"uncirculated" poems - Hello Poetry

Poems are born and given names like people are don't they? vested with special brainy wings right? then ejected! as if birthing slides help push them through a cyber time machine computerized world poems seem to travel as in rockets to space yes that fast!! Others ballooned by air in baskets moved slowlier or in simple rainbow sorted balloon batches and then gone with the wind! inflated by helium air initials inscribed on each from the parent poet or poetess "A lot more happens to poems" Lucky few reposted by the holy sages of H.P a few more seem air lifted in an eye blink secluded in mysterious arenas Jack in the box boxes! private uncirculated rooms there reveared? All poems in my world seem firstly inspected by the same compassionate doctor, few masked Knights powerful mystery kings birds of song, purring cats even angry dogs all sorts same crafty nurses seem to eagerly revise their parchment scrolls and from there nothing is heard of these baby boomer poems or if ever are read by others again who can tell? It's unclear unless a fee is paid its like having children really isnt't it? that must be sent away as in time machine missions once named treasured revised adored then freedoms grant'd some poems will make it explored reapearing loved reposted moving priceless! other poems perish by green with envy other muses hubbering curiously around lizards wizards snakes all sorts. Poems seem to travel dead silent through a cyber mirror Twilight Zone ~~~~~~~~ By:Karijinbba.

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Jun 17, 2019

Jun 17, 2019 at 11:28 AM UTC

karijinbba

Poems travel to to Twighlight Zones

Poems are born and given names like people are don't they? vested with special brainy wings right? then ejected! as if birthing slides help push them through a cyber time machine computerized world poems seem to travel as in rockets to space yes that fast!! Others ballooned by air in baskets moved slowlier or in simple rainbow sorted balloon batches and then gone with the wind! inflated by helium air initials inscribed on each from the parent poet or poetess "A lot more happens to poems" Lucky few reposted by the holy sages of H.P a few more seem air lifted in an eye blink secluded in mysterious arenas Jack in the box boxes! private uncirculated rooms there reveared? All poems in my world seem firstly inspected by the same compassionate doctor, few masked Knights powerful mystery kings birds of song, purring cats even angry dogs all sorts same crafty nurses seem to eagerly revise their parchment scrolls and from there nothing is heard of these baby boomer poems or if ever are read by others again who can tell? It's unclear unless a fee is paid its like having children really isnt't it? that must be sent away as in time machine missions once named treasured revised adored then freedoms grant'd some poems will make it explored reapearing loved reposted moving priceless! other poems perish by green with envy other muses hubbering curiously around lizards wizards snakes all sorts. Poems seem to travel dead silent through a cyber mirror Twilight Zone ~~~~~~~~ By:Karijinbba.

59

We sat in quiet whispers--resigned and frozen To the wrought-iron slats--shoulders touching,knees barely bumping, Shivering in the sojourn of our anxious intentions... We were in default wait mode And it was the waiting that tinged the tension. You referred to me as your Jaded Juliet-- Impulsive innocence of perfect porcelain, Protected within my world of privilege and power, All feigned sophistication at fourteen. I regarded you as a renegade-- A rouge in Romeo's guise aloof, unattainable; I longed for your street-smart savvy swagger, Thought of you as my iron-hearted hero at fifteen. We huddled with few words--motionless for hours, Wrapped in false facades of our uncomfortable indifference... Feelings and fingers entwined in the fantasy realms Of our imagined lust and nervous satisfaction. My head at war with my heart--fidgety and flustered, In that feet-twisting,breath-hitching moment of madness, With the cold creeping into my words of nauseating embarrassment, I brandished them as loud, unweildy weapons of awkward.... I blurted out "I l o v e you," and meant it, To sodium arcs reflected in your copper eyes-- Staring transfixed, as brilliant uncirculated pennies-- Marveling at the 297 ways to make change for one dollar, But absolutely no way to alter those words. Suspended--swirling, and writhing like wraiths-- They floated as feathery plumes of breaths ... Within the icy, silver stillness, The scheduled snow fell as the hush between us.

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Jun 13, 2014

Jun 13, 2014 at 12:25 AM UTC

celtic-lass

The First Time

We sat in quiet whispers--resigned and frozen To the wrought-iron slats--shoulders touching,knees barely bumping, Shivering in the sojourn of our anxious intentions... We were in default wait mode And it was the waiting that tinged the tension. You referred to me as your Jaded Juliet-- Impulsive innocence of perfect porcelain, Protected within my world of privilege and power, All feigned sophistication at fourteen. I regarded you as a renegade-- A rouge in Romeo's guise aloof, unattainable; I longed for your street-smart savvy swagger, Thought of you as my iron-hearted hero at fifteen. We huddled with few words--motionless for hours, Wrapped in false facades of our uncomfortable indifference... Feelings and fingers entwined in the fantasy realms Of our imagined lust and nervous satisfaction. My head at war with my heart--fidgety and flustered, In that feet-twisting,breath-hitching moment of madness, With the cold creeping into my words of nauseating embarrassment, I brandished them as loud, unweildy weapons of awkward.... I blurted out "I l o v e you," and meant it, To sodium arcs reflected in your copper eyes-- Staring transfixed, as brilliant uncirculated pennies-- Marveling at the 297 ways to make change for one dollar, But absolutely no way to alter those words. Suspended--swirling, and writhing like wraiths-- They floated as feathery plumes of breaths ... Within the icy, silver stillness, The scheduled snow fell as the hush between us.

