"temporarily" poems
the lady has me temporarily off the bottle
and now the pecker stands up
better.
however, things change overnight--
instead of listening to Shostakovich and
Mozart through a smeared haze of smoke
the nights change, new
complexities:
we drive to Baskin-Robbins,
31 flavors:
Rocky Road, Bubble Gum, Apricot Ice, Strawberry
Cheesecake, Chocolate Mint...
we park outside and look at icecream
people
a very healthy and satisfied people,
nary a potential suicide in sight
(they probably even vote)
and I tell her
"what if the boys saw me go in there? suppose they
find out I'm going in for a walnut peach sundae?"
"come on, chicken," she laughs and we go in
and stand with the icecream people.
none of them are cursing or threatening
the clerks.
there seem to be no hangovers or
grievances.
I am alarmed at the placid and calm wave
that flows about. I feel like a ***** in a
beauty contest. we finally get our sundaes and
sit in the car and eat them.
I must admit they are quite good. a curious new
world. (all my friends tell me I am looking
better. "you're looking good, man, we thought you
were going to die there for a while...")
--those 4,500 dark nights, the jails, the
hospitals...
and later that night
there is use for the pecker, use for
love, and it is glorious,
long and true,
and afterwards we speak of easy things;
our heads by the open window with the moonlight
looking through, we sleep in each other's
arms.
the icecream people make me feel good,
inside and out.
195.8k
~for those who will read this and weep~
*the quiet ones,
the silent Job ones,
who quote not from the
Book of Lamentations,
but author their own,
based on-the-job experience
localized versions of cryptic elegiacs
accepting the wooden crosses borne,
stepping up to the
unrequested unforeseen,
then buried under, burnt alive,
yet never relieved by dying,
nailed by words, stronger than iron,
promises sworn, promises kept
with no ending date relief,
promises by and to themselves,
but not for themselves!*
*the wearers of crystal glass shackles,
adorned with decorative locks for which
no key did the maker make,
nor any divine creator
dare conceive an early release,
never no escape contemplated,
for the lock human, unrepentant unbreakable,
a decorative useless metaphor gesture,
a blunt “life ***** advertisement
I compose amidst a
bus pond of mismatched city folk,
a tapestry of ages colors and differing views on god/no god,
none would believe that as the bus sways me,
it’s in rhythm to holy choral music,
hundreds year old,
divinity masses and motets worships,
where one human can hide temporarily
a safe house,
to calm his questioning relentless
from the horrors of no answers,
for when the mind has no solution
to the rough and tumbling lives,
lived in glass shackled confinement,
the poets desperation equals theirs*
*summon eagles to transport these imprisoned,
but the shackled refuse,
I come to them but they wave me off,
I go crazy for once I was enslaved,
thirty years war that left devastation,
from which so many poems created
so I speak with heightened regard
of one who planned futures for others where his
non-existence was a founding father (ha!)*
*but the day came and
I was released by my own inactions,
but means nothing until a way to
away found
to release the yet bound early*
got a couch, airline miles, hundred dollars
in my pocket and an unrelenting need
to save them, a consumption disease,
the glass shackled, at ease,
won’t rest till all are freed
this my creed
no one left behind
these cyber words do not mock
for they are unbounded, set free,
when
the flesh connects and the needs of the flesh
are stronger for they are in heart conceived
Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 5:45 PM UTC
Ceramic white, wood richly brown
Smooth liquid....touching buds of taste
Lips chasing chatter, slithering slogan sentences
Arm reaching, lift off, exposing the pit, selecting
Combination to the gestured shape, proposing
Enlivening, trickling conversation tripping
To my left. A phone, pressing snugly, ear
Tuned up, alerted, filtering the microwave
Throng. With welcome warmth, thaw began
Icy film packaging a heart temporarily beat
Free, playing, fraternising.....roulette with Russia
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 6:15 PM UTC
Dear Math,
I wrote this letter to let you know how I feel about you. The thing is much as you love me so much, we can never be an Item when all you do is torture my brain and break my heart.
