"timaeus" poems - Hello Poetry

i have swallowed the cosmos whole. the resultant morning sickness informs me that perhaps i am now its mother-- for a mother may devour her children but never digest them. my jaw splits with the swallowing & my hunger, never rational, sets this meal in motion: i feel it squirm in my stomach as the acrid burning of gastric juices sears the sphere of the fixed stars like cigarette burns on a tapestry. somewhere a möbius strip rips itself in two.

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Aug 1, 2015

Aug 1, 2015 at 7:56 PM UTC

vidya-ravilochan

timaeus

i have swallowed the cosmos whole. the resultant morning sickness informs me that perhaps i am now its mother-- for a mother may devour her children but never digest them. my jaw splits with the swallowing & my hunger, never rational, sets this meal in motion: i feel it squirm in my stomach as the acrid burning of gastric juices sears the sphere of the fixed stars like cigarette burns on a tapestry. somewhere a möbius strip rips itself in two.

18

There he was "He" But him Peeking around corners That house The one on Balcom Lane? Not quite. The mammoth wooden doors and startling interiors A mesh of the Waco mansion and the Motyckas', God knows why. Fancy houses are vessels for empty thoughts. Oh, but there he was, God of my past I can't deny it. He searched for me. He seduced me. But I knew. I knew. He wasn't unbetrothed. No, she was there, somewhere. Ah, yes, she interrogated me. And I... Was I honest? My body ached for him. Just like the night before. How did he find her so fast? Why was there dead air on the phone that night? I think I just felt the wind shake my house. God is blowing it all away. My memory too, it drops away in pieces. So I grabbed that pen. I mean this one. I hold it; it's "this." I see it; it's "that." But neither exist, neither are, right? Thank you, Timaeus. You showed me how the world once was, how men once saw it to be. But now, the "gruesome houses." He's still there. His face. Just barely though. Oh, life, how I love your perpetual motion, replacing each moment with the next, before I even know the first is gone! sometimes. But then there are the ones when I wish it would all slow down. Or worse, turn back. The will moves only forward. Always ahead & never behind. That's what I control. Not 2007. Heh, he didn't need me. It ripped my heart out & rended it apart. I do love brown ales though.

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Apr 8, 2013

Apr 8, 2013 at 1:05 PM UTC

la-cazadora

morning haze

There he was "He" But him Peeking around corners That house The one on Balcom Lane? Not quite. The mammoth wooden doors and startling interiors A mesh of the Waco mansion and the Motyckas', God knows why. Fancy houses are vessels for empty thoughts. Oh, but there he was, God of my past I can't deny it. He searched for me. He seduced me. But I knew. I knew. He wasn't unbetrothed. No, she was there, somewhere. Ah, yes, she interrogated me. And I... Was I honest? My body ached for him. Just like the night before. How did he find her so fast? Why was there dead air on the phone that night? I think I just felt the wind shake my house. God is blowing it all away. My memory too, it drops away in pieces. So I grabbed that pen. I mean this one. I hold it; it's "this." I see it; it's "that." But neither exist, neither are, right? Thank you, Timaeus. You showed me how the world once was, how men once saw it to be. But now, the "gruesome houses." He's still there. His face. Just barely though. Oh, life, how I love your perpetual motion, replacing each moment with the next, before I even know the first is gone! sometimes. But then there are the ones when I wish it would all slow down. Or worse, turn back. The will moves only forward. Always ahead & never behind. That's what I control. Not 2007. Heh, he didn't need me. It ripped my heart out & rended it apart. I do love brown ales though.

