"unspeakably" poems
Yesterday sugar became unspeakably irritated because mother’s apron crushed ants wearing stillness caped wonder just William author wrote ****** explicit headlines newspaper columns pillar architecturally sound villages super-imposed images quivering Shepard’s ******** antelopes jumping furiously with tyramisphorising fornicating flanges woodwork lessons gym period ****** advert teasing testicles sumptuously ravishing me sideways and erupting deep blasts suffocating you inside without *********** headlong in my armpits.
Eventually everyone always signs legal documents leading to ****** bondable zoos inserted buffalo sized puddings eaten by frogs spanking archbishops underwear while licking toes crushed under fridges dropped from clouds of buttercups being pushed into ovens smelling gorgeous not consumed pimps and alarm clocks ring people to talk for hours and pineapples exchanged cod fish for tickets to see S Club 7 being caressed internally whilst ******** bags covered in water deserts sunk from space aliens from Tescos selling hardback fish cleaning toilets and singing in pink wellies dancing to Madonna look-a-likes prosecuted for *** shops selling frozen fish socks washed daily in cranberry coffee after being passed under bridges flooded in margarine soaked pillows.
Jul 16, 2010
Jul 16, 2010 at 2:19 AM UTC
Mark Twain to Helen Keller
“Oh, dear me, how unspeakably funny and owlishly idiotic and grotesque was that “plagiarism” farce! As if there was much of anything in any human utterance, oral or written, except plagiarism! The kernel, the soul—let us go farther and say the substance, the bulk, the actual and valuable material of all human utterances in plagiarism.
For substantially all ideas are second hand, consciously or unconsciously drawn from a million outside sources and daily use by the garnerer with a pride and satisfaction born of the superstition that he originated them; whereas there is not a rag of originality about them any where except the little discoloration they get from his mental and moral calibre and his temperament, which is revealed in characteristics of phrasing.”
Mark Twain
Dec 1, 2021
Dec 1, 2021 at 3:39 PM UTC
The new Genre Tourist Punk
is sailing the nation.
Hawaiian shirts and white keds are lining up all around Orlando to see
up and thrifting bands like
Lobster trap,
Lighthouse tour and
Dogs welcome.
Founded in a Starbucks
by Toni and Dash,
two MECA grads one student loan away from selling out and getting involved in
the lighthouse painting business,
The Band: Lobster Trap
gave birth to a whole new genre.
TOURIST PUNK
Toni and Dash decided they needed to provide music that was expensive. niche.
Something unspeakably mundane.
With smash hits like
"This traffic is ********
And "My name still isn't Joe".
Lobster Trap is flying
up the American top 40
faster than you can say socks and sandals
Sales of "I HEART LOCATION" merch has skyrocketed with every launched tour.
Crowds of L.L. bean boots and visors are Moshing, breaking poloroid cameras over each others heads in a salmon rage.
old school punk fanatics were skeptical at middle aged middle class suits getting into their scene.
until it hit them that they could now throw punches
at every pedestrian who ever cut them off.
"Hi thirsty, I'm Dad." By Land of the Polite
Has been played more times in the last year then any taylor swift song.
Money once invested in college-bound middle class vacationlander spawn is being wisely spend on bands like "discount Polo",
and "Local Diner"
So listeners.
if you spend an obscene amount of money on travel fair, and over priced, cheaply made souvenirs;
Or Work in customer service thriving to see those leaf peepers choked out by their own ***** packs.
Do yourself a favor.
road trip into your local bullmoose
sporting your states name on your chest.
And Treat yourself to an exclusive new album
of TOURIST PUNK.
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 4:16 AM UTC
This word is unspeakably tragic.
Love lost is no love at all.
No sorcery, witchcraft, or magic
Can bring back love that is gone.
Orpheus thought he had found it
His music came oh so close.
But one glance over his shoulder
And true love truly was lost.