You claim to be a linguist, yet you know none of my languages. You don't know Kiswahili neither do you know English and only speak Algebra and statistics...I loathe you for all you do is play on my mind with words like Sigma and Meu, factorial and co-factor.You claim you want to be the only one but still ask me to find your X without even telling me Y.Well, grow up and solve your own problems because I'm tired of solving them for you.Just walk out of my life forever and not temporarily like the dew. You have hurt me enough with razors of matrices, pinched me simultaneously and never asked me whether I believed in your ancient beliefs like those of Pythagoras or not. We were never meant to be. I found a new one, her name is literature and she loves me so much.I won't apologize for saying I hate you because It's unfair apologizing for saying the truth.
Yours with anger
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 1:44 PM UTC
The lady has me temporarily off the bottle
and now the pecker stands up
better.
however, things change overnight--
instead of listening to Shostakovich and
Mozart through a smeared haze of smoke
the nights change, new
complexities:
we drive to Baskin-Robbins,
31 flavors:
Rocky Road, Bubble Gum, Apricot Ice, Strawberry
Cheesecake, Chocolate Mint...
we park outside and look at icecream
people
a very healthy and satisfied people,
nary a potential suicide in sight
(they probably even vote)
and I tell her
"what if the boys saw me go in there? suppose they
find out I'm going in for a walnut peach sundae?"
"come on, chicken," she laughs and we go in
and stand with the icecream people.
none of them are cursing or threatening
the clerks.
there seem to be no hangovers or
grievances.
I am alarmed at the placid and calm wave
that flows about. I feel like a ***** in a
beauty contest. we finally get our sundaes and
sit in the car and eat them.
I must admit they are quite good. a curious new
world. (all my friends tell me I am looking
better. "you're looking good, man, we thought you
were going to die there for a while...")
--those 4,500 dark nights, the jails, the
hospitals...
and later that night
there is use for the pecker, use for
love, and it is glorious,
long and true,
and afterwards we speak of easy things;
our heads by the open window with the moonlight
looking through, we sleep in each other's
arms.
the icecream people make me feel good,
inside and out.
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 5:31 PM UTC
a honey bee stung me
not because I disturbed the remnants of his hive
or stepped on the flower he sat upon
I watched puzzled as he struggled on the ground
after burying his sword in my arm
thus sacrificing himself
in honor of his brothers and his queen
you see
he was the last
he had no voice to tell me of their fate
the destruction we'd wrought
on this docile creature
this creator of sweet nectar
the sting was brief and I brushed it away
and continued on
as we all do when only temporarily impeded
unaware
the sting about to come
Jul 6, 2018
Jul 6, 2018 at 3:50 PM UTC
sometimes i dont eat
the longest i've gone
is three weeks
i lay in bed ,my stomach in knots
cant stand up too quickly
dont wanna see spots
my body failed me again
bile came, hunger left
i cant quite remember when
water is my only friend
it soothes the hurt
acid reflux temporarily ends
water runs down my throat
when i move, it sloshes in my belly
sound like waves against a boat
heartburn comes at night
my body and brain are at war
im kept awake while they fight
headaches come back
it hurts to open my eyes
i know its from the calories i lack
when i can handle a taste other then bile
i eat and eat , i'm called a pork chop
i know its a joke so i hide the pain with a smile
if only they knew
how i hate my body
and the pants sizes i blew
but its something i keep to myself
no need to bother someone else
its not like am a fragile doll on a shelf
....or am I ?
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 1:41 PM UTC
Every place I turn
I can't unsee the horrors I've known
I can't say I have had it the worst
Not by a long shot
But it hasn't been butterflies
No three year old wants to see
Random men in their house with
Their mama when their daddy's not home
And no six year old should have to see
Parents so enraged
And divorcing
Nor should their best friend's parents
Feel a need to adopt them
Even temporarily
No seven year old should
Feel they need to be twenty-seven
And like they aren't allowed to cry
No ten year old should be forced
To choose which parent they like best
Under any circumstances
No twelve year old should feel
Any desire to harm themselves
And watch blood swell on their arms
No fourteen year old should think they're
Wrong because they believed in love
Nor should they feel jaded
No fifteen year old should contemplate suicide
At all
Especially not so thought out
With a grand scheme and everything
Just two months before their sweet sixteen
No sixteen year old should feel betrayed
And forgotten
Or unworthy of any kind of love
Every step I take I am reminded
That life is a widening gyre
Mr. Yeats, you were right
But I can't accept that to be
The only plausible possibility
Which leads me to believe
That with every step I take
Though my heart is torn to bits
By this minefield called life
I get a little bit
Stronger
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 1:48 AM UTC
Not much inquiry
is necessary
delineating candlelight
Not much pondering,
only the flickering
whispers which permeate
time-space
And transfix time
temporarily
are the tools
for description...