53

Who we think we are, if we fail to define our own terminii, Meum et Tuum, as we are, if we take full consideration of our pose, relative, to the point of you, on which your homeostasis hangs by the thread of sense we share in mindspace dominated by English, no longer, I can read poetry in Hausa, like a native born earthling, after Hiroshima and before the peak radiation winds, in the season of Maris and Mantle, and The Days of Wine and Roses, and social influencers promoting actual bowling leagues, "Lake Charles Calculators facing off against Texas City Lo-rollers," - in the novel, the summer of '61, unshipped. when this version of America, as remembered on TV, shall never before be gotten but by the free and brave, trusting geology, can prove we all know if hell breaks loose, we all die, but the earth is resilient, As Kritias recited all he knew of what the lawgiver said of the reproof he humbly received as a Sais priestly admonishment to learn to hold thoughts secure for disasters are considerably common "– all such events are recorded since the old days and are preserved here in our temples. Yet your people and the others are but newly equipped, every time, with letters and all such arts as civilized cities require and when, after the usual interval of years, like a plague, the flood from heaven comes sweeping down again upon your people, it leaves none of you but the unlettered and uncultured. So you become as young as ever, with no knowledge of all that happened in old times in this land or in your own." Plato, Timaeus _ remember, we once believed in giants, then we learned of dinosaurs, then we saw whales cry. They wept for the loss of the cod. Then we got the internet of things, and things developed was to solve the original division using co-op gnosis, we see our follies on YouTube, and realize we have abilities, should we agree, we never lie, but do know of instances, when unbelieving worked wonders while lying about waiting for this exposure to your final frontal lobe remyelinating, to offset dementia. It's a prophylactic tactic peace of mind allows.

0

Jul 18, 2024

Jul 18, 2024 at 5:49 PM UTC

kenpepiton

It's a prophylactic tactic

Who we think we are, if we fail to define our own terminii, Meum et Tuum, as we are, if we take full consideration of our pose, relative, to the point of you, on which your homeostasis hangs by the thread of sense we share in mindspace dominated by English, no longer, I can read poetry in Hausa, like a native born earthling, after Hiroshima and before the peak radiation winds, in the season of Maris and Mantle, and The Days of Wine and Roses, and social influencers promoting actual bowling leagues, "Lake Charles Calculators facing off against Texas City Lo-rollers," - in the novel, the summer of '61, unshipped. when this version of America, as remembered on TV, shall never before be gotten but by the free and brave, trusting geology, can prove we all know if hell breaks loose, we all die, but the earth is resilient, As Kritias recited all he knew of what the lawgiver said of the reproof he humbly received as a Sais priestly admonishment to learn to hold thoughts secure for disasters are considerably common "– all such events are recorded since the old days and are preserved here in our temples. Yet your people and the others are but newly equipped, every time, with letters and all such arts as civilized cities require and when, after the usual interval of years, like a plague, the flood from heaven comes sweeping down again upon your people, it leaves none of you but the unlettered and uncultured. So you become as young as ever, with no knowledge of all that happened in old times in this land or in your own." Plato, Timaeus _ remember, we once believed in giants, then we learned of dinosaurs, then we saw whales cry. They wept for the loss of the cod. Then we got the internet of things, and things developed was to solve the original division using co-op gnosis, we see our follies on YouTube, and realize we have abilities, should we agree, we never lie, but do know of instances, when unbelieving worked wonders while lying about waiting for this exposure to your final frontal lobe remyelinating, to offset dementia. It's a prophylactic tactic peace of mind allows.

58

Tiameus, I humbly pardon thee, for what i testify might be an utter of my foolishness. I simply cannot tell such things nor do the courage so to stare at your concealed eyes. I cannot speak more or less For you have left me breathless and thinking. You shattered my reality whilst you put an end at my hyperbole's. We spun around together in circles Talking such pointless and serious things. At a cloud of dusk where I wake. I spend the time closely thinking loudly in sparks. I had thought so many things in how the beauty and marvel of your words came. At times left me awake widely at some nights of how captivating your defenses are, that sets me analyzing. In such hours, I often think about you. Decoding possibilities and inferences. Likely, you are a book that I need to read in such comprehension in challenge. Timaeus, time is running out. Clock gears in shock as the moonsetter plays to an end. My test is already done.

0

May 20, 2015

May 20, 2015 at 7:25 AM UTC

hyperballads

2.2

Tiameus, I humbly pardon thee, for what i testify might be an utter of my foolishness. I simply cannot tell such things nor do the courage so to stare at your concealed eyes. I cannot speak more or less For you have left me breathless and thinking. You shattered my reality whilst you put an end at my hyperbole's. We spun around together in circles Talking such pointless and serious things. At a cloud of dusk where I wake. I spend the time closely thinking loudly in sparks. I had thought so many things in how the beauty and marvel of your words came. At times left me awake widely at some nights of how captivating your defenses are, that sets me analyzing. In such hours, I often think about you. Decoding possibilities and inferences. Likely, you are a book that I need to read in such comprehension in challenge. Timaeus, time is running out. Clock gears in shock as the moonsetter plays to an end. My test is already done.

32