"telepathic" poems
I was born in a time of veterans and freedom. Or was it killing, like when we left Eden?
I was born in a time, of oceans and salt. Or was it destruction, Atlantis had fought?
I was born in a desert, a place with a lot of hot sand. Cleopatra, Aphrodite, Egypt, all Seeing in the Land.
I was born in a Television, Hollywood starstruck was my name.
Classic, Modern or Hipster, craving fortune and fame.
I was born a telepathic, a mind reader of such. Seeking and giving out energy, requiring you of much.
I am deep, I am wide and I am always by your side. Loyal, Obedient and Giving. Taking, Fantasizing, Living.
I am quite the comic book laughter. I comedian of sorts.
I am quick to judge the living and cover up my warts.
Back to 1960, or was is 70 and 2?
When I was born a Scorpio, and no one ever knew.
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 3:22 PM UTC
I want perfection
I want that moment where our eyes meet
and neither of us can break the gaze
where our souls open to one another
like buds thirsting for the rain
where I see eternity, endless infinity
expand and share their secrets
from within you and know in that instant
that you see the same in me
I want that perfection of recognition
I want perfection
I want a shared empathy
an effortless telepathic connection
to feel that golden thread that links
all my chakras with all yours
I want to wake thinking of you
to drift into sleep doing the same
to know this is true for you too
and to meet even in our dreams
I want that perfection of synchronicity
I want perfection
I want to explore your body
to marvel at its complete perfection
even though you believe it imperfect
I want you to marvel too
at the perfection you see in this body
although I know it to be far short
I want to be consumed in mutual lust
to burn with your tastes sounds and smells
subsuming our senses into one another
I want that perfection of sensation
I want perfection
I want to run and work and sweat with you
to experience the joys of music, of performance
to travel with you to places of wonder
to inspire your creativity
to be inspired by you in every way
to reach new heights as yet undreamed
to remain forever grateful
for the gifts of your love
I want that perfection of complementarity
Cynthia Pauline Jones 4th May 2015
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 2:21 PM UTC
Unicorns with long pointy spiral horns.
Galloping & trotting along.
Everywhere they belong.
Never can they do any wrong.
Taking no risks.
A magical being.
Seeing is believing.
So graceful & majestic.
A warrior to guard & protect.
A friendship without neglect is what you get.
With telepathic knowledge & supernatural power. Evil will melt & devour.
The unicorn strength will carry you to the river bank.
Your one companion with no pranks.
A heartwarming love from below & above.
Your family to love.
A trusting loyal creature With enchanting stature & lovable nature.
© Harmony Sapphire . All rights reserved,
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 10:46 AM UTC
She's tapped into another realm
Sitting on top of the world
Resonating the astral plane
At least in my mind
She's above me
So divine
A crown wrapped in flowers and gold
Diamonds in the sky
Cut through the noise
and crack down to shatter the Earth
Looking pretty amongst the chaos
She catches my eyes to bring the temptation of the Goddess
Always within reach
but afraid to touch
to release
Let go of everything
This is where our souls intertwined
The tango of our 9-5
Looking forward to breaks in reality
Our survival mechanisms
From the bottom to top
Where her crown connects realms of telepathic foreplay
A mindfuck of sorts
Black and blue balled by the true cowardliness of reality.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 4:03 PM UTC
The curves that could **** a man
Aren't at her hips
But dance around her lips
As words that serve neither to stroke nor strangle the silence that tangles inside your grip, but sings and breathes beneath wings of wit from
Those casually crafted curves
Weaving a wind into a wave
Never tumbleweeding out
But either darting
Or floating
To and through you
As an inner voice would
Had you not muffled it with music
And reduced it to one or two loose lipped quips and semantic antics
Curves, warm with form and with friction
Neither liquid or gas in state
With no mass but with weight
They're past but don't pass away
They lay aloft, lingering in the light they were given unto
Or, did they bring the light to you?
Oh yes.
Sultry sounds of synchronizing synapses
Seep and slide deep inside, into the spaces
That two souls so similar, long have sat
Seemingly separate from the infinite vastness
Telepathic, though she doesn't act it.
Hourglass figure, go figure
The hourglass smashes
Or remains undetected, in those seconds
The curves that could **** a man
Form the words that could resurrect him.
