"souse" poems
Dead-eyed through drenched days
spent seeping through blank space
to spill another swollen week out
on a crumpled page
I'm young, but not that young
grown up and dumbed down
so I'll drag one more punchline day out
'til a year's ground down
Face the wall...
Aimed at the door...
But we're still here and so
I suggest that we share this bar...
Stumble out
regain my feet
and pluck my keys from the gutter. I've
been dancing with defeat and, now, I'm
driving on the borderline
between familiar haunts
and same old foes that I conjure--
Now I start to realize that, like you,
they've got my number.
They've got my number.
Rhombuses of light
separate us--not by much
but these
square miles of concrete
will divide us just enough
Deadpan Friday nights
space out workday lifelines
until another starving paycheck
grounds another flight
Your time spent so costly
the bill's due, your words freeze
a season's regrets regressed. Empty
bottles taken out.
Besieged by walls
Afraid of doors
the nights leak in, you turn
the lights out, choking down one more
Waking up,
you find your breath
you find your feet and your reasons. You
have found your boots and keys and lost your
fear of the season's size.
Between the years and months
you've been a ***** and a miser
when the skyline creaks and sighs, remember
you've got my number
And I've got your number
The world's got our number--
--it's okay to come over
We can laugh at the night
at sunrise, we'll run for cover
'til the season is over
now, just run for cover...
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 6:34 PM UTC
e3Author: Kristen Stevens
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
happy thoughts
Current mood: blissed out
Going to try something new for this one. I'm going to be happy or an approximate facsimile of it. Now you may ask, how does one go about getting into a happy frame of mind?
-Well, I find browsing the bumper sticker app is a good way if you are using your computer as a sole ***** of happiness.
-Watching the HMV hell video on my main page makes me giggle like the school girl (let's face it I was never a giggly school girl but the metaphor works)
-Thinking about how few people will actually survive the coming zombie apocalypse due to their utter stupidity finally catching up with them. (oh, I believe I’m getting giddy now)
-2012 because whatever is/is not going to happen people are going to lose their minds and well, I call it culling of the genetic herd.
-Milk, it does a body good. (I know, I know for any grammatical stickler out there it should be “does…well” but that’s not the line)
-Dr. Who, although I’m still waiting for my TARDIS boarding pass one day my doctor will come
Ok I’m going to quit now. If I get any happier, I might do some permanent damage to my cynical synapses. contented sigh
Sep 21, 2010
Sep 21, 2010 at 8:35 AM UTC
Spilled Dreams!
Hide not away.
Be not concealed.
No need to run.
Escape from a teacup of dreams.
Try to pull yourself out.
Be careful not to spill the contents on the grass
On a wild escapade.
Should you let your china teacup tip.
Your dreams will ***** the soil.
Become doused in muddy mess of moments.
Spread across the grass.
Then they shall be lost.
No stratagem to rescue them.
When they're gone.
They're gone.
Lost forever and maybe a day!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 12:57 PM UTC
Staccato-sex. Can you feel the damnation in the
trickling water of minutes? This fragment considers
revising but in the next act, I will turn you into a miracle:
a cloud of a sigh into rarefied air, and that is all.
The ******* of women hang in trees. Consider this statement
a ruthless compunction. Flesh in the market, I haggle prices
with the butcher. I’ll take one in exchange for a love
christened with portent, I gave it no unction – fresh as a fruit’s glaze
in spring, or the crunch of dew somewhere along Baguio in the morning,
intestinal roads frothing with excess of fog. Consider trees
in akimbo past your sweltering window – the panes in feverish heat,
what are you to do but splash water? Bathe. ***** Sully.
We have no inertia in this feetless adagio. Wind is sandpaper.
Pain is tactile. I am a ****** paving the way, crucified on no longitude-latitude.
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 1:56 AM UTC
verily this evening, from the veranda
i smell the fragrance of their arrivals.
the tall, slender, stockinged women
swaying like bamboo in the wind.
the admirals in white commandeering
vessels — the shear of wind, a tractable beast.
the ploys of men to woo the darling,
the hesitations of dames cloaked
in obvious handiwork of skirts.
they slalom through life's rugged streets
like blueprints of doors revealing
benign propaganda.
it is all too real to me. i have lived
behind the shadow of words.
it is all that i am cut up for — doting on
it still, yet a nonexistent blossom.
hearing them leave the interior of walls,
soldering the notoriety of burdens.
witnesses drowned in water,
their muffled voices reinvent the quietude. there is a dailiness overmastered by them, such rampant
mendaciloquence denied by me.
i move past cataracts of crowds
and hunt for the silence: this importunate need that feeds my bloodthirsty being.
i awaken the sleeping prowess
of words and listen to them.
now, leave me with my ocean.
i was meant to ***** in the blue
and froth like the last of unburied water,
dreaming of fish.
