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Words
"transcribed" poems
emotions bounce around to eventually be transcribed into beautiful words a patchwork of thoughts from her mind, made with fragmented sentences, allow her to expose part of her soul. words that coax images or emotions or memories to arise in other's minds. the most magnificent artwork that changes for every reader a display of her soul that will never be seen in the way she intended it to be seen. a curse or a gift?
0
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 9:43 PM UTC
the-amateur-poet
an artist of words
emotions bounce around to eventually be transcribed into beautiful words a patchwork of thoughts from her mind, made with fragmented sentences, allow her to expose part of her soul. words that coax images or emotions or memories to arise in other's minds. the most magnificent artwork that changes for every reader a display of her soul that will never be seen in the way she intended it to be seen. a curse or a gift?
Continue reading...
19
When I enter, the black holes of myself, they are located, transcribed upon the blackboards of our unified bodies, the magnification of energy transversed, principles demonstrated by the unconcluding conclusion of the expansion of creation, the rebirthing of one universe never ending When I enter a woman, the discovery sought, the definitional needed, the proofs equational, the factors constant, not the variable truths, the demonstrations positive, the constants of the universe, combinational, all within, a single point glistening to gentle comfort this knowledge of my wasting, the foresight of my limitations from the day of birth my matter, matters, my energy neither destroyed or created, illimitable, my decline inevitable and yet! cannot alter my atomic structure. my future guaranteed, my inner light, traveling so fast, it has yet to arrive When I enter a woman, the laws of physics become special theories of relativity, we are motion in time, force and energy nucleotides rawest refined, elemental and particle nuclear, packets of light exclaimed When I enter a woman, organic, chemistry, interdisciplinary my body and its life force shaped as electric current transceivers crossing galaxies, there can be no deceivers, there but and only the birthing of heat, a byproduct of interjection, conjunction creation of creativity <> she is my proof long after the log normal of my nerves, now parceled to the invisible of an oscillating log natural, fertilizes the sea grasses that so intoxicate, flying, carried, by the invisiblity of the winds, all-where I have chosen as my shifting shape, when this container leaks and crack'd, in sentry reentry orbit, to the nearest garbage strewn construction-dead lot When I enter a woman, physics far beyond the commonplace, physical transition to knowledge of life ever after death and fear are time sensitized passing notions, crushed by the consolation of physics, the eternality of a time once begun, cannot end, and therefore this, my one theory of everything, the God I worship, of course, he is invisible!
0
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 8:40 AM UTC
nat-lipstadt
The Consolation of Physics (When I Enter a Woman) Nov. 2014
When I enter, the black holes of myself, they are located, transcribed upon the blackboards of our unified bodies, the magnification of energy transversed, principles demonstrated by the unconcluding conclusion of the expansion of creation, the rebirthing of one universe never ending When I enter a woman, the discovery sought, the definitional needed, the proofs equational, the factors constant, not the variable truths, the demonstrations positive, the constants of the universe, combinational, all within, a single point glistening to gentle comfort this knowledge of my wasting, the foresight of my limitations from the day of birth my matter, matters, my energy neither destroyed or created, illimitable, my decline inevitable and yet! cannot alter my atomic structure. my future guaranteed, my inner light, traveling so fast, it has yet to arrive When I enter a woman, the laws of physics become special theories of relativity, we are motion in time, force and energy nucleotides rawest refined, elemental and particle nuclear, packets of light exclaimed When I enter a woman, organic, chemistry, interdisciplinary my body and its life force shaped as electric current transceivers crossing galaxies, there can be no deceivers, there but and only the birthing of heat, a byproduct of interjection, conjunction creation of creativity <> she is my proof long after the log normal of my nerves, now parceled to the invisible of an oscillating log natural, fertilizes the sea grasses that so intoxicate, flying, carried, by the invisiblity of the winds, all-where I have chosen as my shifting shape, when this container leaks and crack'd, in sentry reentry orbit, to the nearest garbage strewn construction-dead lot When I enter a woman, physics far beyond the commonplace, physical transition to knowledge of life ever after death and fear are time sensitized passing notions, crushed by the consolation of physics, the eternality of a time once begun, cannot end, and therefore this, my one theory of everything, the God I worship, of course, he is invisible!
Continue reading...
107
(and I cannot live from with-out) <> a poem in appreciation to Rossella Di Paolo <> I, too:           - am an embryonic work in progress, well into my seventh decade, with no ending in sight                                 I too,     live in the house of poetry, the address likely differs, but suspect the innards of the houses differs little, the decor,  quite similar          - my house shrewdly requests a rethinking,                                     noting, it lives my artifice, with in & with out Then, we are a We:                                              - my cavities house her, She, Poetry is of Ruth (1) born,           - Poetry, She, reminds me, ”whither thou goest, I will go” This duality:           - where the haunting of words providential,              emanate, both inhabiting & inhibits my breathing               She, a fearsome creature, a fearful-something, for it tears me and shreds tears its demands be wrung from with in to with out She, Poetry:           - leaves me gaping, hollow, fills me with             depressurizing boreholes exposed to the elements  of             externalities of an admixed atmospheres, that nature demands             be refilled, fresh in, stale out, for which the artifice trick is knowing which is which when Poetry’s  birthing:           - chest pounds, heart-rate beats heavy metal,             abdomen contracts, there then, no languid in my language,             no help untangling the alpha-bet jumbling,             product of the screams of pushing, squeezing it forth* *you’re hoping to quick-catch newly formed combinations, for if you fail, a poem noisily crashes to and through the floorboard cracks, where poetry’s chaotic glinting etes maliciously glimmer~winks at me with a sarcastic thank you* *“ah, too bad, another creation stillborn, gone to rest, biting the nether dust, without hope of resuscitation…”* just another unfinished work in progress periodically a survivor clean caught, transcribed, edited to be finished, amniotic fluids cleared, poem resurrected blessed with eternal life, readied to be shared and delivered, affirmed and you say to no one and to everyone: this poem will be our poem, wither it goes, ascending, descending, all live in the house of poets, one house, many apartments, each poem a god, and my God will be our God, your God, my God, in the House of Poetry
0
Jun 21, 2023
Jun 21, 2023 at 5:55 PM UTC
nat-lipstadt
I, too: Live with-in the House of Poetry
(and I cannot live from with-out) <> a poem in appreciation to Rossella Di Paolo <> I, too:           - am an embryonic work in progress, well into my seventh decade, with no ending in sight                                 I too,     live in the house of poetry, the address likely differs, but suspect the innards of the houses differs little, the decor,  quite similar          - my house shrewdly requests a rethinking,                                     noting, it lives my artifice, with in & with out Then, we are a We:                                              - my cavities house her, She, Poetry is of Ruth (1) born,           - Poetry, She, reminds me, ”whither thou goest, I will go” This duality:           - where the haunting of words providential,              emanate, both inhabiting & inhibits my breathing               She, a fearsome creature, a fearful-something, for it tears me and shreds tears its demands be wrung from with in to with out She, Poetry:           - leaves me gaping, hollow, fills me with             depressurizing boreholes exposed to the elements  of             externalities of an admixed atmospheres, that nature demands             be refilled, fresh in, stale out, for which the artifice trick is knowing which is which when Poetry’s  birthing:           - chest pounds, heart-rate beats heavy metal,             abdomen contracts, there then, no languid in my language,             no help untangling the alpha-bet jumbling,             product of the screams of pushing, squeezing it forth* *you’re hoping to quick-catch newly formed combinations, for if you fail, a poem noisily crashes to and through the floorboard cracks, where poetry’s chaotic glinting etes maliciously glimmer~winks at me with a sarcastic thank you* *“ah, too bad, another creation stillborn, gone to rest, biting the nether dust, without hope of resuscitation…”* just another unfinished work in progress periodically a survivor clean caught, transcribed, edited to be finished, amniotic fluids cleared, poem resurrected blessed with eternal life, readied to be shared and delivered, affirmed and you say to no one and to everyone: this poem will be our poem, wither it goes, ascending, descending, all live in the house of poets, one house, many apartments, each poem a god, and my God will be our God, your God, my God, in the House of Poetry
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63
In these clay-covered hands I hold the last droplets of water We laugh off the miseries Drinking steaming tea Stepping into pools of mud Purposefully Laughter on a leash Follows us wholeheartedly We hold onto the clouds So that we don’t fall asleep And miss these terracotta skies That match our skin Where within transcribed Are hopes and dreams A flower you are So preciously delicate And I’m here praying That whatever I have left Is enough to Sustain Your growth Out of this midnight grief
0
Jan 23, 2022
Jan 23, 2022 at 3:28 AM UTC
AE
Terracotta Sunsets
In these clay-covered hands I hold the last droplets of water We laugh off the miseries Drinking steaming tea Stepping into pools of mud Purposefully Laughter on a leash Follows us wholeheartedly We hold onto the clouds So that we don’t fall asleep And miss these terracotta skies That match our skin Where within transcribed Are hopes and dreams A flower you are So preciously delicate And I’m here praying That whatever I have left Is enough to Sustain Your growth Out of this midnight grief
Continue reading...
