"triskaidekaphobia" poems

Poetry We constantly deal with poetry which puts us in a soporific state, we sit here apathetic to the cause of studying this beautiful art- but Poetry’s breath Ad Nauseum about love and laments is bad for a date, oblivious to the images, while attempting to turn the key we begin to depart. Yet the door haunts us, novels, plays, yet poetry is the apex, of this ethereal mystery within the maelstrom that is our mind, alas this frustration is focused upon the conundrum of poetry being complex, is it just a condensed novel, this Herculean Task of understanding the undefined. There are many who deem poetry obsolete but tis rather far from its nadir, now begins the unequivocally splendid power of the imagination- hidden by poetry from the vituperative invader, who’ve made an egregious mistake in deeming poetry a partial differential equation. Imagination, oh what a beauty long forgotten in the age of reason- we’ve been given Hobson’s choice, force fed Occam’s razor, given epitome- yet good ol’ imagination persist like an excretion, from the eyes of the true daughter of Time, Science’s proficiency. People assume poetry is the modern day Gordian’s Knot- well- let us assume this is Utopia, were Imagination runs wild- as she watches her forest, a black cat surreptitiously passes a man in thought, startled because it is Friday the thirteenth his Triskaidekaphobia acts up- this is all rather mild- Just the tip of the iceberg was touched upon, just the tip- Poetry and humanity is an oleaginous affair we mix but do not blend, Or should we, poems are nothing more than what we put in, as if to dip- just our toes, before we plunge head first into poems so as to apprehend. Poetry is the Sun, as you are the flowers shined upon, given warmth of knowledge and power if you are to just reach. Not to let Poetry in as if to catch on- give it back in your own form of speech. Through your own imagination feed poetry, It hungers for your reality, though not reality- procrastinate not- hopefully, for your conceptions are your sanity. Or rather is fancy your faculty- decide, it will affect your observation of poetry forevermore. It will excite- whether you believe it to or not- you will love or abhor. Poetry is not arduous - just do not assume there is a secret door. In fact poetry is quite virtuous- Seek only what you can give poetry, I do implore.

0

Oct 29, 2014

Oct 29, 2014 at 8:51 AM UTC

luis-miguel-martinez-rivera

Poetry

Poetry We constantly deal with poetry which puts us in a soporific state, we sit here apathetic to the cause of studying this beautiful art- but Poetry’s breath Ad Nauseum about love and laments is bad for a date, oblivious to the images, while attempting to turn the key we begin to depart. Yet the door haunts us, novels, plays, yet poetry is the apex, of this ethereal mystery within the maelstrom that is our mind, alas this frustration is focused upon the conundrum of poetry being complex, is it just a condensed novel, this Herculean Task of understanding the undefined. There are many who deem poetry obsolete but tis rather far from its nadir, now begins the unequivocally splendid power of the imagination- hidden by poetry from the vituperative invader, who’ve made an egregious mistake in deeming poetry a partial differential equation. Imagination, oh what a beauty long forgotten in the age of reason- we’ve been given Hobson’s choice, force fed Occam’s razor, given epitome- yet good ol’ imagination persist like an excretion, from the eyes of the true daughter of Time, Science’s proficiency. People assume poetry is the modern day Gordian’s Knot- well- let us assume this is Utopia, were Imagination runs wild- as she watches her forest, a black cat surreptitiously passes a man in thought, startled because it is Friday the thirteenth his Triskaidekaphobia acts up- this is all rather mild- Just the tip of the iceberg was touched upon, just the tip- Poetry and humanity is an oleaginous affair we mix but do not blend, Or should we, poems are nothing more than what we put in, as if to dip- just our toes, before we plunge head first into poems so as to apprehend. Poetry is the Sun, as you are the flowers shined upon, given warmth of knowledge and power if you are to just reach. Not to let Poetry in as if to catch on- give it back in your own form of speech. Through your own imagination feed poetry, It hungers for your reality, though not reality- procrastinate not- hopefully, for your conceptions are your sanity. Or rather is fancy your faculty- decide, it will affect your observation of poetry forevermore. It will excite- whether you believe it to or not- you will love or abhor. Poetry is not arduous - just do not assume there is a secret door. In fact poetry is quite virtuous- Seek only what you can give poetry, I do implore.