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 6:14 AM UTC
the droning image before me,
a wetted silhouette hushed in loincloth.
all are tiny currents with their immediacy;
confound careless grace for warmbound sweat
of the swollen world in the heat of an uncollected moment.
dartle I may in delight of frenzy, cold air nibbling
at my feet. river runs pale in the narrow grey-faced street.
knee-deep into the water of no rain, simply a dream
of wide hours. mind you in the **** of minutes
and fine-tune this machine infected with body english;
basking in the flood of midnight – this swirling fish
in the permeable navy: a nautical breath tender in its rasp;
a trifle on the things and their undulations. remember you
in that stolen night, face to face with walls their blackened meanings
faces pining away in transit – if the plenitude of voices
in the station would merge and form a whole new world,
are we to drown in the sound and emerge mute with wonder?
I squint at the city across the balustrade, its sibilant air
of disgust – I recognize mooned tapestries and see myself
as one of the lights, the appropriate tension of hands that
have their own silences held to themselves
like how I ***** you in light.
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 11:53 PM UTC
Take cover underneath your derelict day
inside the cage of this home
and thrive in canned laughter, delay my
coming, commanding like youth that was
your ever place. The city stranded into a thick
swell of rain, gush was stone flushed in corners,
distending a shore. It was your extension with
what was given -- this climate. This weather
within the azure's finest crosshair. Take this salt
and ***** fish in brine. Brightest day
a myth under your penance that was I, supine
on the surface unmoving like hue or else
dumb like refusal -- the amount of what for,
patented here a blink couldn't waste in:
a season so squalid you waged inside yourself
contained in a terminal brow of a humdrum day
that was yours solely manufactured from
stalling a refrain, which tide of song
rinsed the corners whole betrayed by access
of us here emptied like a concave
this loss tallied by the gravity effaced
with a high price, take this to your disquiet
and be caught against a registered tragedy
when parted, dearly remembered to a feigned
retrieval -- further your stasis, then after this
a halt lesser than force when found who we
are when we find how things are done.
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 9:36 PM UTC
May be someone has built a house
At the frontier of my heart!
Since somedays , slipping through my fingers
I have lost the sleepy night!
The roar sound of a child is being heard.
Amongs the pensiveness of my mind
There are certain sufferings
Of delivering a child!
Albeit it is unseen,
It is true.
For having the heart of humanbeing
The stirring words are REVOLT
And devoted themselve into deeper meaning of POETRY.
Belike ! The prolong pang is to be end!
Or perhaps ! The ***** dream of flying
By the chariot of literary addiction has to fulfilled!
কবিতাৰ শিৰোনাম: মাতাল সপোন
হৃদয়ৰ পাদদেশত হয়তো
কোনোবাই ঘৰ সাজিছে
যোৱা কেবাদিনৰ পৰাই টোপনি হেৰাইছে।
শিশুৰ বিকট চিঞৰ কাণত পৰিছে
উদ্বাউল মনত প্রসৱৰ বেদনা ধৰা পৰিছে।
চকুৰে নমনিলেওঁ এয়া সত্য।
মানৱ হৃদয় থকা বাবেই
ক্ষুব্ধ শব্দই স্বাধীনতা বিচাৰিছে
কবিতাৰ অর্থত নিজকে সঁপি দিছে।
কিজানিবা অন্ত পৰেই দীর্ঘ বেদনাৰ
আৰু পূর্ণ হয় সাহিত্যৰ ৰথত উৰি ফুৰাৰ মাতাল সপোন!!
Dec 12, 2017
Dec 12, 2017 at 10:17 AM UTC
Here in Windermere
we are missing
her beguiling smile
Our Birthwaite Bard
has been missing for a while
Her Liverpool humour
and her laughing eyes
Her social life
so full of surprise
With her mobile phone
she is never alone
In the end she is always
surrounded by friends
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 6:51 AM UTC
the explanation of it
sinks deeper yet it is rare without
any manifestation.
it is difficult for me to
unlatch the locks
and throw away the keys
into an unknown abyss.
the hot star and
the apple of moon
now rise in the distance.
tonight, there will
be all that is troubled
and no solace could ever *****
us in its promise.
it is the ending of things
and right even before
its emergence, you can feel
it in the way things play
themselves out like a
premeditated plot or a fool's
unchanging ploy.
the wobbly table, stirring all
glass and fluids -
the soft rumble of the feral
over the rooftop -
the remaining enigma of an
unfinished epistle
teeming with infinities -
the door left ajar by
the tenor of wind -
a raked tumble of singed leaves;
the swarm of cocooned light
over the bland asphalt.
i have seen hands lose their
taut grip upon things they swore
with ease to never let go
as a dog is wan without its
asphyxiating leash,
as a bird is free without
the conundrum of metal,
as we are both
free
as though we do not know each other - fretting for answers raw without
questions, or scurrying through
the fixation of so many pleasures
just to diminish whatever it is
that remains insatiable, or holding back the flight of things
and consigning them to slow exeunt.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 10:02 AM UTC