...something about
the periphery
that lies beyond
its heated source
is the mystical shimmering glow
and its soothing embrace
that hugs
cradled-souls
And most matter about...
...energy not yet exhausted
heated translucent secretions
gush down
from the hot-tip likened phallus...
...the heated beads reflect the candlelight
Watching the warm trickles,
human feelings are warm
Lightly light
and light headiness
soon embrace...
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 7:15 AM UTC
.
No my Darling, that is not snow.
Its not winter, it should be colder.
No my Darling, that is not snow.
Its just dandruff on your shoulder.
No my Dear, I am not in pain.
Neither am I hurting, or showing grief.
No my Dear, I am not in pain.
Its the lettuce in between your teeth.
Yes my Love, I am listening.
I was just temporarily distracted.
Yes my Love, I am listening.
But your friend is so attractive.
No my Sweet, its not that draughty.
Its not windy, you've got it wrong.
No my Sweet, its not that draughty.
Your skirts caught in your thong.
No my Darling, that is not snow.
It can't be true, its a wrong fact.
No my Darling, that is not snow.
Its just ******* on your compact.
© Pagan Paul (31/03/17)
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 5:53 PM UTC
The Bride Test by Helen Hoang
If tomorrow is a big day with many things to do, here is your warning:
Read this book before bed and you’ll be reading it well into the morning
Esme, or My, is kind and clever, endlessly loyal and terrible at deceit
Khai is a complicated genius, steadfast and achingly, unknowingly sweet
Esme is determined to find a better life for the family she temporarily left behind
Khai is earning future freedom from set ups his mom can’t help but mastermind
A few scenes might make you blush - brilliant and perfect for this story
Bring lots of tissues, no reading on transit - this book is an absolute glory
May 26, 2019
May 26, 2019 at 8:52 PM UTC
eye did. As my prejudices expected, the odd assortment of "characters"were all present and not to be unaccounted for...a romantic comedy on a good Friday, attracts the believers, the well wishers, the ones who think if only the world was.. and I was not re or so tired of life, unemployed, lonely, damaged in some manner of being...
not too many young, just a few... theater darkness is a masque, with a risqué chance of oh no, I've been witnessed by the non-believers.
the infirm with their mobile caretakers and paraphernalia were there. Odd couples, were there. If there was one unifying common characteristic, I selected this one. We all needed haircuts. eye don't know why but it made me think about going to get one's haircut, and the rituals that requires....and it is and is not a bit like being in a almost totally private world inpublic, where you, the individual and some outside force majeure, hairdresser, movie screen engages and temporarily transforms you. That is why, I, went to the movies on a Friday afternoon, to be transformed and not reformed, in public, in private...
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 4:30 AM UTC
if dandelions sprouted from my chest
and cherry blossoms sprouted from yours
I think the reason we cannot be one
would become evident immediately
I am unwanted,
plucked away and hidden at first sight
left to die, hoping my return never comes
as though I was never there to begin with
you, the weary blossom
showing your face in the smallest intervals
your sighting a blessing, to all that see
leave your adoring fans, wanting more
I wish for more of you too, you know
I yearn deeply, each waking hour
that you would attempt to cover your beauty
only temporarily
and I could cover my unsightly anatomy
maybe permanently
and we could love one another
for just a day
my heart in your hands
and your hands in my hair
our lips pressed together
your blossoming chest
and my unwanted greenery
no longer in the way
just tickling a little
when our bodies merge as one
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 3:19 PM UTC
2018
Does it necessarily called sad even when there's no tears?