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 8:37 AM UTC
a unique energy that could quantify as a telepathic discharge upon death
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 2:49 PM UTC
I know I've been there,
I've given into death and altered the fabric of reality
Every day we waste away transfixed by flattened images
Of the limitlessness of death
Coupled with elusive, Luciferian harm which will befall us all
Who subsist on the manipulated reality of the hyperspace information field
But one day, enlivened by the festivities of Shakori Hills
And the fungal spirits who awoke beside us
I walked the irreversible pathway through oblivion
Facing cruel destruction and terror
For a horrifying passage across Styx into eternity
And emerged within a crowd of mollusks dancing to the waves of a musical sea
All time suspended in the impossibly drawn-out ****** of the
Archetypal wizardry of rhythm,
The swirling clumps of faces in
Unshakable ecstasy
And seemingly responding to the wild currents of my conscious thought;
A longing for human touch drew the others closer and closer around me
Till they began brushing against me
Bumping into me,
The flow of the crowd saw its axis at my psychic emanation
As once more the last song of all time began with thunderous energy and applause.
I escaped the arresting confines of the crowd
By willing them aside, wearing, as I suddenly became aware, the shoes of Moses
And seeing my muddy feet upon the sands of Egypt
But I yet had no understanding
Of the nature of the garden of earthly delights
Into which I had fallen,
And fear began to envelop me,
Producing law enforcement officials hawklike swooping in to limit my power.
I had but to let go of my acceptance of their power over me to transcend them
But fear tethered me to reality,
Even as I saw about me a Dharmic mandala
Of my past present and future,
Generating inexplicable archetypes around me in a manner profoundly defiant
Of rational logic.
Synchronicity compounded upon me
As the Christos within me
Brought rain down upon us
Forcing us together and leaving me in dumbfounded reverie
Of all that had transpired to bring this moment forth
What had seemed to be the end of history was in fact
The awakening of a new rebirth
The first moment of coming to be
The union of past, present and future
As the reassuring smiles of my trustworthy disciples gently allowed me passage back into a rational existence
I beamed in utter gratitude for the eternal life which Christ afforded us.
Chaos had subsided back into normalcy
But still winked at me
In telepathic coincidence.
My soul has begun to realize that it resides in all things
Soon they are to be reintegrated
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 10:16 PM UTC
Your telepathic soul
Greets mine
On an April night
When the moon rises
Blue against black
Like the bruises
Still left on my back.
You make my words f
a
l
l
off a c
l
i
f
f.
I stumble, searching for them
in fields of violets.
Once collected, the consonants, the verbs, and more
pour from my mouth this:
"My arms explore you
Like apples explore orchards;
I reach a higher state
When your cedar oak lips
Meet my pale birch ones
in twilight.
You scare away the shadows of insecurities
That come alive on my wall at night.
You turn my life into bright acrylics and oils
Too vivid for fingers to paint.
I never expected to
Swim under the influence of you."
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 3:38 PM UTC
*Elemental Metamorphosis & Transcendental Milestones,
Sempiternal Origamis Of Her Temperamental Clones,
Spiraling Perpetuities & Her Sacrosanct Fortitude,
Procreating Tipsy Ruptures In Her Permeating Solitude,
Perplexed Momentum & Her Outlandish Constellations,
Nuclear Decay Of Her Masked Radiations,
Verbal Shadows & Her Tranquil Ascendance,
Encasing Her Tears In Liquefied Transcendence,
Yearning Oddities & Entropic Oceans,
Vitalizing Inexorable Emotions Into Phosphorescent Potions,
An Hourglass Existence Of Her Fabricated Virility,
Dwelling In Quantum Ascents Of Ardent Agility,
Silver Ghosts Of Her Prismatic Abyss,
Convicting Glass Houses In Her Ecstatic Bliss,
Telepathic Shades & Hollow Palisades,
Detrimental Novelists On Uncharted Crusades,
Pernicious Scars In Her Profound Gaze,
Erupting Genesis Inside Her Dimensional Maze,
Perplexed Periphery & Digital Fictions,
Annexed By Her Hourglass Depictions,
Breakdown Sanity & Her Concealed Screams,
Lifelike Dewdrops In Her Visionary Dreams,
Satellite Searchlights & Love//Less Progenic Mutation,
Paralyzed Sunlight Sparking Genetic Alteration,
Monochromatic Streams & Cinematic Realms,
Static Screams Of Her Toxic Schemes.