22
Something rattles in the soul. It must be paid attention -   it is the soul, the only sure thing - and rattled in return. Slow begins the dance of tongues and hard news. I learn a thing I never wished to learn. Afterwards, a dance of tongues in the ensuite begins a sudden rapture of claiming. Nails mine, skin mine to make a pink impression on. Bile in the back of the throat, mine. Fear of death, mine. Oaths and oaths, mine, too. An exchange of humility, knee for a knee. The rigid wall at your back. The wall at your back. The night which enriches bluer out of the blue air, not the action of the world moving at all. The particles of water in a birdbath divide, decide among themselves to marry each to each, to reproduce. They become an ocean. They drown the birds. My mouth fills with feathers, teeth itch with the tiny mites running between the shafts. I am a bell, and you are a country. I am a bell and sound from far away. Hands touch the broken vase in her parts, the toes, the eyelash, the sunken wreck, the crowd of dead, the treasure. They say   all this as if the map was drawn and burned and came again in char from the tablecloth to all our wonder. A single miracle can last for weeks in the mouth. Sometimes centuries. I will spend eighteen days in the void of grace. What begins as a pain in my shoulders will grow into a tree and bury me. I will want promises, promises, promises. (water, water, water) I will never be satisfied. Looking always for permanent loss it becomes easy to simply misplace. Your caution leads to strange decisions. You put your keys in the fridge. I would like to say I knew the words: I cut the lock of hair, I drew the blood. The hex was removed by faith and chaste reflection but everywhere I look, there is a confusion of hungry birds and beggars and I forget the spell, or what chaste reflection even is. Anyways, something breaks. Not my doing. Suddenly, I am just noticing sky again. I am transcribed back into English. My first decision is to wash my car, and next, to learn what faith meant to anyone. Charmed, is it? Something rattles in the soul. It must be paid attention -   it is the soul, the only sure thing - and rattled in return. It has nothing, really, to say. It only rattles.
0
May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 10:24 PM UTC
wade-redfearn
A Fever
Something rattles in the soul. It must be paid attention -   it is the soul, the only sure thing - and rattled in return. Slow begins the dance of tongues and hard news. I learn a thing I never wished to learn. Afterwards, a dance of tongues in the ensuite begins a sudden rapture of claiming. Nails mine, skin mine to make a pink impression on. Bile in the back of the throat, mine. Fear of death, mine. Oaths and oaths, mine, too. An exchange of humility, knee for a knee. The rigid wall at your back. The wall at your back. The night which enriches bluer out of the blue air, not the action of the world moving at all. The particles of water in a birdbath divide, decide among themselves to marry each to each, to reproduce. They become an ocean. They drown the birds. My mouth fills with feathers, teeth itch with the tiny mites running between the shafts. I am a bell, and you are a country. I am a bell and sound from far away. Hands touch the broken vase in her parts, the toes, the eyelash, the sunken wreck, the crowd of dead, the treasure. They say   all this as if the map was drawn and burned and came again in char from the tablecloth to all our wonder. A single miracle can last for weeks in the mouth. Sometimes centuries. I will spend eighteen days in the void of grace. What begins as a pain in my shoulders will grow into a tree and bury me. I will want promises, promises, promises. (water, water, water) I will never be satisfied. Looking always for permanent loss it becomes easy to simply misplace. Your caution leads to strange decisions. You put your keys in the fridge. I would like to say I knew the words: I cut the lock of hair, I drew the blood. The hex was removed by faith and chaste reflection but everywhere I look, there is a confusion of hungry birds and beggars and I forget the spell, or what chaste reflection even is. Anyways, something breaks. Not my doing. Suddenly, I am just noticing sky again. I am transcribed back into English. My first decision is to wash my car, and next, to learn what faith meant to anyone. Charmed, is it? Something rattles in the soul. It must be paid attention -   it is the soul, the only sure thing - and rattled in return. It has nothing, really, to say. It only rattles.
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71
Inception Transcribed  (Spoken Word- Freestyle-Dramatics) ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ==Inception Transcribed == by SassyJ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ (Copy the link below to your browser) Inception and intersection of human life are diverse. We are ushered as a blank canvas to the shores of life. Socialised with values, beliefs and cultures. Our acclimatised acculturation. Submerged in the swampy lowlands each sunk and wandering through and through. This morning I woke and left my house...... looked up to the horizons of nature. And there it was.... a revolving camera smiling at each stride I take... following me and taunting me. Unreserved in institutions, submerged in the ever decaying social structures. Why do we do what we do everyday? Is it part of the human processes and functions? To exist and be absolutely absent but present. I fret, then I smile. Trying to join the puzzles in the mazes. Ever questioning if I am here to learn or to be polluted by bureaucracy. Lets call for an assembly, announce that the town is dead. Yet, its people are gasping, breathing to fill their lives with a new paradigm. Look at me all cyanosed , the blueness of the dying veins... sunk in the redistribution and social panic. Re-engaged in the demoralised democracy. Look at me asking.... What is the meaning of life?