Does it necessarily called scar even when there's no mark?
Does it necessarily called pain, even when it doesn't show?
Heart.
Break.
Heartbreak.
I am used to hearing this word on a daily basis.
Maybe a little too often, but my point here is, everyone knows someone 'utters' that they are in a heartbreak once in a while.
So, what is heartbreak to you?
"When someone can't keep their promises while they have the chance to." —Alessandra A.
"Uncertainty." —Samuel Wijaya
"Friends who leave." —Vivian Loo
"Being a disappointment." —Ryon Regasa
"When the butterflies are no longer there." —Calvina Izumi
"Seeing him smile, but I'm not the reason." —Anonymous
"When someone you love, has another name in his/her heart." —Evadne Richard
"When an effort to love can't be seen anymore because it is sealed shut by a mistake." —David Halim
"When you finally meet someone you love sincerely and somehow they start distancing themselves, and you don't even talk to them anymore and you don't even know why."—Natasha
These are some opinions from my friends that probably represent some/most of your thoughts about a heartbreak, at least describe what comes first to your mind after hearing that word.
And those opinions also described mine, and mostly represent some of the heartbreak(s) that had occured in my life.
Now,
concluding all the opinions above
How would I myself define what heartbreak is?
I would define it as an invisible yet irresistible pain.
Headache is a type of pain.
And heartbreak is also a type of pain.
But we all know that both of them are completely different.
When you're having a headache, you know exactly where it hurts.
But when you're having a heartbreak, it just hurts.
You don't know exactly where the pain came from,
even when some referred to their chest ('cause it's where their heart is) or anywhere else, it's actually just the side effect of having a heartbreak itself.
Just enough explanation to state that heartbreak is like a nowhere and everywhere type of pain.
You can't see and you can't know where it hurts, but it's real. As if it was invisible as it is uncertain.
Just because you can't really point out where it hurts, doesn't mean it's not there.
And another thing about heartbreak is, you can't resist it. No matter how hard you try.
There is no painkiller for your heartbreak, and even if you use something as a pain killer (such as alcohol?), it doesn't necessarily works as one.
It doesn't make the pain go away, it just distracts you from what you're feeling, temporarily.
It shifts your attention and feelings into something less noteworthy for a moment, and then the next day the pain is still going to be there.
You can try to resist it, but only time that can make all of that fades.
And even when it fades, it doesn't go away.
It never will.
Jun 21, 2020
Jun 21, 2020 at 9:11 AM UTC
*eking out the ultimate gasp in my last breath of impulsion
i collapse without a touch of grace at race's end
how i made it i will never know
dazed and in bewilderment
i reminisce upon my journey
an aggregation of barricades assailed me
with iniquitous decadent delight
seeming to writhe in triumph at my possible demise
capitulating as it devoured and spewed me out the other side
i humbly reassembled fragments of my near annihilation
temporarily rehabilitated
i recommenced the toilsome climb
to the treasured peak atop the mount
when in would come the tempest with its furor
and render me asunder
mere exhaustion is not the word
for death experienced recurrently
ground to mulch and back again
screaming, pleading, surrendering
proved futile as i newly met the same demise
near incapacitation i miraculously emerged
and scraping pulled myself with broken heart and bones
scratching my way through the darkness
toppling at the pinnacle
to victory's end
with exhilaration it dawns on me
the long dark night is over
i passed the test to realize
it is not the finish line
but only the beginning
©2016janetaylor
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 5:22 PM UTC
The sun
Is glad to see your face,
Your unseen grace,
Your Hidden space,
Your
Silhouette now covered in sun beams.
It seems
You've been
Packed away for a very long time
Its almost a crime how you've
Shielded yourself from his hydrogenity.
The sun
Is glad to see your smile
Your pearly whites
And colorless lips
Soft,
Too cold,
needing,
Craving,
warmth.
His
Golden fingers graze your cheek
And Bring life back to your pallor.
Who knew
Living as a recluse would make you so blue,
So unidentifiable?