- 05:43 AM -*
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 11:18 PM UTC
there aren't any cliches about being broken left for me to spill onto this screen without leaving traces of my blood hidden in each meaning that's been studied over and over and over again
i don't want to think about how little or much you sleep or how much caffeine you drink to wake those tired eyes up because i know caffeine can't help and love can't work to distract a mind so full of distractions already
when it's two am or i'm drunk i think i miss you the most because it's only then i realise how alone i am and how perfectly my head fit on your bare shoulder but maybe the lesson that needs to be learned is that i'm stronger than the pain of missing you and you're lost in the emptiness of not desiring me
i wish i could send telepathic pumps of electric waves fuelled by the thoughts in my brain to your heart so that for a moment you could wake into a coma of happiness but if it were up to me you'd be asleep forever and i'd never want to pull the plug
maybe happiness really only does last in the moments when we least expect them but all i know is that somewhere in-between my hundreds of bruises and your thousands of insecurities i got lost in the cliche of a rose world and i was never read to give that up and i never want to let that go
tell me you'll stay, even if it's only for another few seconds of this dream
Nov 12, 2016
Nov 12, 2016 at 7:36 PM UTC
She's no
Fragile
*******
Flower
She'll plant
Seeds
in
sanity
And grow
Through
Telepathic
Psychopathy
Passed
the
past
too rough
for diamonds
What didn't **** her
made her outpower
her ego
And she sent her soul
To cocktease
my cognitive construct
in haunting hallucinations
The girl next door
frantically feeling me up
via shared consciousness
She
suppressed
this obsession
So she's always
locked in my mind
like a ***** secret
She holds
the key
like a
cuckold
constricting roots
to hold me down
to Earth
with
no
release
She's
a wild
*******
flower
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 11:27 PM UTC
i love the fact that most people
rather enter the concept
of karma rather dialectics
to argue their point - makes
emily austen seem like a nutcracker
of ideas to come from
ikea as the self-assembled semi-detached
heights, otherwise known as wuthering, heights
or the disco-ball done in mahoganny eyed splinter
shine - sheens the spot!
it's just so ****** blocked nose rotten,
the opposite of polite society,
a bit like the middle-ages... reigning
paranoia imported from a lost colony,
library cards of blue indian peasants
turned into pheasants that did the cancan dance
all of a sudden... miracles christ couldn't even forsee!
i'm free every saturday if you're hashtag up-for-it...
never mind... i'll leave my quote and oil my phone-number
for a missing mobile telepathic nuance on
when differentiating blue indians with garam masala
and red indians with mohawks - easiest game of all:
snakes & ladders, noughts & crosses... garam masala & mohawks.
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 8:26 PM UTC
Riding the Sunrise to its zenith
Our destination the Northstar
Gazing at the crescent moon above us
Thinking of friends who are far
Whispered prayers carry on the wind
Telepathic connections magnify emotion
Waiting to ride and make art out of ice
Carving the helix is meditation in motion
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 11:42 PM UTC
I'm calling you out
Of my mind
Manifest yourself
Come on, blow up in my face
To the:
Bombshell
With the short fuse
I'll be your Molotov cocktail
You be my fiery muse
I keep seeing your face
In sepia torn scenery
In the art of my dreams
trying to photoshop reality
To the:
Dream Girl
With her totem locked
I'll join you in a free fall
As I violently shake back awake
Alone
So it goes...
You're dancing my imagination
Heart-beating my soul
Tango of illumination
I felt your grace
In telepathic foreplay
My little mind-fu©k
life's stranger than fantasy
To the:
Princess,
Crowned in roses
I'll savor you as a Goddess
When you open your sweet blossom
So it goes...
You're dancing my imagination
Heart-beating my soul
Tango of illumination
Fire of my *****
Rising up my spine
We could be enlightenment-to-be
Like Nirvana
Come on blow my mind
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 9:58 PM UTC
do we have a telepathic relationship
our waking minds know nothing of
do we commune in the deep of out of reach
calmly knowing all that's thought
well before anything is said
or are we showing off just bending spoons
sitting in the psychiatrists waiting room.
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 11:31 AM UTC
Water of remembrance sprinkled
On the mountain crest of recollection.
Indulgent mussy memory catapulted
Stones of retentiveness into the
Courtyard of events like bricole
Of battles.
Pendulum of reminiscences swinging
On oscillating milage of roads like
Trotting horse with drippage of sweat
And itching foots.
Ghost of reminiscences restlessly
Roaming with carriage of yesteryear.
Final year educatees required
Boardinghouse,
But list of items engorged dear
Mother's treasury
"where do l raise money
to buy oyinbo mattress, Ilori?"
Mind pullulated with weariness.