0
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 6:09 PM UTC
SassyJ
Inception Transcribed (Spoken Word- Freestyle-Dramatics)
Inception Transcribed  (Spoken Word- Freestyle-Dramatics) ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ==Inception Transcribed == by SassyJ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ (Copy the link below to your browser) Inception and intersection of human life are diverse. We are ushered as a blank canvas to the shores of life. Socialised with values, beliefs and cultures. Our acclimatised acculturation. Submerged in the swampy lowlands each sunk and wandering through and through. This morning I woke and left my house...... looked up to the horizons of nature. And there it was.... a revolving camera smiling at each stride I take... following me and taunting me. Unreserved in institutions, submerged in the ever decaying social structures. Why do we do what we do everyday? Is it part of the human processes and functions? To exist and be absolutely absent but present. I fret, then I smile. Trying to join the puzzles in the mazes. Ever questioning if I am here to learn or to be polluted by bureaucracy. Lets call for an assembly, announce that the town is dead. Yet, its people are gasping, breathing to fill their lives with a new paradigm. Look at me all cyanosed , the blueness of the dying veins... sunk in the redistribution and social panic. Re-engaged in the demoralised democracy. Look at me asking.... What is the meaning of life?
Continue reading...
14
To strive, for recognition An assembly point for thought Triumphed within an open page Paper evidence of unspoken verse Retrieved from the place behind this heart Do you mind? Don’t look over my shoulder at my vulnerability Private stance is mine Do not mock as I turn the page A personal preview of this unlocked memory Back of my neck, prickling Anticipating on the spot reaction Young, ill at ease Crying from the yard Hiding the scars Don’t rush away the memories, a deluge When time was so limited Become brave Force open the private recess Cobwebbed and masked by dust Speak clearly, not from mumbling Mouth, I need to………….. know I am blemished So glad to be alongside you Reunited, forgotten, forgiven.....now ribbon tied Can we bury? It would seem not......but wait and remember Deceived by the dark Under dressed for the occasion Battered suitcase dragged and kicked open Essays of remembrance Headlines screaming for discussion Released for a while Obeyed and tidied Press down and close the rusty catches My new day transcribed here I don’t mind, lean on my shoulder See my vulnerability It makes me strong
0
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 6:29 AM UTC
laura-susan-smith
Strive
To strive, for recognition An assembly point for thought Triumphed within an open page Paper evidence of unspoken verse Retrieved from the place behind this heart Do you mind? Don’t look over my shoulder at my vulnerability Private stance is mine Do not mock as I turn the page A personal preview of this unlocked memory Back of my neck, prickling Anticipating on the spot reaction Young, ill at ease Crying from the yard Hiding the scars Don’t rush away the memories, a deluge When time was so limited Become brave Force open the private recess Cobwebbed and masked by dust Speak clearly, not from mumbling Mouth, I need to………….. know I am blemished So glad to be alongside you Reunited, forgotten, forgiven.....now ribbon tied Can we bury? It would seem not......but wait and remember Deceived by the dark Under dressed for the occasion Battered suitcase dragged and kicked open Essays of remembrance Headlines screaming for discussion Released for a while Obeyed and tidied Press down and close the rusty catches My new day transcribed here I don’t mind, lean on my shoulder See my vulnerability It makes me strong
Continue reading...
39
I have missed your company. Enveloped in strange faces, The only coterie I keep of late Is that of your overwrought descant. Oh, James Douglas. What happened to your dream? DO NOT DESPAIR, FRIEND The words you once transcribed Your intoxicating, Or was it intoxicated Ragtime Linger in the subconscious of a generation, an unnoticeable haversack Traveling Seeing Traveling Watching every ounce Of the determinate world Seeing Acting as The portmantoligism of my conscience And what is left of my intellect Until I realize that my Crippling loneliness, Is the only palatable fruit of disillusionment. See, Christine? Anybody can use big words to write about the 20th Century.
0
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 11:38 PM UTC
will-dameron
The Lizard King
I have missed your company. Enveloped in strange faces, The only coterie I keep of late Is that of your overwrought descant. Oh, James Douglas. What happened to your dream? DO NOT DESPAIR, FRIEND The words you once transcribed Your intoxicating, Or was it intoxicated Ragtime Linger in the subconscious of a generation, an unnoticeable haversack Traveling Seeing Traveling Watching every ounce Of the determinate world Seeing Acting as The portmantoligism of my conscience And what is left of my intellect Until I realize that my Crippling loneliness, Is the only palatable fruit of disillusionment. See, Christine? Anybody can use big words to write about the 20th Century.
Continue reading...
28
They Seem ... STRANGE ... To Me ... Don't They ... To You ... ?!? The Things That People .... Sometimes .... Do .... ? Don't Worry Folks ... I'll ... Give You PROOF ... That People ... Make ... Some ... FUNNY Moves ... ?!? How About ... THIS ... ? To ... Start Things Off ... OUTRAGE ... Over .... !!!!!!!!! Coc' Head " .... MOSS ... " APOLOGIES " ..... And ... Sponsorship GONE ... !!!!! Just ... LOCK HER UP ... !!! Hasn't She ... Done WRONG ... ?!? Well ... FRIEND of Hers' ... "WITHIN" ... The BIZ' ... Are Showing Support ... For ... " POOR Katie " ... !!!!!! People Like ........ Ahhh Yes ... ROBBIE ... ??!?? "Leave her alone !!!" ... Is ... Robbies' PLEA ... ? Could There Be ... ? Some More ... " Druggies " ... Getting ... LOADS ... !!! ... of ... CASH MONEY ... ??? While Others ... Live In ... " Poverty " ... !!!?!!! Take Your Time ......................... And ... Think It Through .......................... While I ... Give You ... Some More Proof ... That People Make ... The ... STRANGEST Moves ... ?!? Why Do Girls ... ? Act So ........ Aloof .......... ?!? And ... Make Men Feel .... That ... They Aren't Cool ... But Get ... UPSET ... When Men ... REJECT ... The Chance To ... Talk ... And ......................................... IGNORE Them ... !?! Maybe Because ...................... They're Getting ... WET ... And KNOW They Want Them ... ..... In Their Bed ..... !!!!! Girls Like THIS ... Just ... Get Me VEX ... !!! They ... Act As Though ... What's In Their Head ... Should Make A Man ... Kneel Down And ... BEG ... Just To .... Spend .... Some Time With Them ... !!!?!!! That's Why I Wrote A Piece ... Called ... " *** and Texts " ... Cos' ... Texting Now ... Leaves Me ... " PERPLEXED " ... ? I've ... Said It Before ... And Will ... Say It AGAIN ... !!! That's NO WAY ... To ... Communicate ... !!!!! But Nowadays .... It's Used In Ways ... That ... May Make STRAIGHT MEN ... Become ... GAY ... !!!!!!!!!!! That's Why I Like ... To KEEP Girls' Texts ... And Use Their Words ... To ... Get Them VEX ... !!! "Remember your text ? Should I show you babe ?" "NO cos', that's not what I meant, I merely meant, can't we be friends." "Ahhh friendship right but. in your text, the word, "Friendship", was not transcribed ???" "Well, you were supposed to RECOGNISE !" "RECOGNISE What ? Oh, read what you meant, between the lines ?" "NO, my text was just a text let's move on, cos' now i'm Vex !" SEE ... What I