"softing" poems - Hello Poetry

I see a Woman eating her muffin looking at Man who is looking looking into the depths of his paper cup and the wrinkles and rivers on the back of his hand thinking When did I get those? Coffee Cup looking at the blue bin in the corner Coffee Cup thinking Well, I guess this is how it goes The secret force that wrenches eyes upward from the secret morning monologues happens like electricity happens and Man sees Woman's eyes and frowns and can't tell whether they are blue or brown. Crumbs are on her lap. Man doesn't notice but Woman thinks he does Moving imperceptibly and not wasting a calorie she flutters her hands over the warm loaves of her thighs. Man notices an ephemeral strain Simon and Garfunkle and becomes aware of a softening within his sternum and electrons slowing, softing, into a May spring aesthetic Woman rubs her finger which does not have a ring and Coffee Cup wonders if it will still have sentience within the bin or if the world with all its broken beauty and mornings and warm hands will suddenly just stop everything? I look at my keys. The sort that express, not the sort that open doors and drawers but even these, time to time, will fall beneath the wooden floors. Man pulls his long coat off the back of his chair without ceremony rises and turns to go leaves his cup on the table for a coffee girl to attend to and exits as the rain turns to snow. Woman sits. And sits. Woman might order another pumpkin muffin. Her knees are chilled, watching her pinkly from the edge of a pencil skirt like children's faces from a blanket. A moment later she makes that same comparison and laughs internally without gesture or sound. And Woman looks around. Woman smiles. Not because of Man or muffin or the secret life of a Coffee Cup but because she is Woman struck lively by the sudden meta fleeting passage of The Bigger and her eyes, definitively brown spark like bumper car antennae and struck by magic, the same magic electricity for an irreversible instant meet mine. And for one fourteenth of a moment Woman knows Me with all her life. I shiver and she lobs me the red bean bag and I hold the image in my mind like a relic of the living divine. The Bigger, the morning the secret was mine.

0

Oct 22, 2012

Oct 22, 2012 at 11:44 AM UTC

mure

The Bigger

I see a Woman eating her muffin looking at Man who is looking looking into the depths of his paper cup and the wrinkles and rivers on the back of his hand thinking When did I get those? Coffee Cup looking at the blue bin in the corner Coffee Cup thinking Well, I guess this is how it goes The secret force that wrenches eyes upward from the secret morning monologues happens like electricity happens and Man sees Woman's eyes and frowns and can't tell whether they are blue or brown. Crumbs are on her lap. Man doesn't notice but Woman thinks he does Moving imperceptibly and not wasting a calorie she flutters her hands over the warm loaves of her thighs. Man notices an ephemeral strain Simon and Garfunkle and becomes aware of a softening within his sternum and electrons slowing, softing, into a May spring aesthetic Woman rubs her finger which does not have a ring and Coffee Cup wonders if it will still have sentience within the bin or if the world with all its broken beauty and mornings and warm hands will suddenly just stop everything? I look at my keys. The sort that express, not the sort that open doors and drawers but even these, time to time, will fall beneath the wooden floors. Man pulls his long coat off the back of his chair without ceremony rises and turns to go leaves his cup on the table for a coffee girl to attend to and exits as the rain turns to snow. Woman sits. And sits. Woman might order another pumpkin muffin. Her knees are chilled, watching her pinkly from the edge of a pencil skirt like children's faces from a blanket. A moment later she makes that same comparison and laughs internally without gesture or sound. And Woman looks around. Woman smiles. Not because of Man or muffin or the secret life of a Coffee Cup but because she is Woman struck lively by the sudden meta fleeting passage of The Bigger and her eyes, definitively brown spark like bumper car antennae and struck by magic, the same magic electricity for an irreversible instant meet mine. And for one fourteenth of a moment Woman knows Me with all her life. I shiver and she lobs me the red bean bag and I hold the image in my mind like a relic of the living divine. The Bigger, the morning the secret was mine.

56

if i could pay you in poetry would you prefer fiery and feisty loving and longing crazy and crafty scentual and sightful playful and pranking guru and gonzo singing and songing listening and lightness softing and sensual tender and tinder laughter and limitless insight and winsight tell me, what poetry would you put in your bank?

0

Jun 11, 2019

Jun 11, 2019 at 1:00 PM UTC

shamamama

if i could pay you in poetry

if i could pay you in poetry would you prefer fiery and feisty loving and longing crazy and crafty scentual and sightful playful and pranking guru and gonzo singing and songing listening and lightness softing and sensual tender and tinder laughter and limitless insight and winsight tell me, what poetry would you put in your bank?

17

"do you believe in madness?" i whispered in the dark, half afraid of a reply. "yes," trembled from her lips, "but this it not it." i say her lips trembled but in truth i could not see her face. perhaps it was i who was trembling, but if only in my imagination i could of sworn, she was trembling too. the walls pushed forcibly on my chest and spine each time i inhaled each mouthful of still air pressed me to the sides as a harsh reminder that the passage was only barely wide enough for us to walk through sideways, shoulder to shoulder, scraping our skin as we went. i'm not sure how much time had passed not much had changed since the last word had been spoken out-loud i had begun again to forget what words felt like, both on the lips and upon softing the delicate hairs of the inner ear all i could know was the dark, and my breathing, and her breathing. and i begun to wonder if she was breathing at all, of if the fainter, more distant breaths- were not just echoes of my own. had i gone mad. was i truly alone. no companion. no accomplice. just an invention of my lonely silence. was it days that had been passing. or were they weeks. perhaps just a few hours, and my sense of brooding, too dark.

0

Nov 6, 2012

Nov 6, 2012 at 11:00 PM UTC

k_faye

breathless

"do you believe in madness?" i whispered in the dark, half afraid of a reply. "yes," trembled from her lips, "but this it not it." i say her lips trembled but in truth i could not see her face. perhaps it was i who was trembling, but if only in my imagination i could of sworn, she was trembling too. the walls pushed forcibly on my chest and spine each time i inhaled each mouthful of still air pressed me to the sides as a harsh reminder that the passage was only barely wide enough for us to walk through sideways, shoulder to shoulder, scraping our skin as we went. i'm not sure how much time had passed not much had changed since the last word had been spoken out-loud i had begun again to forget what words felt like, both on the lips and upon softing the delicate hairs of the inner ear all i could know was the dark, and my breathing, and her breathing. and i begun to wonder if she was breathing at all, of if the fainter, more distant breaths- were not just echoes of my own. had i gone mad. was i truly alone. no companion. no accomplice. just an invention of my lonely silence. was it days that had been passing. or were they weeks. perhaps just a few hours, and my sense of brooding, too dark.

18

In out the cold These hands of stone Webbed with woven red Gemmed yellow-blue Softing, slowly Flesh displacing ice, Imperceptibly

0

Feb 8, 2021

Feb 8, 2021 at 3:23 PM UTC

zyg

Recovery

In out the cold These hands of stone Webbed with woven red Gemmed yellow-blue Softing, slowly Flesh displacing ice, Imperceptibly

7