"unboxed" poems - Hello Poetry

weathered fingertips in sensual crescendo arouse blitzing keystrokes to commove wild Js and Zeds, Ks and Is too. harmony of the king's three-thousand acre jungle swallowing the stormy orange cyclical stew and tantamount to its feral cavities thrushes whet jagged spinal bones to split news of the no-rhythm, sambas of new religious canter infiltrates the **** cavernous walls This inner ear and greater sound knew to find sanctuary here. Lends its awesome craft to the next And next, and next, and next; beautiful unboxed melodies new unused sweet single-reeds threading that 20s centrifuge. Saxophone. Incantations unfolding Aloof in its ***** it unwraps The veil of green, a costume of black coffees Cigarette stained curtains exhumed to greet Thick plumes of albicant sinewy smoke At the heap of its glorious song Uniting the funnel of eardom to consecrate Bliss. Intrinsic and purple An irrational knot of Portuguese drum Met over by African toms and rattles A glue imbued into those unmistakable Chakras of this spell of mourning and reversed Names of starlight girls and their other'd selves These are the weapons of our new key strokes. And upon the cortex it reveals this lift anew Where death greeted me to intervene a place Where sound and silence meet, and new strikes Put my hands in halves. Pear-shaped birds pecking At the joints, and where bowl-shaped tones bring Their impeccable limbs to atone with auburn and cerise soils Beneath the high ridges of doom- the empowering backspace Does not exist, only new nothingnesses and their hooves Splashing into each step into the next, and the next, and the next, And the next.

0

Nov 6, 2015

Nov 6, 2015 at 7:10 AM UTC

martin-narrod

Carlos & The Stride of Horses

weathered fingertips in sensual crescendo arouse blitzing keystrokes to commove wild Js and Zeds, Ks and Is too. harmony of the king's three-thousand acre jungle swallowing the stormy orange cyclical stew and tantamount to its feral cavities thrushes whet jagged spinal bones to split news of the no-rhythm, sambas of new religious canter infiltrates the **** cavernous walls This inner ear and greater sound knew to find sanctuary here. Lends its awesome craft to the next And next, and next, and next; beautiful unboxed melodies new unused sweet single-reeds threading that 20s centrifuge. Saxophone. Incantations unfolding Aloof in its ***** it unwraps The veil of green, a costume of black coffees Cigarette stained curtains exhumed to greet Thick plumes of albicant sinewy smoke At the heap of its glorious song Uniting the funnel of eardom to consecrate Bliss. Intrinsic and purple An irrational knot of Portuguese drum Met over by African toms and rattles A glue imbued into those unmistakable Chakras of this spell of mourning and reversed Names of starlight girls and their other'd selves These are the weapons of our new key strokes. And upon the cortex it reveals this lift anew Where death greeted me to intervene a place Where sound and silence meet, and new strikes Put my hands in halves. Pear-shaped birds pecking At the joints, and where bowl-shaped tones bring Their impeccable limbs to atone with auburn and cerise soils Beneath the high ridges of doom- the empowering backspace Does not exist, only new nothingnesses and their hooves Splashing into each step into the next, and the next, and the next, And the next.

40

What's your code no passport connection four hundred years grandfather's father his father coming there first test DNA dry place immigrant country no code no almond milk and honey wet wipes gone eyes longing God in each of us what's your code which God fountain of mercy chopped tomatoes snug crates E5 what's your code he shot me in the head and legs smug nearly forgot thank you for calling the job centre your call is important stranger rich tea smooth no nuts unboxed leeks centre job wait what's your code hot sand busy thank you what's your code blue masks requirement professor of linguistics sir do you have Weetabix I Lithuania bless you Kuwait Syria Michigan Holloway Italy chef many interviews knives the knives needed all are welcome double yellow lines peas code your what's your necessary referral code appointment hurry sorry reindeer biscuit then joking we used to climb over and pick the blackberries no desk write the date and time sign what's your code Ukraine just wait for delivery..

0

Aug 21, 2022

Aug 21, 2022 at 9:22 AM UTC

simon-piesse

Foodbank

What's your code no passport connection four hundred years grandfather's father his father coming there first test DNA dry place immigrant country no code no almond milk and honey wet wipes gone eyes longing God in each of us what's your code which God fountain of mercy chopped tomatoes snug crates E5 what's your code he shot me in the head and legs smug nearly forgot thank you for calling the job centre your call is important stranger rich tea smooth no nuts unboxed leeks centre job wait what's your code hot sand busy thank you what's your code blue masks requirement professor of linguistics sir do you have Weetabix I Lithuania bless you Kuwait Syria Michigan Holloway Italy chef many interviews knives the knives needed all are welcome double yellow lines peas code your what's your necessary referral code appointment hurry sorry reindeer biscuit then joking we used to climb over and pick the blackberries no desk write the date and time sign what's your code Ukraine just wait for delivery..