Mean !!! Some Girls ARE STRANGE ... ?!? And Sometimes ... " ACT " ... Like They're ... " DERANGED " ... !?! It Seems ... Some Girls ... DON'T Use Their Brains ... !!!!! That's Why These Days ... I Now ... REFRAIN ... From ... Getting Into ... Womens' Games ... !!! How About THIS ... ? My Friends And I ... Were ... Just In FITS ... !!!!! You Get ... "INTIMATE" ... With A ... PRETTY Girl ... But See That She's ... In ... " HER OWN WORLD "... !!! She Says ... "Let's keep a low profile !" So ... You Say ... " Cool " ... But Here's The ... " Move " ... In PUBLIC ... She Now ... .... " IGNORES You " .... You ... " Do Your Do " ... But Then ... When You ... Start ... " Making Moves " ... With ... OTHER People ... In The ... Room .... Here It Comes ... !!!!! You KNOW The Move ... !!! She ... Makes A SCENE ... In Front Your Crew ... And STORMS Outside ... !!!!! But ... When We Leave ... She's ... Waiting There ... Wearing ... YES ... A ... CHEEKY Smile ... You ... Play It Out ... "What was that about ?" ... But Then She Starts ... To ... RUN HER MOUTH ... !!!!! That's ... When You Say ... "Okay, I'm out !" ... What Does She Do ... ? Stand There And ... " POUT " ... !?! Fellas ... Know The Coup ... .... " NO DOUBT " ... !!!!!! It's ... NOT JUST GIRLS ... But ... Fellas Too ... Who ... Sometimes Make ... These ... STUPID Moves ... !!!!!!!!! Which ... Brings Me Back ... To The ... " Question " ... ........ " Phew " ........ !!!!!!! The Things That People Sometimes ... DO .... ??? " Seem Strange To Me ... Don't They To ... YOU ? "
0
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 6:21 PM UTC
big-virge
"They Seem Strange To Me, Don't They ... To You ... ?" ... A Poem written by Big Virge 16/10/2005
They Seem ... STRANGE ... To Me ... Don't They ... To You ... ?!? The Things That People .... Sometimes .... Do .... ? Don't Worry Folks ... I'll ... Give You PROOF ... That People ... Make ... Some ... FUNNY Moves ... ?!? How About ... THIS ... ? To ... Start Things Off ... OUTRAGE ... Over .... !!!!!!!!! Coc' Head " .... MOSS ... " APOLOGIES " ..... And ... Sponsorship GONE ... !!!!! Just ... LOCK HER UP ... !!! Hasn't She ... Done WRONG ... ?!? Well ... FRIEND of Hers' ... "WITHIN" ... The BIZ' ... Are Showing Support ... For ... " POOR Katie " ... !!!!!! People Like ........ Ahhh Yes ... ROBBIE ... ??!?? "Leave her alone !!!" ... Is ... Robbies' PLEA ... ? Could There Be ... ? Some More ... " Druggies " ... Getting ... LOADS ... !!! ... of ... CASH MONEY ... ??? While Others ... Live In ... " Poverty " ... !!!?!!! Take Your Time ......................... And ... Think It Through .......................... While I ... Give You ... Some More Proof ... That People Make ... The ... STRANGEST Moves ... ?!? Why Do Girls ... ? Act So ........ Aloof .......... ?!? And ... Make Men Feel .... That ... They Aren't Cool ... But Get ... UPSET ... When Men ... REJECT ... The Chance To ... Talk ... And ......................................... IGNORE Them ... !?! Maybe Because ...................... They're Getting ... WET ... And KNOW They Want Them ... ..... In Their Bed ..... !!!!! Girls Like THIS ... Just ... Get Me VEX ... !!! They ... Act As Though ... What's In Their Head ... Should Make A Man ... Kneel Down And ... BEG ... Just To .... Spend .... Some Time With Them ... !!!?!!! That's Why I Wrote A Piece ... Called ... " *** and Texts " ... Cos' ... Texting Now ... Leaves Me ... " PERPLEXED " ... ? I've ... Said It Before ... And Will ... Say It AGAIN ... !!! That's NO WAY ... To ... Communicate ... !!!!! But Nowadays .... It's Used In Ways ... That ... May Make STRAIGHT MEN ... Become ... GAY ... !!!!!!!!!!! That's Why I Like ... To KEEP Girls' Texts ... And Use Their Words ... To ... Get Them VEX ... !!! "Remember your text ? Should I show you babe ?" "NO cos', that's not what I meant, I merely meant, can't we be friends." "Ahhh friendship right but. in your text, the word, "Friendship", was not transcribed ???" "Well, you were supposed to RECOGNISE !" "RECOGNISE What ? Oh, read what you meant, between the lines ?" "NO, my text was just a text let's move on, cos' now i'm Vex !" SEE ... What I Mean !!! Some Girls ARE STRANGE ... ?!? And Sometimes ... " ACT " ... Like They're ... " DERANGED " ... !?! It Seems ... Some Girls ... DON'T Use Their Brains ... !!!!! That's Why These Days ... I Now ... REFRAIN ... From ... Getting Into ... Womens' Games ... !!! How About THIS ... ? My Friends And I ... Were ... Just In FITS ... !!!!! You Get ... "INTIMATE" ... With A ... PRETTY Girl ... But See That She's ... In ... " HER OWN WORLD "... !!! She Says ... "Let's keep a low profile !" So ... You Say ... " Cool " ... But Here's The ... " Move " ... In PUBLIC ... She Now ... .... " IGNORES You " .... You ... " Do Your Do " ... But Then ... When You ... Start ... " Making Moves " ... With ... OTHER People ... In The ... Room .... Here It Comes ... !!!!! You KNOW The Move ... !!! She ... Makes A SCENE ... In Front Your Crew ... And STORMS Outside ... !!!!! But ... When We Leave ... She's ... Waiting There ... Wearing ... YES ... A ... CHEEKY Smile ... You ... Play It Out ... "What was that about ?" ... But Then She Starts ... To ... RUN HER MOUTH ... !!!!! That's ... When You Say ... "Okay, I'm out !" ... What Does She Do ... ? Stand There And ... " POUT " ... !?! Fellas ... Know The Coup ... .... " NO DOUBT " ... !!!!!! It's ... NOT JUST GIRLS ... But ... Fellas Too ... Who ... Sometimes Make ... These ... STUPID Moves ... !!!!!!!!! Which ... Brings Me Back ... To The ... " Question " ... ........ " Phew " ........ !!!!!!! The Things That People Sometimes ... DO .... ??? " Seem Strange To Me ... Don't They To ... YOU ? "
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152
Hanging at the end of Strained rope Swing my lost ambitions And desires My sanity swaying in the Cruel winds of Loveless night Just a square peg Confronted with A round hole Dropped anchor on The shores of insanity It seems so beautiful here. I must create my own world As my place in this one Does not seem fitting Genius is wasted Upon the buffoonery Of mass ignorance Intelligence shunned Brilliance and uniqueness Frowned upon and cast aside For the normality of uninteresting ****** zombies The painfully intelligent Forced into subversion Hiding their gifts For fear of being outcast Men who cling to the faults Of their fathers And stories of stir crazy, house wives Cabin fever was invented To thin our stock We all toy with the desire Forcing blind eyes Into the faces of The gifted Substance abuse is often a malady Of the painfully intelligent and artistic Drowning my will to be weird My own underhandedness Innately forcing my inner self Beneath a cloak of politeness This world This living theater Where we all assume Our own role Where our actions are Transcribed And cast upon us Like stones on the river I have grown tired Of acting the fool Prepare myself For a new role A starring role Have you ever felt The wonderment of déjà vécu? And the sorrow of knowing You belong to another time? I need the exhilaration of a time When life was simpler, Yet more confusing Was Judas the only one Christ trusted To deliver him to his fate? Is the human race too cowardly To be welcomed in the arms of a deity? Are we too ignorant to recognize That is has already occurred? Are we the last remnants Of an experiment gone wrong? The plague of the human race. Devouring consciousness Eliminating uniqueness Evolving into our own demise One too many mutations gone wrong Retching in the soiled undergarments Of our father's sins Reveling in the untold lies Of mother's milk I have soured on this world long ago Bounding for higher consciousness Looking for the unseen Searching for the undiscovered Drug sideways Through the sludge Of society Screaming wildly Through the entirety The gene pool would benefit From a healthy dose of chlorine