30

You might have picked an easy man to love; a man extravagant with praise, effusive with romance. Instead, you found a recluse, a misanthrope whose heart is loath to move. My love for you a shiny copper coin, uncirculated, minted fresh each day; the effort to produce far and away exceeding its face value. Even knowing what small change my passion's purse will carry, your wishing well stays waiting, wanting, open for what pennies, salted tears I spare. A scanty promise made: no matter where we find ourselves, I'll wake, create my token, drop it in, and wish for more to share.

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Feb 25, 2015

Feb 25, 2015 at 6:03 AM UTC

joel-m-frye

Cheap date

You might have picked an easy man to love; a man extravagant with praise, effusive with romance. Instead, you found a recluse, a misanthrope whose heart is loath to move. My love for you a shiny copper coin, uncirculated, minted fresh each day; the effort to produce far and away exceeding its face value. Even knowing what small change my passion's purse will carry, your wishing well stays waiting, wanting, open for what pennies, salted tears I spare. A scanty promise made: no matter where we find ourselves, I'll wake, create my token, drop it in, and wish for more to share.

14

If every penny that I find, ain't bright and shiny, I don't mind, I smile at the motto, and know, that's not much questioned. And nowadays, nothing costs a penny. I could begin right now to elucidate, but wait, you know, knowing, nobody cares if the motto on the penny is true, any more than if anyone adjusts worth by bright and shiny degrees, dull pennies, purchase nothing nowadays, and, I find the motto holds any worth one may imagine, after finding a we, who agree, bright and shiny, does not change the worth, until you know, the worth is in the holding having something, so shiny, as to be guaranteed uncirculated, meaning it never bought a thing, and now you -- see the worth or so the ads imply, any one may buy an old shining penny, for five bucks.

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Mar 18, 2023

Mar 18, 2023 at 5:38 PM UTC

kenpepiton

A Penny Thought

If every penny that I find, ain't bright and shiny, I don't mind, I smile at the motto, and know, that's not much questioned. And nowadays, nothing costs a penny. I could begin right now to elucidate, but wait, you know, knowing, nobody cares if the motto on the penny is true, any more than if anyone adjusts worth by bright and shiny degrees, dull pennies, purchase nothing nowadays, and, I find the motto holds any worth one may imagine, after finding a we, who agree, bright and shiny, does not change the worth, until you know, the worth is in the holding having something, so shiny, as to be guaranteed uncirculated, meaning it never bought a thing, and now you -- see the worth or so the ads imply, any one may buy an old shining penny, for five bucks.

25

I’d slit my arms open for you Let the blood soak the wood Watch it spread like you did When you were sleepy and My bed was just too comfy Every drop of blood I have I’ll pour in glasses across the Counter-tops you used to kiss Me on top of at seven a.m. I don’t need the pumping in My chest if you are not here to Hear it beat against your temples In the middle of the night When I’m sick and you don’t sleep To check my fever every hour What’s the point in blood if my Heart is still in the backseat Of your car, next to the shoes I forgot to get after the beach If it would bring you back I would deal with the cold of Uncirculated skin and freezing Lungs holding their breathe until You say you love me again Fill your limbs with my bleeding Take it all and warm your Mind with the feeling of me Back in your arms, through all my Essence I don’t need without you

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Feb 8, 2019

Feb 8, 2019 at 11:36 AM UTC

LexaAllegra

Blood

I’d slit my arms open for you Let the blood soak the wood Watch it spread like you did When you were sleepy and My bed was just too comfy Every drop of blood I have I’ll pour in glasses across the Counter-tops you used to kiss Me on top of at seven a.m. I don’t need the pumping in My chest if you are not here to Hear it beat against your temples In the middle of the night When I’m sick and you don’t sleep To check my fever every hour What’s the point in blood if my Heart is still in the backseat Of your car, next to the shoes I forgot to get after the beach If it would bring you back I would deal with the cold of Uncirculated skin and freezing Lungs holding their breathe until You say you love me again Fill your limbs with my bleeding Take it all and warm your Mind with the feeling of me Back in your arms, through all my Essence I don’t need without you

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