He Brings you back from the dead
Pulling your soul back out
into your flesh.
Fresh
And healed,
At least Temporarily
But it
is enough,
His touch,
To liven your now tanning skin
To Make you akin to his own:
A sunflower
Trapped in the dark
3 inches tall instead of 3 feet
Now starting to grow beyond skyscrapers with his aid,
if his light is what's causing you to
Stand up straight
His heat is what is reviving your heartbeat
A Crescendo from silence to a slight pitter patter
Almost as soft as rain.
Almost as if crying.
If you listen hard enough,
You just might hear it wimpering, waking up from it's hibernation.
It
Wants to go back to sleep
But he
Refuses to give up his efforts of recesitation
For he knows it isn't for naught,
For he knows that it is working,
Your heart stirring
Beating
Louder as you step further out of the door frame
Let him
Cradle your soul with his firey hands
Let him
Bring you back from the dead.
You Look so much more alive when you let him work his magic on you.
The world
Has missed you.
Looking around,
Your mind starts whirring,
Analysing The outside world.
The Green of the grass and the
Blue of the sky,
All Graces of the solar angel shining over you,
Shining into you.
Giving you sight,
Giving you life,
Giving you the things you couldn't have before.
Let his
Golden happiness seep into your freezing bones,
And,
Turn them into torches
And burn brighter, in the daylight
Than you ever did in the darkness.
Feb 9, 2018
Feb 9, 2018 at 10:53 AM UTC
If only temporarily,
the Milky Way
took up residence
along my spine today.
I can still feel, and even
see it, softly glowing there
although I know, rationally,
it chooses to live elsewhere.
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 3:58 PM UTC
Dazed.
The stars never seemed so far away
Lying with hopelessness sleeping next to my pillow
In the arms of seclusion, still I lay
After a long night we formed a *********
No strength to pray
Withing my carapace
I inquire a reason
Of why I'm so numb
Where is my lighter?
Concealing my pain
Where is my grinder?
When life is like a sudden rush of fresh air to
A raging set of flames
Savagely searching for an euphoria
But it's the impossible to maintain
Longing for an escape
Only in sweet serenity
But when 5 fingers deadly hugs your heart
& wrings out your
Innocence, happiness, and tranquility
You are forced to watch them leak
Decrepit
Reaching for a lighter to blaze the leaf
Because in the sober mind
You Are Weak
No that is me.
So I begin to pollute my temple
Taking it all into my bloodstream
With the exhale of a breath
In the mist of a cloud
I release my exhaustion
My emotion and my temper
Enhancing my inner being suddenly,
I know with facts that I am steel
Making it through another dreadful night
My wounds are temporarily healed
But
When there was no soul to console
No arms to hold
No pen to make art
No illumination from the dark
Only the flame that I flick
Which forms so beautifully &
Dances in front of my eyes
Offended that beauty could destroy so ruthlessly
A killer in disguise
Or ruthlessly be destroyed
In this life full of void
Consumed by the misery of all the screams
All the noise
When the Sun's job is done, it hides from the World
Full of hatred and pity
Another night comes
Captive in these four walls
No where to run
Now I'm forced to look at how far I've come
I could have died in insanity
Arson my soul
Plead guilty of ******
A Killer Upfront
If I had not match all those nights with all those blunts
Copy Right 2013
©Patty Ann
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 5:08 PM UTC
Life in Duality and Non-Duality
Birth is the first gate.
Death is the second gate.
Between these two gates lies the path of life
travelled by all sentient beings.
All are born.
All will die.
Between death and rebirth lies the unameable state
where the next life is chosen, determined by the individual Isnesses
stockpile of accumulated Karmas,
Good and Bad.
All human beings,due to their accumulated Karmas,
both Good and Bad,
must pass through this unameable state
and be reborn into their next life.
All beings accumulated Karmas,Good and Bad,
are assessed in that state and that assessment determines the next life they are reborn into.
There are NO exceptions to this process ever.
Karmas,Good and Bad,are accumulated in each life.
Karmas ,Good and Bad,are the result of the morality
of each individuals actions.
Karma is of three types.