0
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 12:52 PM UTC
anomalous-revelations
Unchlorinated (Stream of Consciousness)
Hanging at the end of Strained rope Swing my lost ambitions And desires My sanity swaying in the Cruel winds of Loveless night Just a square peg Confronted with A round hole Dropped anchor on The shores of insanity It seems so beautiful here. I must create my own world As my place in this one Does not seem fitting Genius is wasted Upon the buffoonery Of mass ignorance Intelligence shunned Brilliance and uniqueness Frowned upon and cast aside For the normality of uninteresting ****** zombies The painfully intelligent Forced into subversion Hiding their gifts For fear of being outcast Men who cling to the faults Of their fathers And stories of stir crazy, house wives Cabin fever was invented To thin our stock We all toy with the desire Forcing blind eyes Into the faces of The gifted Substance abuse is often a malady Of the painfully intelligent and artistic Drowning my will to be weird My own underhandedness Innately forcing my inner self Beneath a cloak of politeness This world This living theater Where we all assume Our own role Where our actions are Transcribed And cast upon us Like stones on the river I have grown tired Of acting the fool Prepare myself For a new role A starring role Have you ever felt The wonderment of déjà vécu? And the sorrow of knowing You belong to another time? I need the exhilaration of a time When life was simpler, Yet more confusing Was Judas the only one Christ trusted To deliver him to his fate? Is the human race too cowardly To be welcomed in the arms of a deity? Are we too ignorant to recognize That is has already occurred? Are we the last remnants Of an experiment gone wrong? The plague of the human race. Devouring consciousness Eliminating uniqueness Evolving into our own demise One too many mutations gone wrong Retching in the soiled undergarments Of our father's sins Reveling in the untold lies Of mother's milk I have soured on this world long ago Bounding for higher consciousness Looking for the unseen Searching for the undiscovered Drug sideways Through the sludge Of society Screaming wildly Through the entirety The gene pool would benefit From a healthy dose of chlorine
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91
"I suffered, so, I learned, so, I changed" *her pale white arm, back and forth, flashes before my eyes face, cutting my few blonde many grays, she tumbles pieces of now dead me, to the floor, in cut wet clumps there, across her underarm, placed there to be but half-hid, my Bostonian via Albania haircutter, (I am a human explorer) reveals a tattoo uttering in Arabic that cuts me deeper then any scissored blade she metal possessed* I suffered, so,  I learned, so, I changed *revelations daily granted me, this one, incomprehensible, as she cuts, I imagine, my mused blood superheated, clotting this poem oh the words are readily understood, but unknown is the inspiration, the event so formative it was deserving of being transcribed, inked, permanence earned by, recording pon human flesh, exposed yet hidden and I dare not inquire...even I... who among us dare say that they have not suffered? yet, you, say the word slow suf-fer, hiss it in two parts, then ask yourself again, have you experienced the unimaginable as real? and needy to record it upon thy own human flesh? I have walked empty mirrored hallways unending, stood by rivers imploring, begging me to join their current, sleepwalked for days without count, punishing penance for acts of commission, acts of fearful cowardice I learned I changed better for the betterment of my united untied bodied bloodied soul *where? my tattoo? readily visible!* in every word I ever wrote
0
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 12:33 AM UTC
nat-lipstadt
I suffered, so, I learned, so, I changed
"I suffered, so, I learned, so, I changed" *her pale white arm, back and forth, flashes before my eyes face, cutting my few blonde many grays, she tumbles pieces of now dead me, to the floor, in cut wet clumps there, across her underarm, placed there to be but half-hid, my Bostonian via Albania haircutter, (I am a human explorer) reveals a tattoo uttering in Arabic that cuts me deeper then any scissored blade she metal possessed* I suffered, so,  I learned, so, I changed *revelations daily granted me, this one, incomprehensible, as she cuts, I imagine, my mused blood superheated, clotting this poem oh the words are readily understood, but unknown is the inspiration, the event so formative it was deserving of being transcribed, inked, permanence earned by, recording pon human flesh, exposed yet hidden and I dare not inquire...even I... who among us dare say that they have not suffered? yet, you, say the word slow suf-fer, hiss it in two parts, then ask yourself again, have you experienced the unimaginable as real? and needy to record it upon thy own human flesh? I have walked empty mirrored hallways unending, stood by rivers imploring, begging me to join their current, sleepwalked for days without count, punishing penance for acts of commission, acts of fearful cowardice I learned I changed better for the betterment of my united untied bodied bloodied soul *where? my tattoo? readily visible!* in every word I ever wrote
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72
I've delivered your messages Transcribed your letters Worn heels and tight dresses For you the past four years No one knows better Your favorite tie is argyle You like your coffee lukewarm And you prefer the pickle on the side It began with passion-filled glances But soon we were taking all our chances To share stolen kisses In the privacy of a custodial closet Then came the late work nights Telling my mother we had production to boost When the only thing you were boosting Was me onto your paper-littered desk And I felt ***** Even though you said you'd do nothing to hurt me I knew it was lies because you did nothing to help me either And I loved you I could care less for the moon All I want is you to no longer make me suffer Make me a wife or a mother Something, anything other than just your secretary/lover All because God made my skin the wrong color.
0
Oct 5, 2010
Oct 5, 2010 at 2:10 PM UTC
tatiana-cody
Secretary
I've delivered your messages Transcribed your letters Worn heels and tight dresses For you the past four years No one knows better Your favorite tie is argyle You like your coffee lukewarm And you prefer the pickle on the side It began with passion-filled glances But soon we were taking all our chances To share stolen kisses In the privacy of a custodial closet Then came the late work nights Telling my mother we had production to boost When the only thing you were boosting Was me onto your paper-littered desk And I felt ***** Even though you said you'd do nothing to hurt me I knew it was lies because you did nothing to help me either And I loved you I could care less for the moon All I want is you to no longer make me suffer Make me a wife or a mother Something, anything other than just your secretary/lover All because God made my skin the wrong color.
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25
The bright light of the computer taunts me. Is this what my writing has been reduced to? Mindlessly cranking out poetry, as words flow from my fingers onto the screen. The perfect black lines dance together, beckoning me forward towards this no man's land of modern day literature. The only thing that sets my writing apart is a copyright sign, my name following. My nervous scrawl can't be transcribed into cyberspace.