1

The little vacuum wished it would Grow up and be like its cousin, the Bag less wonder, he could clean Places where others couldn,t dream Of, he was the three wheeled wonder, The little vacuum wanted to be like So much and more. He was taken out of his box twice a Week, his mother was the toaster his Dad was a fridge, she made him toasty, But he gave her the shivers, but in a Good way my family are like others for sure. Buttons pressed on and off, his hose was His nose all kinds of things he sniffed up From crumbs to socks. But the smell always Blocked his nose and he did sneeze, out Come the sock, dust and all, where once Their was clean carpet there was dust and Mouldy apple core. Was it the sock or the apple moldy with Colour of boggy green and rottern black, How long had that been inside rotting at His core. He felt not so good, every time Turned on he would blow a cloud of dust, Not ******* it back. He was down, his hose was not at its best, He felt like he,d ****** up a cactus, and The taste was like a soggy moggy or the Stinkest cheese mixed with a wet sock could You imagine that. His mother said you need to keep toasty, His dad gave him the cold shoulder and Said son man up, that was the end of that. So they took him out of the box, thoughts Went through the little vacuums switch, Would he end up like uncle larry. He was A proud drill but one day he could keep it In, it feel out they said a ***** was lose, that Was the end of that. Last I heard he was Recycled, his parts now used everywhere Scary is that. So I was lifted out, my nose off it came they Were washing it under the tap,They opened Me up to look inside, I felt air in my insides A weird feeling is that, a bag they took out Looking worse for wear, had that been inside Me since they had first unboxed me, gross they Said was it me I thought, but it was the bag in fact. They were gentle as they washed my insides, It tickled me I let out a giggle, they looked at Each other was that you, not me could have Been the cat. Refreshed I felt as they put my hose on I could breath once more and fresh scents, Not the smell of a wet moogy, how much Better was that. A new bag they put in me, Then closed the cap, I waited for the switch, Nothing happened, was I to be like uncle Larry, but they hadnt plugged me in how Silly is that. So a whoosh and a sound and I sounded great, I felt like I was new out the box, so proud was I, that I cleaned the whole house in record time In fact. So this is my tail of the little vacuum, Who was under the weather, but if he,d only Washed regularly but he cant be blamed for that. He was a happy and knew one day he would Grow up to be like his bagless cousin and Make his dad chill out be proud of him, his Mother she was already proud of what he did Around the house.

0

May 26, 2015

May 26, 2015 at 5:02 PM UTC

poetic-t

The Little Vacuum

The little vacuum wished it would Grow up and be like its cousin, the Bag less wonder, he could clean Places where others couldn,t dream Of, he was the three wheeled wonder, The little vacuum wanted to be like So much and more. He was taken out of his box twice a Week, his mother was the toaster his Dad was a fridge, she made him toasty, But he gave her the shivers, but in a Good way my family are like others for sure. Buttons pressed on and off, his hose was His nose all kinds of things he sniffed up From crumbs to socks. But the smell always Blocked his nose and he did sneeze, out Come the sock, dust and all, where once Their was clean carpet there was dust and Mouldy apple core. Was it the sock or the apple moldy with Colour of boggy green and rottern black, How long had that been inside rotting at His core. He felt not so good, every time Turned on he would blow a cloud of dust, Not ******* it back. He was down, his hose was not at its best, He felt like he,d ****** up a cactus, and The taste was like a soggy moggy or the Stinkest cheese mixed with a wet sock could You imagine that. His mother said you need to keep toasty, His dad gave him the cold shoulder and Said son man up, that was the end of that. So they took him out of the box, thoughts Went through the little vacuums switch, Would he end up like uncle larry. He was A proud drill but one day he could keep it In, it feel out they said a ***** was lose, that Was the end of that. Last I heard he was Recycled, his parts now used everywhere Scary is that. So I was lifted out, my nose off it came they Were washing it under the tap,They opened Me up to look inside, I felt air in my insides A weird feeling is that, a bag they took out Looking worse for wear, had that been inside Me since they had first unboxed me, gross they Said was it me I thought, but it was the bag in fact. They were gentle as they washed my insides, It tickled me I let out a giggle, they looked at Each other was that you, not me could have Been the cat. Refreshed I felt as they put my hose on I could breath once more and fresh scents, Not the smell of a wet moogy, how much Better was that. A new bag they put in me, Then closed the cap, I waited for the switch, Nothing happened, was I to be like uncle Larry, but they hadnt plugged me in how Silly is that. So a whoosh and a sound and I sounded great, I felt like I was new out the box, so proud was I, that I cleaned the whole house in record time In fact. So this is my tail of the little vacuum, Who was under the weather, but if he,d only Washed regularly but he cant be blamed for that. He was a happy and knew one day he would Grow up to be like his bagless cousin and Make his dad chill out be proud of him, his Mother she was already proud of what he did Around the house.