41

I would hate to trigger your triskaidekaphobia, So please don't count these words

0

Nov 20, 2017

Nov 20, 2017 at 4:12 AM UTC

Daddyg73

Triskaidekaphobia

I would hate to trigger your triskaidekaphobia, So please don't count these words

4

A Rhyming Acrostic. Thirteen on a Friday is a day some hate, Rendering believers to an anxious state. I’m not going outside, for it’s an evil day, Say those who sincerely think this way. Know something untoward will take place, And I do not intend to show my face, In case a catastrophic event does occur! Devotees of superstitions always prefer Exercising caution on this auspicious day. Keeping out of sight, is their chosen way At times when Friday and Thirteen coincide, People with abnormal fears frequently decide, Having such strong beliefs, they cannot explain, Often finds them subject to humourous disdain! But remaining silently at home, and out of sight, Is a triskaidekaphobic’s given right! Rhymer. Friday July 13th, 2018. Make sure you take your Garlic with you today!

0

Jul 13, 2018

Jul 13, 2018 at 6:49 AM UTC

denis-barter

Triskaidekaphobia.

A Rhyming Acrostic. Thirteen on a Friday is a day some hate, Rendering believers to an anxious state. I’m not going outside, for it’s an evil day, Say those who sincerely think this way. Know something untoward will take place, And I do not intend to show my face, In case a catastrophic event does occur! Devotees of superstitions always prefer Exercising caution on this auspicious day. Keeping out of sight, is their chosen way At times when Friday and Thirteen coincide, People with abnormal fears frequently decide, Having such strong beliefs, they cannot explain, Often finds them subject to humourous disdain! But remaining silently at home, and out of sight, Is a triskaidekaphobic’s given right! Rhymer. Friday July 13th, 2018. Make sure you take your Garlic with you today!

19

Most of my Lix spittle existence found me figuratively (primarily academically) adrift, and malfunctioning blinker analogous to a boat with out an ankh (caws away) aimlessly bobbing - and drowning akin to a besotted drinker just out of rest to be rescued by Mister Rinker sea ming lee without any hook, line and sinker despite being gifted with an above average thinker from without, where two myopic ocular orbs did winker. All thru academia just barely passing grades metaphorically suffered from anemia, and at my nadir, thy prepubescent psyche plummeted lovely bones into grave state, sans anorexia minus bulimia mental health also linkedin shot thru through with healthy dose of dysthymia cap (tinned em man hint mettle) kept awake with insomnia peppering cerebral cortex with monomania buzzfeed ding somnambulant zombified condition with a burning desire toward pyromania nsync with unmanageable raging (red dee and bull lush) testosterone spawning satyromania the above particularly accentuated, and cresting with accursed triskaidekaphobia most agonizing, when orbitz around Earth demarcated ten plus on a Friday the thirteenth, hence death be not proud sought after utopia pleading, longing, and hooping if I Willoughby able to sprinkle cremated ashes across Xenia.

0

Oct 22, 2018

Oct 22, 2018 at 11:36 AM UTC

matthew-scott-harris2p

On Lacking Sticktoitiveness

Most of my Lix spittle existence found me figuratively (primarily academically) adrift, and malfunctioning blinker analogous to a boat with out an ankh (caws away) aimlessly bobbing - and drowning akin to a besotted drinker just out of rest to be rescued by Mister Rinker sea ming lee without any hook, line and sinker despite being gifted with an above average thinker from without, where two myopic ocular orbs did winker. All thru academia just barely passing grades metaphorically suffered from anemia, and at my nadir, thy prepubescent psyche plummeted lovely bones into grave state, sans anorexia minus bulimia mental health also linkedin shot thru through with healthy dose of dysthymia cap (tinned em man hint mettle) kept awake with insomnia peppering cerebral cortex with monomania buzzfeed ding somnambulant zombified condition with a burning desire toward pyromania nsync with unmanageable raging (red dee and bull lush) testosterone spawning satyromania the above particularly accentuated, and cresting with accursed triskaidekaphobia most agonizing, when orbitz around Earth demarcated ten plus on a Friday the thirteenth, hence death be not proud sought after utopia pleading, longing, and hooping if I Willoughby able to sprinkle cremated ashes across Xenia.

56