Intonation of worries.
Cantillation of wants.
Deficiency of measured means.
Oyinbo mattress beyond ladder
Of reach.
Gluttonously waiting to devour
Lesser items,
But rays of compulsion unslammed
The gate of respite.
Lordly arrival warmly welcomed by
The dorm room's porter,
Walking majestically to the bed-space
With the acquired cotton wool and raffia leaves mattress.
Gamut of items passed through the eagle's eyes of the housemaster.
Silver painted pail donated by a neighbour passed through the sentry of inspection,
And got its admission.
Mother's used cloak turned bedsheets
Passed through the rigorous scrutiny.
Newly built portmanteau unlocked and neatly dissected, item by item.
Agazed eyes focused on the cotton wool and raffia leaves hand-made mattress.
Expectations rattled mumbling astonishment.
Legs stuck in the mud of mystification.
Telepathic dews covered ocean of thought.
Tranquil silence engulfed vicinity,
Deflating the balloon of hope like a litigant awaiting verdict from the jurist's chambers.
Porter's gesticulating gesture connoted nothingness of demeaning disapproval, perambulating on the hilly terrain of approval.
Akimbo stood l.
Now the verdict!
Molten volcanic magisterial command erupted in a gestapo gesture,
Spudding out from the barytone's baritone voice from the selfsame housemaster,
From the bastion of authority,
And the house generalissimo like a wild brant squalled, matter-of-factly,
"we do not accept bed bugs cotton wool and raffia leaves hand-made mattress here".
Entreaties collapsed.
Jan 11, 2019
Jan 11, 2019 at 1:30 AM UTC
Four old men, digging a grave
on a hillside
one with a pick, two with shovels
all with stories
passing them around
stories, pick, shovels
taking turns
not a single earthworm in this ****** soil
plenty of rocks.
Don is the oldest, at eighty-plus
a good man with a pick
breaking, pulling clods of clay.
After thirty years in a
San Quentin prison cell,
he’s walked across the USA
three times. Big guy, gray ponytail,
not one wrinkle on that copper body,
power of a bronco
behind gentle eyes.
Terry is bald, seventy-plus,
in the Air Force he was trusted
with nuclear launch codes,
then thought better of it and hit the road,
dirt-bike racer, merry prankster,
grinning beatnik, psychedelic dancer,
always good with tools
wields a shovel like a pencil
writing the hole
as a poem.
David is almost seventy,
bearded like a prophet,
wizard of China
raised like a farm boy,
adventures in Alaska,
heroic high school English teacher,
telepathic with animals and teenagers,
can speak to horses
in haiku.
Digging is therapy.
A hard job, the work of death.
A time for muscle and sweat,
our language of grief.
We joke, I’ll dig your grave
if you’ll dig mine.
We agree, each canine
has an individual personality
but also each carries
dog spirit. As one leaves
you welcome another
different, individual
but the dog spirit renews
rejoins your life
making you whole.
On this land already
I’ve buried four dogs, two cats.
Dakota will make five,
good company.
Terry says “When Dakota arrives
in doggy heaven or wherever
dogs go, she’ll report
there are good owners here.”
A good review
on doggy Yelp:
Fear not, next puppy.
Four old men, digging a grave
on a hillside
among spirits.
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 9:55 PM UTC
Never Have I Ever (Slam Poem)
5/27/2014
Having a best friend makes you think of weird things.
Stuff like:
Getting slapped in the face with a fish is more about smell than texture.
13 nights in a row drinking isn't so bad if you save cash not using mixers.
A stranger hitting on you is a storyline for tomorrow's lunch.
Redecorating my room is just for you, nobody else will see it.
You asked me to go shop with you, are you saying I need new clothes?
Crushing Ritalin in a bathroom, because we stayed up 'til 6am before work.
Pooping is like extra time in the day set aside to call you on the phone.
Why do we play Never Have I Ever when we already know the ever's?
People think we constantly say inside jokes, but we're just telepathic.
I get into shape before you visit town, because you're my best wingman.
If we ever stop being friends, I really hope you don't blackmail me.
Can I designate you to speak at my wedding, babyshower, and funeral?
... or is it too soon to do that?
Losing friends can make you think of weird things, I imagine.