71

Running in circles round-and-round Impatiently waiting until the day you're found Why do we do this to ourselves? Pretending we're unboxed toys lining store shelves Waiting for the one that will open us up to add value to their life Until that day comes, we create and dwell on constant strife We need to let ourselves out of the box We must stop waiting to be invited to the others' flocks Arise from your prison, you won't regret this decision Already in Hell, how scary could it be outside of your cell? Seize the day, no soul can enjoy life in a truly lonesome way

0

Oct 20, 2014

Oct 20, 2014 at 1:22 AM UTC

ethan-titus

Seize the Day

Running in circles round-and-round Impatiently waiting until the day you're found Why do we do this to ourselves? Pretending we're unboxed toys lining store shelves Waiting for the one that will open us up to add value to their life Until that day comes, we create and dwell on constant strife We need to let ourselves out of the box We must stop waiting to be invited to the others' flocks Arise from your prison, you won't regret this decision Already in Hell, how scary could it be outside of your cell? Seize the day, no soul can enjoy life in a truly lonesome way

11

There are clouds hanging around my head And there is skin capturing my skull. I am boxed in. I can’t hear what you say when you speak. This is not a problem when you have your hat with the earmuffs on and are momentarily deaf. When you have your hat on neither of us can hear. Your hat has a pattern on it that looks like your skull And so when you have it on you are like a deaf half-skeleton. This is when I feel the most need for lip-language, Morse code, when I want to drum my messages out on your skin. I say more when I lock my brain out of my skull and leave my body to its own devices. You feel the bumps of earth trying to poke through the street I know this because you had your earmuff hat on again this morning when you went walking outside But even with your hearing gone, the street spoke to you, in bumps and ridges and edges and curbs and paint. You spoke its language back to it, feedback through The soles of your feet. You may be a little scraped up but you know the asphalt Like a closed loop, like Saturn’s rings Like the grooves of your favorite record. I’ve seen you when you sleep, floating two inches above your covers. Your skin becomes yarn and it unravels, it waves, it ties itself around your ceiling fan. Multi-colored yarn that twists and writhes and slides and knots itself until The wavelength steadies and you are a solid telephone-line-stretch of yarn Reaching straight across town. I touch my end of the yarn and I whisper to the other end. Then I sit in the dark humid air. I sit and I wait for the response. This is when the clouds lift. When the skin around my skull evaporates and I am left bare bones, unboxed. When this happens I hear the sound of Earth’s rotation I hear your telephone-wire skin I hear the closed loop I hear Saturn’s rings I hear the grooves of your favorite record I hear the bumps in the asphalt. I hear it all. I am begging you to break your silence.

0

Jun 24, 2014

Jun 24, 2014 at 3:26 AM UTC

callum-mckean

GROOVES

There are clouds hanging around my head And there is skin capturing my skull. I am boxed in. I can’t hear what you say when you speak. This is not a problem when you have your hat with the earmuffs on and are momentarily deaf. When you have your hat on neither of us can hear. Your hat has a pattern on it that looks like your skull And so when you have it on you are like a deaf half-skeleton. This is when I feel the most need for lip-language, Morse code, when I want to drum my messages out on your skin. I say more when I lock my brain out of my skull and leave my body to its own devices. You feel the bumps of earth trying to poke through the street I know this because you had your earmuff hat on again this morning when you went walking outside But even with your hearing gone, the street spoke to you, in bumps and ridges and edges and curbs and paint. You spoke its language back to it, feedback through The soles of your feet. You may be a little scraped up but you know the asphalt Like a closed loop, like Saturn’s rings Like the grooves of your favorite record. I’ve seen you when you sleep, floating two inches above your covers. Your skin becomes yarn and it unravels, it waves, it ties itself around your ceiling fan. Multi-colored yarn that twists and writhes and slides and knots itself until The wavelength steadies and you are a solid telephone-line-stretch of yarn Reaching straight across town. I touch my end of the yarn and I whisper to the other end. Then I sit in the dark humid air. I sit and I wait for the response. This is when the clouds lift. When the skin around my skull evaporates and I am left bare bones, unboxed. When this happens I hear the sound of Earth’s rotation I hear your telephone-wire skin I hear the closed loop I hear Saturn’s rings I hear the grooves of your favorite record I hear the bumps in the asphalt. I hear it all. I am begging you to break your silence.