0
Jul 21, 2011
Jul 21, 2011 at 9:20 PM UTC
meka-boyle
handwritten
The bright light of the computer taunts me. Is this what my writing has been reduced to? Mindlessly cranking out poetry, as words flow from my fingers onto the screen. The perfect black lines dance together, beckoning me forward towards this no man's land of modern day literature. The only thing that sets my writing apart is a copyright sign, my name following. My nervous scrawl can't be transcribed into cyberspace.
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10
His gaze veiled in a layer of clouds, he looks down upon us with such contempt A perfect being, driven by such flawed emotions A jovial comic, or an angry father A split-personality sadist with a hell of a sense of humor We gathered any words that he might have said And transcribed them into our own human jumble Every syllable uttered, down to a trace of a sigh Molded to yield to our instincts Dominance and glory, all in the name of “love” His favorite son walks on water, did you know? But the naughty children have a special place to go If they dare disobey their strict father It’s in every breath within us, shining in every ray of light The human will to be, spawned from hands not our own? It pillages towns, and takes innocent lives Of those who chose against The word of the “wise” It sews our eyes shut from the ugly world of enlightenment And guides the sheep away from the forbidden trail The heathens reside on the other side of the river And only the sinners dare to build a boat
0
Jun 12, 2010
Jun 12, 2010 at 4:04 PM UTC
alyssa-rose-evans
A Cynic's Enlightenment
His gaze veiled in a layer of clouds, he looks down upon us with such contempt A perfect being, driven by such flawed emotions A jovial comic, or an angry father A split-personality sadist with a hell of a sense of humor We gathered any words that he might have said And transcribed them into our own human jumble Every syllable uttered, down to a trace of a sigh Molded to yield to our instincts Dominance and glory, all in the name of “love” His favorite son walks on water, did you know? But the naughty children have a special place to go If they dare disobey their strict father It’s in every breath within us, shining in every ray of light The human will to be, spawned from hands not our own? It pillages towns, and takes innocent lives Of those who chose against The word of the “wise” It sews our eyes shut from the ugly world of enlightenment And guides the sheep away from the forbidden trail The heathens reside on the other side of the river And only the sinners dare to build a boat
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21
Ineffable: Too great or extreme to be expressed or described in words; Too sacred to be uttered. -------------------------–-------—------------------------------------------------------------- The whimpered cries of the dying in the rubble of Bangladeshi avarice, announcing we were worthy of life, to which we think to ourselves, agreed upon with our, a whispery, silent amen. The still alive cries of children, tornado-tormented parents screaming unfair, teachers body shielding their charges, whispering save us Lord, from your inventive toys, to which we think to ourselves, a whispery, silent amen. But here comes the Oklahoma tornadoes again, now four more dead in Houston, selecting the innocent, the brave, logic in any of this, none, nonsensical at its worst to which we think to ourselves, a whispery, silent amen. ~~~~~ The first I-am-alive cries of new born lungs, I have grandson, stain-less, perfect, recovering in the stainless steel delivery room, I hear the all babies in the neo-natal unit in unison pronouncing a Hebrew blessing, the Shecheyanu... (Blessed are You, Lord our God, Master of the universe, who has kept us alive and sustained us and has brought us to these special moments) to which we think to ourselves, a whispery, silent amen. These unspoken poem devotions of adoration of the sleeping chamber, that cannot be heard or answered for they're dreamt and perchance in the morning thankfully recalled, enough to be transcribed, to which we think to ourselves, a whispery, silent amen. Ineffable. A day, just another supplying an average day to the mass of average. Birth + Death = an average day. I thank a God for the birth of a newborn perfection On this day the newspapers report about silence of the God others pray to, could be the same deity, reporting that in his holy places, Jew spits upon Jew, Muslims usurp Christian lives, all for none, all forgetting in whose image they were created. to which we cannot say nor think anything. Ineffable. too sacred to be uttered, so instead of the paucity of these unuttered words, know that each tear in the reservoir of my eyes is my unspoken poem prayer., my amen. *Instead of answering amen out loud, wipe my eyes with your fingertips, silently.*
0
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 3:19 PM UTC
nat-lipstadt
Ineffable (More Tornado Prayers and Such)
Ineffable: Too great or extreme to be expressed or described in words; Too sacred to be uttered. -------------------------–-------—------------------------------------------------------------- The whimpered cries of the dying in the rubble of Bangladeshi avarice, announcing we were worthy of life, to which we think to ourselves, agreed upon with our, a whispery, silent amen. The still alive cries of children, tornado-tormented parents screaming unfair, teachers body shielding their charges, whispering save us Lord, from your inventive toys, to which we think to ourselves, a whispery, silent amen. But here comes the Oklahoma tornadoes again, now four more dead in Houston, selecting the innocent, the brave, logic in any of this, none, nonsensical at its worst to which we think to ourselves, a whispery, silent amen. ~~~~~ The first I-am-alive cries of new born lungs, I have grandson, stain-less, perfect, recovering in the stainless steel delivery room, I hear the all babies in the neo-natal unit in unison pronouncing a Hebrew blessing, the Shecheyanu... (Blessed are You, Lord our God, Master of the universe, who has kept us alive and sustained us and has brought us to these special moments) to which we think to ourselves, a whispery, silent amen. These unspoken poem devotions of adoration of the sleeping chamber, that cannot be heard or answered for they're dreamt and perchance in the morning thankfully recalled, enough to be transcribed, to which we think to ourselves, a whispery, silent amen. Ineffable. A day, just another supplying an average day to the mass of average. Birth + Death = an average day. I thank a God for the birth of a newborn perfection On this day the newspapers report about silence of the God others pray to, could be the same deity, reporting that in his holy places, Jew spits upon Jew, Muslims usurp Christian lives, all for none, all forgetting in whose image they were created. to which we cannot say nor think anything. Ineffable. too sacred to be uttered, so instead of the paucity of these unuttered words, know that each tear in the reservoir of my eyes is my unspoken poem prayer., my amen. *Instead of answering amen out loud, wipe my eyes with your fingertips, silently.*
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74
The benefit of writing a poem of your own Whether the words are fact or fiction Will never be known You can write out your soul Hidden is the source of eloquence Admitting you to write upon the scroll Do the words come from experience Or just curious, wondering thoughts That are creating the beautiful cadence The truth may even be both Wondering at how things have changed Through the times of hardship and growth Of the meanings in each phrase What is to be perceived? Maybe that's the point of a transcribed maze
0
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 2:58 PM UTC
savanna
What May be Said
The benefit of writing a poem of your own Whether the words are fact or fiction Will never be known You can write out your soul Hidden is the source of eloquence Admitting you to write upon the scroll Do the words come from experience Or just curious, wondering thoughts That are creating the beautiful cadence The truth may even be both Wondering at how things have changed Through the times of hardship and growth Of the meanings in each phrase What is to be perceived? Maybe that's the point of a transcribed maze
Continue reading...
