"tesselate" poems - Hello Poetry

One day our spines’ll tesselate under sage soft duvets as storms sweep across us and no one will cry; not one noise shall slip from tongues ‘cos strength comes from keeping quiet or carrying on. You’re a now realised kindness that doesn’t know what breath is or how the north circular works in festive rush hours home, but I’ll kiss the answers upon your tender carbon tapered chest and hope the toner never runs low (your dad would’ve handcrafted every thing he knew in semaphore if he’d have pulled through, but you’ll learn in time, too, that time does not ruin fewer experiences than being). I lean in. Whisper this (above) across your one body, three eighths the size of a coffee table hardback book: the result of patience pined for that I mimed along to motherhood the best I could for nine months and now, here, I lift the hood and work out what to do next in this rush to settle down and sit, sip until you snooze off into silence. Here I carry you and do not notice the weight, stare at the gape of you, my newly framed little one held in the palm of my hand, squat full four pinter named after someone we knew. You landed lunar surface side up, smoothed new to the toes and I wonder how I’ll meet you I wonder how this goes.

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Feb 28, 2016

Feb 28, 2016 at 3:13 AM UTC

tim-knight

#PANCAKEDAY

One day our spines’ll tesselate under sage soft duvets as storms sweep across us and no one will cry; not one noise shall slip from tongues ‘cos strength comes from keeping quiet or carrying on. You’re a now realised kindness that doesn’t know what breath is or how the north circular works in festive rush hours home, but I’ll kiss the answers upon your tender carbon tapered chest and hope the toner never runs low (your dad would’ve handcrafted every thing he knew in semaphore if he’d have pulled through, but you’ll learn in time, too, that time does not ruin fewer experiences than being). I lean in. Whisper this (above) across your one body, three eighths the size of a coffee table hardback book: the result of patience pined for that I mimed along to motherhood the best I could for nine months and now, here, I lift the hood and work out what to do next in this rush to settle down and sit, sip until you snooze off into silence. Here I carry you and do not notice the weight, stare at the gape of you, my newly framed little one held in the palm of my hand, squat full four pinter named after someone we knew. You landed lunar surface side up, smoothed new to the toes and I wonder how I’ll meet you I wonder how this goes.

22

traverse the divide envelope me in your arms i crave your touch to understand every fold of your hands and memorize the way our bodies tesselate poison me with your smell, intoxicating me to the abyss i'm afraid to fall in without you here

0

May 2, 2013

May 2, 2013 at 11:01 PM UTC

paige-elliott

here

traverse the divide envelope me in your arms i crave your touch to understand every fold of your hands and memorize the way our bodies tesselate poison me with your smell, intoxicating me to the abyss i'm afraid to fall in without you here

12

Elevate me, bring me to a separated plane, That would culminate my thoughts from somewhere between spiritual and deranged. But ok, debunk yourself from stable, From making magic between the tragic epiphanies; reversed serendipity to cradle. This traffic of ideas tesselate the snake train, Elaborated in definitions of tapestry and fake names. Wallflower, with no protest to bonemeal, Kaleidoscope of diets from eggshells and chlorophyll. Hmmm, this brain food's a drug inducing misdirection, that holds no compass but somehow still sheens a cruel reflection. Of course, consolidated losses, juxtapose the crosses, Sway the form of faith to a diluted array of traits. + And when the gullets a game for gross concoctions, It's obvious isolation and failure seem the only options. But anyway, with a sober mind still intact, I could follow lines of letters from loosely to exact. Clearly there is no sure thing, especially when the puppet contorts to the willful rhythm pulling at his own strings. Look how far we've come, from willing to unable, that would shatter any semblance of cards still on the table.

0

Oct 20, 2017

Oct 20, 2017 at 2:52 AM UTC

IllestTraitor

I've Confused My Feelings For Emotions

Elevate me, bring me to a separated plane, That would culminate my thoughts from somewhere between spiritual and deranged. But ok, debunk yourself from stable, From making magic between the tragic epiphanies; reversed serendipity to cradle. This traffic of ideas tesselate the snake train, Elaborated in definitions of tapestry and fake names. Wallflower, with no protest to bonemeal, Kaleidoscope of diets from eggshells and chlorophyll. Hmmm, this brain food's a drug inducing misdirection, that holds no compass but somehow still sheens a cruel reflection. Of course, consolidated losses, juxtapose the crosses, Sway the form of faith to a diluted array of traits. + And when the gullets a game for gross concoctions, It's obvious isolation and failure seem the only options. But anyway, with a sober mind still intact, I could follow lines of letters from loosely to exact. Clearly there is no sure thing, especially when the puppet contorts to the willful rhythm pulling at his own strings. Look how far we've come, from willing to unable, that would shatter any semblance of cards still on the table.