29

He invades the bureau, census is terminal they say everyone died just like we wanted, mission success! like when Ali beat spinx cordial still morbid like quartered limbs delivered by horses still door nail coffins shut, dark as oil spills the grim reap creeps up to put hex on exxon, he sneezes blood then eats some sludge, freezes time, then moves on.

0

Oct 23, 2015

Oct 23, 2015 at 3:37 AM UTC

jay-alexander

The Unboxed Blob Spreading Conspiracies

He invades the bureau, census is terminal they say everyone died just like we wanted, mission success! like when Ali beat spinx cordial still morbid like quartered limbs delivered by horses still door nail coffins shut, dark as oil spills the grim reap creeps up to put hex on exxon, he sneezes blood then eats some sludge, freezes time, then moves on.

13

we are encouraged to be light but I beseech you to be heavy-- with your skin and hair and every bone, with your gossamery soul-- a soul that could sink ships, be heavy, you are much.

0

Mar 16, 2016

Mar 16, 2016 at 12:08 PM UTC

broooke

unboxed.

we are encouraged to be light but I beseech you to be heavy-- with your skin and hair and every bone, with your gossamery soul-- a soul that could sink ships, be heavy, you are much.

6

You stitched your name upon the black walls of my mind, casting shadows of folded hands and unmentionable fallacies over the wide open spaces in the whites of my eyes. and I cringed at your fingertips; wilting like the frost bitten crocuses in my neglected garden; receding into the relative safety of silence, soft as the echo of an empty room, bitter as a bird who has forgotten how to sing, enduring as the memories of your hands around my throat.

0

Apr 12, 2016

Apr 12, 2016 at 12:35 AM UTC

cali

allegory unboxed

You stitched your name upon the black walls of my mind, casting shadows of folded hands and unmentionable fallacies over the wide open spaces in the whites of my eyes. and I cringed at your fingertips; wilting like the frost bitten crocuses in my neglected garden; receding into the relative safety of silence, soft as the echo of an empty room, bitter as a bird who has forgotten how to sing, enduring as the memories of your hands around my throat.

25

an awful poem is someone that I see on the subway reading and I immediately understand summer wind that doesn't need to be questioned an item unboxed and used for exactly what it needed to do walking directly from home to work and back passing the fountain not throwing a penny in not seeing the child get it's shoelace caught on the railroad platform in Barcelona and getting hit by the train putting a dog to sleep and leaving the room crying

0

Mar 4, 2016

Mar 4, 2016 at 1:42 AM UTC

z-m-scholl

an awfully ok poem

an awful poem is someone that I see on the subway reading and I immediately understand summer wind that doesn't need to be questioned an item unboxed and used for exactly what it needed to do walking directly from home to work and back passing the fountain not throwing a penny in not seeing the child get it's shoelace caught on the railroad platform in Barcelona and getting hit by the train putting a dog to sleep and leaving the room crying

10

I Just Unboxed A Heartbreak...

0

Dec 26, 2022

Dec 26, 2022 at 3:51 PM UTC

Josh_Cooper

Boxing Day!

I Just Unboxed A Heartbreak...

1

The Chamber I dwell, a personal hell The anger befell, unmistakable bell In this boxed room; boxes off reality In this unboxed mind, unboxes calamity Peril circulates Terror Percolates Doors close, possibilites fold As these ideas sit and mold

0

Nov 14, 2017

Nov 14, 2017 at 12:06 PM UTC

joofarimathea

Old Gold

The Chamber I dwell, a personal hell The anger befell, unmistakable bell In this boxed room; boxes off reality In this unboxed mind, unboxes calamity Peril circulates Terror Percolates Doors close, possibilites fold As these ideas sit and mold

8