t no match for a brick.)
Wish I had a gris-gris or some other trick
So’s I could hold a certain feller in thrall;
Now how to figger what makes a feller’ tick?
Sof’ words and June moons—why, they ain’t worth a lick
If your life is just one big free-for-all
(Th’ persuasive arts ain’t no match for a brick.)
Your poor hawt cries a river an’ beats real quick
When love takes you down like a cannonball.
Now how to figger what makes a feller’ tick?
(Th’ persuasive arts ain’t no match for a brick.)
Feb 2, 2018
Feb 2, 2018 at 12:03 PM UTC
I'd like a sof- boiled Brexit so I can dip in my soldiers.
My Granny wants a hard-boiled to challenge her dentures.
I've not heard many calls for scrambled,
though that may be how they end up.
Or we could fry them until they leap for the fire.
Jun 28, 2017
Jun 28, 2017 at 5:25 AM UTC