15
Been itchin' to step on the toes of some politicians, ditchin' the sneakers and hitchin' the anger, an armor of agression, clothes of choler, cursing the contempt-ridden regressions of the system. Edgy kids turn into violent adults, You have the right to remain violent, folks, 'long as you're getting something done and not lounging lazily, waiting for things to change by themselves, putting your drive on a shelf, hazily remembering what you actually believed - go **** right off and leave. Stick to your guns. I'm so sick of saints and nuns advocating for peace. Peace is a piece of giving up belief. "Friendly Negotiations" to talk you out of your convinction, turn convicts into martyrs and we'll see which side you really trust. How can you believe that peace will will solve problems when it just causes feelings to be pent up? People are competitive, wanting all that opulence in the posthumous, and peace is a puzzling problem, not a solution. Peace would be basic if human nature wasn't so acidic, mixed with the tension of a complex society, your peace is about to burn a hole in the walls of government. The only peace for me is death. Ideals are nothing without people fighting for them with every last breath. Go out and scream as long as you're making noise. Rip limits to shreds, and raise your ******* voice.
0
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 7:51 PM UTC
solemnmaya
rant - transcribed from paper
Been itchin' to step on the toes of some politicians, ditchin' the sneakers and hitchin' the anger, an armor of agression, clothes of choler, cursing the contempt-ridden regressions of the system. Edgy kids turn into violent adults, You have the right to remain violent, folks, 'long as you're getting something done and not lounging lazily, waiting for things to change by themselves, putting your drive on a shelf, hazily remembering what you actually believed - go **** right off and leave. Stick to your guns. I'm so sick of saints and nuns advocating for peace. Peace is a piece of giving up belief. "Friendly Negotiations" to talk you out of your convinction, turn convicts into martyrs and we'll see which side you really trust. How can you believe that peace will will solve problems when it just causes feelings to be pent up? People are competitive, wanting all that opulence in the posthumous, and peace is a puzzling problem, not a solution. Peace would be basic if human nature wasn't so acidic, mixed with the tension of a complex society, your peace is about to burn a hole in the walls of government. The only peace for me is death. Ideals are nothing without people fighting for them with every last breath. Go out and scream as long as you're making noise. Rip limits to shreds, and raise your ******* voice.
Continue reading...
19
Please, to whomever is holding this Don’t be concerned In angst-prime I am spurred from deceit Of hours spent under a fluorescent glow And transcribed by way of indigo Am I here to lament a fallen future that my producer is so keen on? Here to recite a limerick, cheekily rhyming and miraculously Drawing a purpose Or a haiku from an oddly Western mind Who has no more drank words than the bearer has put mind to metaphysics And finds terza rima obscene Latin is rotting and Greek in isolation I feel I have little purpose on this page Besides reaching out a naïve hand And wishing with all my might That someone will reach back
0
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 2:41 PM UTC
nikolakaberline
Ignore This
Please, to whomever is holding this Don’t be concerned In angst-prime I am spurred from deceit Of hours spent under a fluorescent glow And transcribed by way of indigo Am I here to lament a fallen future that my producer is so keen on? Here to recite a limerick, cheekily rhyming and miraculously Drawing a purpose Or a haiku from an oddly Western mind Who has no more drank words than the bearer has put mind to metaphysics And finds terza rima obscene Latin is rotting and Greek in isolation I feel I have little purpose on this page Besides reaching out a naïve hand And wishing with all my might That someone will reach back
Continue reading...
17
the hand that rubs my body down is soft: softly veined & of a powder-white translucence; transcribed from dover chalks to run down my chest, backs of my thighs. the hand that rubs my body down curves in sweet musics 'round my soul; the shrill but beaut'ous rasp of skin on skin -- of fingertips tracing strange poetry along my spine. the hand that rubs my body down holds in its palm a sacred oil; anointing me at midnight hour. muted bewitchments; burns the candle down to a nub. the hand that rubs my body down calls for christ in attics of sunday afternoon ...          crosses its fingers in spiteful fits of piousness. the hand that rubs my body down takes the shape of golden scarab; sets aflame my eyes of beaming azure & finds in me a willing servant. the hand that rubs my body down wakes me at dawn, partnered   with an extension of pinpointed warmth: the touch of her breath upon my cheek.
0
Mar 25, 2012
Mar 25, 2012 at 7:41 PM UTC
alloyddavies
the hand that rubs my body down
the hand that rubs my body down is soft: softly veined & of a powder-white translucence; transcribed from dover chalks to run down my chest, backs of my thighs. the hand that rubs my body down curves in sweet musics 'round my soul; the shrill but beaut'ous rasp of skin on skin -- of fingertips tracing strange poetry along my spine. the hand that rubs my body down holds in its palm a sacred oil; anointing me at midnight hour. muted bewitchments; burns the candle down to a nub. the hand that rubs my body down calls for christ in attics of sunday afternoon ...          crosses its fingers in spiteful fits of piousness. the hand that rubs my body down takes the shape of golden scarab; sets aflame my eyes of beaming azure & finds in me a willing servant. the hand that rubs my body down wakes me at dawn, partnered   with an extension of pinpointed warmth: the touch of her breath upon my cheek.
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29
A new page turns: it’s midnight and all I see are dreams and glimpses of her, the ink from her snake tattoo dark on her wrist like a passing shadow, lean fingers layered with gemstone rings, jade feline eyes swallow me and spit me out. I want to pull you in, and trace the ink written on your skin. It feels like stories to me, pages and pages of words transcribed along the flesh of Aphrodite. And, oh, to touch with is untouchable— the more I long for you, the more the venom of longing seeps into my untouched heart.
0
Jul 22, 2022
Jul 22, 2022 at 8:31 AM UTC
AveryLia
Snake Tattoo (Desire)
A new page turns: it’s midnight and all I see are dreams and glimpses of her, the ink from her snake tattoo dark on her wrist like a passing shadow, lean fingers layered with gemstone rings, jade feline eyes swallow me and spit me out. I want to pull you in, and trace the ink written on your skin. It feels like stories to me, pages and pages of words transcribed along the flesh of Aphrodite. And, oh, to touch with is untouchable— the more I long for you, the more the venom of longing seeps into my untouched heart.
Continue reading...
15
out loud unsaid words transcribed but never read and all the knots that came undone threads unraveled one by one lover family child of mine forgive my selfish ways my pride
0
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 10:49 AM UTC
denel-kessler
For all the things
out loud unsaid words transcribed but never read and all the knots that came undone threads unraveled one by one lover family child of mine forgive my selfish ways my pride
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12
Another poet wrote a poem today, and it was riveting. Each word, an intricately carved figure into an ornate pattern. Every syllable, singing the beloved song I never thought I'd hear again. My soul transcribed onto paper. I could feel my heart taking flight with each rhyme, soaring by the end of the poem. Of course, myself being a fellow poet, these thoughts remained in their place of origin, though unwillingly. How could I, a fellow poet, succumb to his talent? Did he recognize that glimmer in my eyes, the sparkle of childlike admiration? Or, upon looking into my eyes, could he see fire, the burning heat of my jealousy? I loathed him; how was it that he was so moved with talent, and I, a piteous poet who failed to move so much as a single soul? He took to poetry as a bird takes to the sky, so beautiful as to leave my stomach in knots and my head reeling. The strangest sensation came over me, when I read the other poet's work. A sensation of simultaneous beauty and disgust, a deep longing and loving, intertwined with the greatest disdain. I handed back the paper, conflicted by my own inner turmoil. These darkest of feelings remained where they first lie, never to be known by another poet.