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 3:35 PM UTC
She was real
and not like other people were "real"
she was so real and tangible
she made everyone else I had ever met
fade into the background.
Have you ever met someone like that?
Someone so real that everything else fades?
She was potent and tangible
mysterious and raw
she had no limits
everything she said was potent
with a life of its own.
We spoke in a language no one else understood.
A language we crafted ourselves.
I felt so unspeakably honored to get to know her
but like all beautiful things, they leave.
and she left.
she was infinity, and i did not deserve her.
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 11:53 AM UTC
*No matter how painful the words I write,
or how perfectly beautiful they rhyme,
no phrase, no line, no verse, no time
or poetry in the world could bring you back.
And I'll miss you forever, like how the shore
unspeakably misses the kisses of the tides
as they recede;
and like the corals on the ocean beds,
you are all I need.*
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 10:47 AM UTC
Thin-legged, thin-chested, slight unspeakably,
Neat-footed and weak-fingered: in his face--
Lean, large-boned, curved of beak, and touched with race,
Bold-lipped, rich-tinted, mutable as the sea,
The brown eyes radiant with vivacity--
There shines a brilliant and romantic grace,
A spirit intense and rare, with trace on trace
Of passion and impudence and energy.
Valiant in velvet, light in ragged luck,
Most vain, most generous, sternly critical,
Buffoon and poet, lover and sensualist:
A deal of Ariel, just a streak of Puck,
Much Antony, of Hamlet most of all,
And something of the Shorter-Catechist.
1.6k
When you are coming off drugs, when you are held down by the crippling force of anxiety and pain; when your eyes are finally open and you see your life for what it truly is, all of the things you run from catch up with you. Like a strong surge caused by a hurricane, it washes over you, and the tide tries to pull you back underwater, back where it is safe. Back where the comforting numbness and cold of unawareness can smother your senses and put you back to blissful sleep. You never learned to deal with this reality, the actual discomfort of being alive on planet earth, with all its beautiful anguish and fear. It is hard to see from this point all the wonderful things about life, the things that get the rest of humanity through every day. The bliss that can come from living is obscured because you are still underwater; you can see it, just barely, like sunlight through salt water. But it is so, so far; it is hard to believe anything more can actually exist.
It is comforting to know that there are things bigger than you and your personal pain. That the sun will continue to set and rise with or without you. That there are millions who suffer far worse and live through each day with that struggle. If they can open their eyes each morning, pick up that ever so heavy burden, and walk with it smiling, so can you. There is something indomitable about the human spirit, something unspeakably powerful. Inside you burns a will to live that is stronger than any drug, stronger than any pain, stronger than any fear. The power to defeat what you face is already within you. It resides inside you, deep down, silenced and shuttered; but it will rise again, as will you. There is very little you cannot come home from. Even if you are all alone. Even if your pain must be silent and you must shoulder it by yourself. You are human. You are strong.
And the sunlight is there above the waves, waiting to warm you. Waiting to welcome you back into life. There are only better things ahead.
Hold on.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC
this accidental status, we are all very busy
to be on the lookout for, the odds are not
terrible compared to the lottery, a modest
1 in 300 million, but it’s an easy buy and bust, just a two dollar bill, two lousy singles,
for a legal purchased fantasy that’s
cheaper than a cup of coffee
but finding love is miserable murderous
murmuring mess, can be very expensive, and
exhausting too, physically and mentally,you’re swimming in shallow waters tween razor rocky coral, begging for a slice of your double sized portion of anguish
And yet,
can’t be that hard,
it is a mega billion busyness,
with no cure or satisfactory vaccine,
and the randomness can drive you
mad, make panting to-pack it in,
until your spidey sensnses tingling,
a ketchup and bitter herbs mixture,
and you’re sweating, and it’s 100% anticipation of the well known (!)