17

i never really appreciated the wealth of light afforded to me. yet i still have cravings, for graceless dormers, naked and looming. quartered divisions with their faint, finger panes intersecting in the middle of my forehead. i really love the feeling of walking through a wooded path at night. maybe not wooded, not so looming and treacherous. but a place much warmer in light. i live by light. i remember the city because of its light. its muddled outlines, pin box interiors you only see for brief moments in passing. eight by ten foot worlds partitioned only by your doing. what other place can make sense to you, so perfectly that you tesselate within it, one multi-minded collection of elements in swarms of others, what place, besides the one that drives you up a ******* wall.

0

Dec 1, 2015

Dec 1, 2015 at 7:36 AM UTC

dharmaandgregfanficdotgeocity

stock, one

i never really appreciated the wealth of light afforded to me. yet i still have cravings, for graceless dormers, naked and looming. quartered divisions with their faint, finger panes intersecting in the middle of my forehead. i really love the feeling of walking through a wooded path at night. maybe not wooded, not so looming and treacherous. but a place much warmer in light. i live by light. i remember the city because of its light. its muddled outlines, pin box interiors you only see for brief moments in passing. eight by ten foot worlds partitioned only by your doing. what other place can make sense to you, so perfectly that you tesselate within it, one multi-minded collection of elements in swarms of others, what place, besides the one that drives you up a ******* wall.

21

Sometimes I do not feel whole around others I love them; but it just seems a shame to constantly have to tesselate around them.

0

Jul 22, 2017

Jul 22, 2017 at 6:38 PM UTC

autumn-shayse

Tesselate

Sometimes I do not feel whole around others I love them; but it just seems a shame to constantly have to tesselate around them.

7

Chained to the moon Creatures of the night and habit The phases and the phrases Spoken, much the same Are we much like the moon in that way? Tilting and shifting A gradual slide Through the spectrums of consciousness We are wide awake Much like this moon And as the tides within us, settle like the waves And lower, like the tides We find ourselves calm again Until the next, high tide

0

Jan 26, 2018

Jan 26, 2018 at 11:51 PM UTC

gb

tesselate

Chained to the moon Creatures of the night and habit The phases and the phrases Spoken, much the same Are we much like the moon in that way? Tilting and shifting A gradual slide Through the spectrums of consciousness We are wide awake Much like this moon And as the tides within us, settle like the waves And lower, like the tides We find ourselves calm again Until the next, high tide

14

I search at midnight Your face, once a marble mask mobile, uncertain A body, embraced by shadows and myself panes lit by moonlight And meeting your palms your touches gentler than a falling silk shawl All the spans of time stretch out to eternity instantaneous Hands reaching over and dozens of surfaces tesselate softly For a while, I think the meaning of life is this and then so it is Is wanting you all? I wish I were your habit Wanting together Leaving by lamplight Your spirit a firefly I’ve kept in a jar Uncertain future suspended in brief moments of today’s meeting

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Oct 18, 2022

Oct 18, 2022 at 5:40 PM UTC

motency

Haiku story

I search at midnight Your face, once a marble mask mobile, uncertain A body, embraced by shadows and myself panes lit by moonlight And meeting your palms your touches gentler than a falling silk shawl All the spans of time stretch out to eternity instantaneous Hands reaching over and dozens of surfaces tesselate softly For a while, I think the meaning of life is this and then so it is Is wanting you all? I wish I were your habit Wanting together Leaving by lamplight Your spirit a firefly I’ve kept in a jar Uncertain future suspended in brief moments of today’s meeting

27

And the bee's shadow tesselate the sunflower's skin 2 constellations merged; two different equations of the universe exchanging information about the death of Us.

0

Oct 2, 2021

Oct 2, 2021 at 1:28 PM UTC

Kyrie_Hajashi07

On seeing spies in my park

And the bee's shadow tesselate the sunflower's skin 2 constellations merged; two different equations of the universe exchanging information about the death of Us.

6