Good Karma which ties each individual
to the Wheel of Incarnated life,death and rebirth.
Bad Karma which ties each individual
to the Wheel of Incarnated life,death and rebirth.
Neutral Karma is the only way that each individual
to can free themselves from
the Wheel of Incarnated life,death and rebirth.
Both Good and Bad Karmas tie each and every human being
to the endless cycle of birth,life,death and rebirth as a human being.
Only Neutral Karma can free each individual from
the endless cycle of birth,life ,death and rebirth as a human being.
Neutral Karma is only realisable through the practise
of the Six Fundamental Yogas.
Neutral Karma is the only way to erase both Good and Bad Karmas.
The practise of the Six Fundamental Yogas increases the BrainBloodVolume to the level of that of Foetus in the Womb,which causes the Mind and Conditioned Identity
to dissolve,temporarily or permanently.
Those individuals,female and male equally,
whose practises of the Six Fundamental Yogas cause
the Mind and Conditioned Identity to dissolve temporarily or permanently will enter into union with the Isness of the Universe
as an equal,temporarily or permanently.
Those individual human beings who pass their lives accumulating Good and Bad Karmas are unable to escape from the endless cycle of birth,life,death and rebirth.
For the overwhelming majority of human beings who refuse to generate Neutral Karma,by practising the Six Fundamental Yogas,life can only be lived, in the state of
Mind created Duality and Non-Duality.
They are unable to enter into the state of union with the Isness of the Universe as an equal.
The permanent feature of such a life lived in either Duality or Non-Duality is the ceaseless deep suffering of being separated from the Isness of the Universe as an equal.
For those very few human beings who,through the practise of the Six Fundamental Yogas,have dissolved Mind and Conditioned Identity,permanently,life is lived in union with
the Isness of the Universe as an equal.
Life is lived in the state of Experiential Knowingness
which is called Separate and Merged.
They live out their last lives in this realm in union with Isness of the Universe as an equal.
www.thefournobletruthsrevised.co.uk
.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 1:11 AM UTC
shuffling feet & carry-on suitcases
walking through countries
temporarily nameless, faceless, homeless
in the middle of nowhere
cut off from society
people who, for the time being,
don’t really belong anywhere
a mixture of nationalities & cultures
thousands of different languages,
different races,
different colors
just passing through the terminal
one country to another
some with a final destination in mind
others finding meaning in the journey itself
a lack of permanency
a lack of belonging
i must admit
there’s just something about airports
which makes me feel very much at home
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 8:12 AM UTC
I love when the sun paints a golden hue on everything before it
disappears
into the obsidian night.
Its rays are like an artist's brush,
delicately covering the world's canvas with luminosity.
When its glow eventually fades, and the stars barely light up the sky,
it's like an artist shutting off the studio lights
after a long day's work.
Temporarily departed, but soon to return
to paint the canvas with incandescent light
once again.
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 4:46 PM UTC
in the river of good company
***I dedicate this poem to
Mr. Harlon Rivers,
one of the best poets (here)
and from his good company,
i could drink all day and
never be quenched***
~
Preface
sometime, the heart wants it wants,
denial, temporarily from your vocabulary, excised
sometimes, beauty keelhauls you, gets you
awestruck inspired, then arrogance overcomes
the brilliance of common sense and you go ahead and
mess with perfection despite every sensor flashing
uh oh, duh, oh no, fool on the premises, lockdown needed!