Stuff like:
1. I should stop ordering carne asada fries - I can't finish a whole portion.
2. I keep my curtains closed - I know your car won't randomly be outside.
3. Having lunch alone ***** - I shared a crazy story with the cashier today.
4. I take my poops with the stereo on now - I never could go in silence.
5. My voicemail inbox is full - I can't delete any when your voice pops up.
6. Maybe I should call you.
7. I need to talk to you.
8. I wish I could call you.
9. If only you'd come visit town.
10. Maybe I should go visit the cemetery.
11. I have a new least favorite Never Have I Ever.
12. Never Have I Ever had a best friend die.
And I hope I never ever will put that finger down.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 6:05 PM UTC
Maine ***** are extremely kind
intelligent telepathic lazy beasts
wisely equipped for joviality.
^.^
Jun 20, 2015
Jun 20, 2015 at 7:22 AM UTC
greater than the sun and the moon
and the stars.. all combinationed as
amorphous telepathic diamond in
muttering schizo-cave... is the dirt
underneath a slippy fingernail. an
aching finger working overtime to
function the body as day-to-day
existence laughs itself back into
shape after universal disaster. when
it was younger, the finger began to
pick at silly things like dusty piles of
trash, heaps of dirt, and flyswatter dog
**** it later grew up to finger a girls wet
***** and tease her with the juice on two
-finger-three-finger in mouth as ********
shoved itself up and inside, natures tractor
beam - - - God's Great Throbbing Death Star(e)
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 4:13 PM UTC
Un accro
late night
bouts of creativity
vs. my manic imagination
I was God
and these are the details
I was lost in
Folie à deux
It's kind of a funny story
how I got here
how she got here
how we all got here
Everyone was in this
with a shared diagnosis
pre-hospital
cakewalks
of shredded lunacy
Je t'adore
Her neck was marked
with covered up innocence
Saying she just wants to
adore
or
be
adored
between her sighs
She just wants the words
choked out of her
to roll her tongue
La Petite Mort
Telepathic whispers
vibrating through auras
forcefields
of imagination
the dividing line
between aware
and fantasy
Manipulative
mindfucks
provoking
destructive
tendencies
This is what brought me here.
This is where it ends
This is where I begin
C'est la vie
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 12:33 AM UTC
Could it be that locked in memory
Ancient thoughts are held in store,
Passed on by Neanderthal man
Who's origins we may recall.....
Ape like in physique and frame,
Prominent prognathus jaw,
Burning eyes intense and sharp,
Intelligence to seek for more.
Telepathic thought transference
Little need for guttural grunt,
Massive strength in hand and thigh
Stinking pelt to back and front.
Rushing through the reed and long grass
Casting lance with lunging throw,
Mastodon with roaring bellow
Thrashing trunk with thunderous blow.
Darkness in the smoky cavern
Clustered at the flinted flame,
Family and others warming
Squat encircled, chewing game.
Listening in the chill of moonlight
Listening to the wolf pack howl,
Out across the snow clad forest
Out beyond the hooting owl.
Chewing pelts to soften leather
Massive teeth in massive jaw,
Wary eyes observe the weather
Southern winds may bring the thaw.
Luscious she with scent ascending,
Luscious she with hairy maw,
Bent to me in sweet surrender
Downy hip and coaxing paw.
Roar in rage and beat the earth
Blazing eyes and heaving chest,
Invasion from the **** Sapiens
Seeking females for their nest.
Skies descend with fire and brimstone
Rock cascades and burns the earth,
Mountain God has vent his fury
Scamper hard to cave’s safe berth.
Cold, so cold this bleak snow weather
No retreat from Winter’s ire
Brother, sisters, sons are huddled
Frozen dead in blue ice byre.
Few, so few now to migration
Trek to southern food and heat,
Starving, wet and hypothermic
Staggeringly trudge the weak.
Few, so few to intermingle
With the **** Sapiens here,
Serfs in ******* low and squalid
BUT SURVIVORS..STRONG AND CLEAR!
Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
13 August 2011
Aug 13, 2011
Aug 13, 2011 at 12:39 AM UTC
Boy's Perspective
As I got my first glance of those long brown legs
her frame left me mesmerized
How could she be this perfect?
those lips that tasted like a night of champagne
She..Her, the smell of her skin
her breath-taking essence left me craving more
This felt worth it but..
would i be able to fulfill her needs
those dark fantasies of hers
i found it so surreal
then i woke up
could she be the girl of my dreams?
better yet, the caramel girl of my telepathic wet dreams
what a profound destiny would it be to pursue her
If we ever come in contact I hope you don't bypass your dark desire
Jun 20, 2015
Jun 20, 2015 at 11:03 PM UTC