"unmoist" poems - Hello Poetry

Without speech, Former lovers meet, At a party and are reintroduced To themselves. In that mute Moment, eyes carry words down To hands that are unwishing, Unmoved to join, yet touch Haphazardly in the cacophony Of dark party. The former lovers Lips are locked in air, unmoist, Their hearts beat to the tuneless Drone of old music and stale bread, Their bodies fuddle in a tortuous groove, At the reception they could not get out Of attending. In a split second, they pray, It will be unquick, yet soon, just over.

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Jun 21, 2015

Jun 21, 2015 at 8:10 PM UTC

ormond

Old Lovers Greeting

Without speech, Former lovers meet, At a party and are reintroduced To themselves. In that mute Moment, eyes carry words down To hands that are unwishing, Unmoved to join, yet touch Haphazardly in the cacophony Of dark party. The former lovers Lips are locked in air, unmoist, Their hearts beat to the tuneless Drone of old music and stale bread, Their bodies fuddle in a tortuous groove, At the reception they could not get out Of attending. In a split second, they pray, It will be unquick, yet soon, just over.

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Without speech, Former lovers meet, At a party and are reintroduced To themselves. In that mute Moment, eyes carry words down To hands that are unwishing, Unmoved to join, yet touch Haphazardly in the cacophony Of dark party. The former lovers Lips are locked in air, unmoist, Their hearts beat to the tuneless Drone of old music and stale bread, Their bodies fuddle in a tortuous groove, At the reception they could not get out Of attending. In a split second, they pray, It will be unquick, yet soon, just over.

0

May 13, 2016

May 13, 2016 at 4:57 PM UTC

ormond

Old Lovers Greeting

Without speech, Former lovers meet, At a party and are reintroduced To themselves. In that mute Moment, eyes carry words down To hands that are unwishing, Unmoved to join, yet touch Haphazardly in the cacophony Of dark party. The former lovers Lips are locked in air, unmoist, Their hearts beat to the tuneless Drone of old music and stale bread, Their bodies fuddle in a tortuous groove, At the reception they could not get out Of attending. In a split second, they pray, It will be unquick, yet soon, just over.

16

. Without speech, Former lovers meet, At a party and are reintroduced To themselves. In that mute Moment, eyes carry words down To hands that are unwishing, Unmoved to join, yet touch Haphazardly in the cacophony Of dark party. The former lovers Lips are locked in air, unmoist, Their hearts beat to the tuneless Drone of old music and stale bread, Their bodies fuddle in a tortuous groove, At the reception they could not get out Of attending. In a split second, they pray, It will be unquick, yet soon, just over.

0

Dec 4, 2015

Dec 4, 2015 at 2:41 PM UTC

ormond

Old Lovers Greeting

. Without speech, Former lovers meet, At a party and are reintroduced To themselves. In that mute Moment, eyes carry words down To hands that are unwishing, Unmoved to join, yet touch Haphazardly in the cacophony Of dark party. The former lovers Lips are locked in air, unmoist, Their hearts beat to the tuneless Drone of old music and stale bread, Their bodies fuddle in a tortuous groove, At the reception they could not get out Of attending. In a split second, they pray, It will be unquick, yet soon, just over.

17

Unmoist is his tongue. Sahara, Sahara, do you recall the things he's done? Thy will testitamate of all the wrong songs sung. Blind fun; unknowingly following the fallen one. Feet bare, sand underneath exposed to the heat. The vultures circle, closer they creep. They see only what you choose to be...flesh. -They will pick you like the rest- Know you shrivel by choice, free is your will. Why must you stand still, afraid to climb the sand hill? Nonexistent mirages in the distance calling in persistence, offering guiltless luxuries; or so they say. Be blind or open your eyes, look up, where the king of kings resides. The sun is at its highest, where no shadow can hide. No they don't dare try, for his father also stands beside. Shining truth on their lies.

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Jun 3, 2015

Jun 3, 2015 at 10:35 PM UTC

joel-elizondo

Desert

Unmoist is his tongue. Sahara, Sahara, do you recall the things he's done? Thy will testitamate of all the wrong songs sung. Blind fun; unknowingly following the fallen one. Feet bare, sand underneath exposed to the heat. The vultures circle, closer they creep. They see only what you choose to be...flesh. -They will pick you like the rest- Know you shrivel by choice, free is your will. Why must you stand still, afraid to climb the sand hill? Nonexistent mirages in the distance calling in persistence, offering guiltless luxuries; or so they say. Be blind or open your eyes, look up, where the king of kings resides. The sun is at its highest, where no shadow can hide. No they don't dare try, for his father also stands beside. Shining truth on their lies.

14

Door slam wakeup; A half-sighing unmoist Philadelphia sinus sniff Announces a guy in a red, White and blue seersucker Suit who parks on our block Every 6 a.m. to walk to work. He likes a dumb bumper joke — his magnet loop which says Support Lap Dancing. New today Is a gag half hockey puck glued To his Ford 150 rear window Amid a decal of spiderwork Cracks radiating across the Shadowy defroster strips As if the puck's halfway Through the glass — But isn't.

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Jul 19, 2018

Jul 19, 2018 at 10:19 PM UTC

hiraethpoetry

Metaphor for Something, or Solving the Credit Crunch

Door slam wakeup; A half-sighing unmoist Philadelphia sinus sniff Announces a guy in a red, White and blue seersucker Suit who parks on our block Every 6 a.m. to walk to work. He likes a dumb bumper joke — his magnet loop which says Support Lap Dancing. New today Is a gag half hockey puck glued To his Ford 150 rear window Amid a decal of spiderwork Cracks radiating across the Shadowy defroster strips As if the puck's halfway Through the glass — But isn't.

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