"tentacular" poems - Hello Poetry

Replicated "t" square, heated and manipulated to match a hand drawn schematic, eye-balled and transferred to a soiled napkin two days prior. Recovery spent melee inspired by whispered breath. Kin to wind, multi- colored marshmallows, or hard candies that have been rewrapped quickly and shuffled to the bottom of the bag. Periscope ala multi-limbed, e.g. tentacular. Rain spun abundant large geometric insect eyes radiating opalescent transit; here and there, over or under, stop and go, when = then, two - days - life - end. Glowing hand, darkest white light in a vacant space. All secrets hidden with trust, imagination, and neglect; recalling memories for those who live to forget. Like a hunger fed plentifully followed by a playful belch aloud for honor and comfort. Later, the indulgence calls and abdominal gases produce an acidic truth that burns the memory back into awareness. Flush it away now! Get rid of it quickly. There is no time to respect the whole past, only that which allows performance to continue uninterrupted. Tuck those memories away deeper this time; the ***** will drown you before it drowns them. Laying around and crying aloud won't pay the bills; if nothing else remember, a good American is a good consumer and a good consumer never wastes time getting to know themselves when the alternative is television.

0

Oct 4, 2012

Oct 4, 2012 at 6:46 AM UTC

kam-yuks

Ducking Under the Psyche

Replicated "t" square, heated and manipulated to match a hand drawn schematic, eye-balled and transferred to a soiled napkin two days prior. Recovery spent melee inspired by whispered breath. Kin to wind, multi- colored marshmallows, or hard candies that have been rewrapped quickly and shuffled to the bottom of the bag. Periscope ala multi-limbed, e.g. tentacular. Rain spun abundant large geometric insect eyes radiating opalescent transit; here and there, over or under, stop and go, when = then, two - days - life - end. Glowing hand, darkest white light in a vacant space. All secrets hidden with trust, imagination, and neglect; recalling memories for those who live to forget. Like a hunger fed plentifully followed by a playful belch aloud for honor and comfort. Later, the indulgence calls and abdominal gases produce an acidic truth that burns the memory back into awareness. Flush it away now! Get rid of it quickly. There is no time to respect the whole past, only that which allows performance to continue uninterrupted. Tuck those memories away deeper this time; the ***** will drown you before it drowns them. Laying around and crying aloud won't pay the bills; if nothing else remember, a good American is a good consumer and a good consumer never wastes time getting to know themselves when the alternative is television.

6

Rains of happiness are scanty and scarce Darkness and pains blow perennially Build shifting sand dunes, where you lose yourself Occasionally I indulge in the ordinary I capture the animals, talk to them, care for them But that is occasional, mostly, I torment them Darkness is what I truly adore and admire It is its depths that fascinate me The deeper I go, the deeper it gets Bridges that I build all collapse The momentary bliss of being normal is a ******* illusion, that I try cling to These reveries when they last I feel happy, content, confident Though I fear, soon they will vanish And then would come the tentacular times Difficult it then gets to differentiate What is real from what is not. I get a bit anxious, paranoid and schizoid It's not as bad as it is for the sufferers But it is a ********** anyway Sometimes they last hours Sometimes days and weeks And at times, years The worst part is that I won't even know When the sandstorms take place of the rains Later when I do, it seems impossible to get out The triggers can be really subtle But the madness they bring along is not Sometimes the hot winds blow for no reason Focus and conviction, I lack Hence whatever I hold dear I lose Sometimes I feel like stopping to breathe To finally end, the infinite loop of endless loops The clusterfuck of gloom, a dance of dismay I have tried building defence mechanisms But whatever it is, it mutates and manifests In ways that are different from before I know nothing holds any meaning All this goes nowhere and will be worthless But there are a few happy moments My experiences may not be the best But when there are rains I tend to touch the skies And I have learned To carry on, even in the storms But how far I would go?

0

May 2, 2018

May 2, 2018 at 11:10 AM UTC

esotericist

Inside my head

Rains of happiness are scanty and scarce Darkness and pains blow perennially Build shifting sand dunes, where you lose yourself Occasionally I indulge in the ordinary I capture the animals, talk to them, care for them But that is occasional, mostly, I torment them Darkness is what I truly adore and admire It is its depths that fascinate me The deeper I go, the deeper it gets Bridges that I build all collapse The momentary bliss of being normal is a ******* illusion, that I try cling to These reveries when they last I feel happy, content, confident Though I fear, soon they will vanish And then would come the tentacular times Difficult it then gets to differentiate What is real from what is not. I get a bit anxious, paranoid and schizoid It's not as bad as it is for the sufferers But it is a ********** anyway Sometimes they last hours Sometimes days and weeks And at times, years The worst part is that I won't even know When the sandstorms take place of the rains Later when I do, it seems impossible to get out The triggers can be really subtle But the madness they bring along is not Sometimes the hot winds blow for no reason Focus and conviction, I lack Hence whatever I hold dear I lose Sometimes I feel like stopping to breathe To finally end, the infinite loop of endless loops The clusterfuck of gloom, a dance of dismay I have tried building defence mechanisms But whatever it is, it mutates and manifests In ways that are different from before I know nothing holds any meaning All this goes nowhere and will be worthless But there are a few happy moments My experiences may not be the best But when there are rains I tend to touch the skies And I have learned To carry on, even in the storms But how far I would go?

48

All I wanted to say is this: when I open myself like a wave, or close my hands, like a tentacular stem of a tree, I am sensual of this love, I am reminiscent as a candlelight: my love bear with me, for the real objects are not hidden, in the soft caricature of the rising sun, or by a descended hearing, fluttering vision, starving touch, but be it simply a recurring impulse or need, clearing the pathways of my affection, precious and remote, damp and cerebral.

0

Oct 5, 2020

Oct 5, 2020 at 6:32 PM UTC

chuckakot

Starving touch

All I wanted to say is this: when I open myself like a wave, or close my hands, like a tentacular stem of a tree, I am sensual of this love, I am reminiscent as a candlelight: my love bear with me, for the real objects are not hidden, in the soft caricature of the rising sun, or by a descended hearing, fluttering vision, starving touch, but be it simply a recurring impulse or need, clearing the pathways of my affection, precious and remote, damp and cerebral.

14

Dark roots and boughs - tentacular wraiths poison earth and sky. The free market ecology blooms.

0

Sep 2, 2019

Sep 2, 2019 at 6:46 AM UTC

hywel-vaughan-davies

Earthenware

Dark roots and boughs - tentacular wraiths poison earth and sky. The free market ecology blooms.

4

I know when you close your eyes the tentacular black monster of oblivion comes to gawk at your feebility. There you are, on your path of misery and broken bottles. This time, I’ll make sure heaven won’t pick up thte pieces. Because the man at the end of the road. He’s got them now.

0

Sep 18, 2022

Sep 18, 2022 at 8:12 PM UTC

lannanotbanana

You know who you are:

I know when you close your eyes the tentacular black monster of oblivion comes to gawk at your feebility. There you are, on your path of misery and broken bottles. This time, I’ll make sure heaven won’t pick up thte pieces. Because the man at the end of the road. He’s got them now.

2