do believe this condition can be found in the medical books
under I, for Inspiration, Incantation, or S for Stupidifacation
my heart wants to write a poem,
cause I was a witness, sitting twenty feet
from the heavenly crime scene,
and every intonation swept my brain into that secret place,
when I heard KD Lang singing "The Valley"^
~~~
in the river of good company
simple sentiment but good god
all I ever wanted and so oft lacked
such was my fate, one I made,
had plenty good words for boon companions,
the occasional touch of a woman rippling waves
cross my face, a love lapping slapping
of concentric pebble rings,
till like most good things
gone good goes bad,
it just happens to evaporate and
you think someday, maybe,
you will walk again in good company
the brain says quit right here
but the heart brooks no damning tantrum of sanity imposition,
for those handful of deepest, not quite six feet under
palpitations of insensible, cutting glimpses of that word I hate so,
memories,
of when
you walked in good company
men women no different - it is that heated aura
tween bodies that confirms that you are once again
a human being, just a being, temporarily
enhanced, elevated, by good company
so go ahead sweet talks ya, that devil id a/k/a desire, says -
one more for the road can't hurt ya,
write that poem -
and perhaps one good man, glory hallelujah, a good woman,
will read it and you can stop weeping you idiot,
do it so you will be back, nuttier but nurtured,
drinking from the river of good company,
mouthing not even dare whispering,
satisfied satiated, loving and loved
~
all reposts greatly and grateful appreciated!
4/2/17 9:24am
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 9:27 AM UTC
i love alliteration
like kings love living
like lions love killing
like love lost leaves aching
and wonder
wide wonder
where we were, when we were
we were
so...
alive.
awesome.
some sleep. others dream.
fetch fire from fire
blaze
blaze and black
opposites. awesome opposites.
still not us.
some sleep. some slip away.
slippery like fish.
i dont like fish very much.
live late. love long.
life
if it is life
lives
lest life linger, sub-par
sub-average
far more fitting.
(the former phrase, of course, following "fish"
sans "sub-" sentences)
some sleep, some dream.
others, oddly enough, bother both
both worlds, which while one works without what one would supply
(some sleepers dont dream)
dreamers, sometimes, seldom sleep.
rather, wrestle restlessly, fervently
futile fights
fighting fear, hate, hardship, hardly having strength to share their ideas.
folly.
does it seem, slightly
that they need both?
sleep and strength?
brains and brawn?
take teamwork, temporarily.
you and i...
we
we would win.
we wish,
we wonder,
we wander wherever.
we watch,
we would, whatever,
win.
because we live.
like lines long for letters
which would whittle words from whiteness
we would work with one another
and,
so,
we could rule the world.
would you rule with me?
please?
because i love alliteration
like lines and letters love leading listless eyes
lacking lids
courses carved across canvas
craving closure.
craving cause.
point.
place a period.
pause.
pax. peace.
pretty please?
Feb 28, 2012
Feb 28, 2012 at 2:26 AM UTC
Blue pleather bomber jacket,
You are smooth against my skin.
Your surface is cool and inviting
As it wraps around my torso-
Like a protective blanket
You are my security,
Blue pleather bomber jacket.
I pick at your skin and it falls apart.
The zipper, like your bottom teeth,
Are crooked and misaligned.
You shrug over my shoulders,
But leave my chest defenseless.
Blue pleather bomber jacket,
I bet you cost a fortune.
Almost as much as your nonprescription glasses,
Though you break just the same
Like the promises you keep making.
Blue pleather bomber jacket,
You never kept me warm
Just less affected by the
cutting winds of your back lash.
But when I fall asleep at night
I sleep beside the indent of your absence.
Blue pleather bomber jacket,
You are just now brand new,
Though your skin is already worn through
And your lining thinning by the second.
I trusted you,
Blue pleather bomber jacket,
To protect me from the cold.
Though you slump lazily
Over others' shoulders,
Not really caring I've been waiting
With my shoulders bare and frigid.
Blue pleather bomber jacket,
I thought you were one of kind.
But I see your manufactured gaze
Walking down the street,
Sitting across from me on the bus.
Go on, blue pleather bomber jacket,
Temporarily dangling over person after person.
Soon I will see you dangling
On the rotting hanger in a thrift shop,
Years from now looking preserved in your waning beauty.
Blue pleather bomber jacket,
Your trend is dying and your color fading.
I have been snagged by your imperfections for the last time.
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 11:24 AM UTC
I wear a white mask
A happy smiling face
A face wherein they couldn't even trace
This darkness in my head temporarily being erase
They praise me everyday
To them I'm good, great in every way
Little they know that I'm only holding back
Without a mask they'll know
Know that my head possessed the biggest crack...
written: july 22, 1014
mysterious aries
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 2:42 AM UTC