0
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 8:53 AM UTC
ezra-schultz
Another Poet's Work
Another poet wrote a poem today, and it was riveting. Each word, an intricately carved figure into an ornate pattern. Every syllable, singing the beloved song I never thought I'd hear again. My soul transcribed onto paper. I could feel my heart taking flight with each rhyme, soaring by the end of the poem. Of course, myself being a fellow poet, these thoughts remained in their place of origin, though unwillingly. How could I, a fellow poet, succumb to his talent? Did he recognize that glimmer in my eyes, the sparkle of childlike admiration? Or, upon looking into my eyes, could he see fire, the burning heat of my jealousy? I loathed him; how was it that he was so moved with talent, and I, a piteous poet who failed to move so much as a single soul? He took to poetry as a bird takes to the sky, so beautiful as to leave my stomach in knots and my head reeling. The strangest sensation came over me, when I read the other poet's work. A sensation of simultaneous beauty and disgust, a deep longing and loving, intertwined with the greatest disdain. I handed back the paper, conflicted by my own inner turmoil. These darkest of feelings remained where they first lie, never to be known by another poet.
Continue reading...
28
Her beauty is that of a million diamonds glittering with perpetual gracefulness; each reflecting its own ray of light making brilliant patterns, She in herself an integral part; a masterpiece of God’s finest art, As His giant gentle hands molded her He knew exactly who she would be, She would be the one whose voice is so calm; calm enough to hear the whispers of angels from the depth of eternity, Whose smile blaze with sullen magic; enough to penetrate through the sandstones of the hills and mountains, She will be in her human self a miracle on the face of existence; whose beauty is indescribable in words; a joy to watch when she grazes the floor with her graceful walk, To see the eyes of men attendant and respectful; and the eyes of women upholding the hypothesis of her dignify honor when she talks, She will be that lady who moves with such flawless coherence of elegance and perpetual gracefulness that dead heart beat when she pass, Sending off a wave of unstinted pleasure to their inhumane face in amazement to her indefinable class, She will be that lady whose voice command respect; so much respect that no bird dares sing in the planet when she talks, In view of the universe being created around her immaculate gracefulness; the earth would rotate and dance in congruence to the luxuriant wave of her sweet voice, waxing strong in her ambiance such to believe in her ineffable gift of completeness; for her presence is bliss seasoned with perfection, She will be a dowager queen who radiates lucid rawness of orchestrated elegance; So much elegance that the angels gasp in the wake of her presence, same very angels would spread their wings in adoration so she could graze upon them, those same angels would seek and find solitude in the ambiance of her meticulous tenderness, wishing that the melody from her luxuriant voice could be turn into songs; they will forever dance to its tune of sublime perfection, wishing they could bask in the warmth of her smile; they will never forget to mask their face with it, wishing they could bath with the purity that springs from her immaculate eyes; they will remain forever sacred, wishing their names could be transcribed into the adoring letters of her name; for they shall forever bear the name HANNAH.
0
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 12:52 AM UTC
oguh-stanley
ANGEL IN HUMAN SKIN
Her beauty is that of a million diamonds glittering with perpetual gracefulness; each reflecting its own ray of light making brilliant patterns, She in herself an integral part; a masterpiece of God’s finest art, As His giant gentle hands molded her He knew exactly who she would be, She would be the one whose voice is so calm; calm enough to hear the whispers of angels from the depth of eternity, Whose smile blaze with sullen magic; enough to penetrate through the sandstones of the hills and mountains, She will be in her human self a miracle on the face of existence; whose beauty is indescribable in words; a joy to watch when she grazes the floor with her graceful walk, To see the eyes of men attendant and respectful; and the eyes of women upholding the hypothesis of her dignify honor when she talks, She will be that lady who moves with such flawless coherence of elegance and perpetual gracefulness that dead heart beat when she pass, Sending off a wave of unstinted pleasure to their inhumane face in amazement to her indefinable class, She will be that lady whose voice command respect; so much respect that no bird dares sing in the planet when she talks, In view of the universe being created around her immaculate gracefulness; the earth would rotate and dance in congruence to the luxuriant wave of her sweet voice, waxing strong in her ambiance such to believe in her ineffable gift of completeness; for her presence is bliss seasoned with perfection, She will be a dowager queen who radiates lucid rawness of orchestrated elegance; So much elegance that the angels gasp in the wake of her presence, same very angels would spread their wings in adoration so she could graze upon them, those same angels would seek and find solitude in the ambiance of her meticulous tenderness, wishing that the melody from her luxuriant voice could be turn into songs; they will forever dance to its tune of sublime perfection, wishing they could bask in the warmth of her smile; they will never forget to mask their face with it, wishing they could bath with the purity that springs from her immaculate eyes; they will remain forever sacred, wishing their names could be transcribed into the adoring letters of her name; for they shall forever bear the name HANNAH.
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19
It’s been two years since I first met You, and one year since I wrote to You. Oh, my, how You’ve made me grow. The toughest year I’ve seen has passed. I suffered for months and questioned a lot— I knew You had a plan, but I must follow through. On the darkest night I gathered the little I had and drank Your unblessed blood as I wrote. Unsure of what was said, I went to bed, and in the morning I found written gold. The words, though, were not my own— even more unknown was the character transcribed. The path was now set to leave the forest, the same unruly garden Your last blessed poet journeyed from successfully so many years ago, with my own Beatrice as my glorious guide. But my Beatrice has plans of her own, as both a Muse and developmental instigator. She holds my hand as we walk off cliffs knowing full well that I cannot fly. I tried to learn the follies of Lust and alone its intricacies eluded me; but she showed me in an instant  that what we want can wait, the good-willed Lust, the puzzle piece, and missing link. From here I can move on again, slowly recovering. Each new dream sets the stage of life’s chapters, to convey the ideas I want all to know, and to remember the power one wields with a pen.
0
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 12:31 PM UTC
sean-yessayan
Your Pen Has Written Me Here
It’s been two years since I first met You, and one year since I wrote to You. Oh, my, how You’ve made me grow. The toughest year I’ve seen has passed. I suffered for months and questioned a lot— I knew You had a plan, but I must follow through. On the darkest night I gathered the little I had and drank Your unblessed blood as I wrote. Unsure of what was said, I went to bed, and in the morning I found written gold. The words, though, were not my own— even more unknown was the character transcribed. The path was now set to leave the forest, the same unruly garden Your last blessed poet journeyed from successfully so many years ago, with my own Beatrice as my glorious guide. But my Beatrice has plans of her own, as both a Muse and developmental instigator. She holds my hand as we walk off cliffs knowing full well that I cannot fly. I tried to learn the follies of Lust and alone its intricacies eluded me; but she showed me in an instant  that what we want can wait, the good-willed Lust, the puzzle piece, and missing link. From here I can move on again, slowly recovering. Each new dream sets the stage of life’s chapters, to convey the ideas I want all to know, and to remember the power one wields with a pen.
Continue reading...
28