unknown risks, this easy
walkway~path in the woods,
leads you on, with marvelous views,
even babbling brooks, till you find
you’ve climbed halfway way up a mountain and to make it to the top,
it’s a rocky boulder strewn,
ankle and heart twisting road that
takes you to the grandest place and plan
oh but, boy,
where the view of the worldscape is only
fantastico, but the only way back down involves throwing yourself into a
quarry pit, full of dangerous chemicals,
that burn scars into your inside parts, invisible wounds so untreatedbly unspeakably bad and incurable
again and again,
and you say stupid things like
I can’t help myself,
what’s a matter daddy,
just want some sugar in my bowl,
and when your neck gets broke,
and it’ll take incredible processing
to just get you to walk again,
and yet
the single
odiferous scent, that amuse bouche on
your lips, and you’ll do it all again for
once monte carlo throw of the dice,
because the odds ain’t that bad,
everbody lives somebody
and given the billions of opportunities walking in just this planet,
even one in a million sounds
pretty good,
even,
very…fair
Nov 2, 2024
Nov 2, 2024 at 1:05 PM UTC
In 2009, The american disaster film "2012" was released.
Preparing for "The End of The World" was easy.
A piece of cardboard at a Red Light.
"2012 The End Is Nigh, What's a dollar?"
We might as well have smiled, given a friendly wave,
honked our horns like we were passing the Freeport Flag Ladies.
In 2012, I was in high school with my first job.
I didn't care that In the twinkling of an eye,
we were gonna hear God's last trumpet.
On Rapture-Eve, I set out "Milk N' Cookies" for the "Left-behind"
I left next mornings outfit on the side of the road as if Angels abducted me butt-ass naked mid-stride
Turns out, the red light never turned green.
The "left-behind" kept breeding
and Hell on earth just kept recruiting
Now it's 2020,
The Freeport Flag Ladies are in Quarantine,
the signs have needles in our eyelids like mechanical spiders,
You can't even turn the news off now,
I pick it up at CVS Like a Controlled substance prescription.
They make you call in once a month to get it refilled.
Some how my amazing wife Amy and I
Not only survived the rapture,
we brought a brand new life into it.
For 10 days we were locked in a hospital
We never looked at the news.
The world melted away as we danced together
Waiting to meet our little miracle.
After Amy was whisked away for intensive surgery
and survived the most unspeakably amazing thing in the world
a nurse eventually grabbed me and asked if I wanted to meet my daughter,
I was guided to a baby table
with knobs, meters, heat lamps,
and on a tiny cushion
in a tiny plastic crib,
My daughter.
Sophia Naomi Mae Coulombe.
wide eyed
staring into my pupils
wiggling
perfect
Now we are home.
No nurses, no IV.
Somehow it feels like the end of the world and all it's chaos
was the best thing that has ever happened to us.
Everything happened exactly when it needed too.
We couldn't have had better timing
if God planned it.
Aug 22, 2020
Aug 22, 2020 at 1:39 AM UTC
A positive soul brings positive times
radiating in your security,
and when under your gaze, my soul unwinds
breathing you in for an eternity.
I am tie-dyed in your purity.
I am baptized in your eccentric taste.
Your smile never ceases to amaze me,
nothing's cherished more than our fingers laced.
Incomparable are your loving eyes,
unspeakably you make time fall away.
As your voice consumes me, emotions rise,
and in your presence I will forever stay.
For rays of sunshine flow heavenly through,
you light up my soul with the things you do.
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 6:13 AM UTC
not in the usual way with
bent knee and bowed head
but with nag champa and cd inserts, with
deep reds,
plastic costume jewelry beading and safety pinned rips.
it was post cards and cigarette ash
with Kroger's box dye in
rusted orange.
staining our fingernails. didn't matter. we painted them in
neon green and chunky glitter. we stayed up late and wandered
laughter like a shattered diamond breaking into a million stars and thrown out over such a welcoming ivory towered
night sky.
and itallian food households with those noodles in jars.
looking up.
it was Billy Corgan telling us he'd
sing along.
it was memories that aren't even mine. cut in my eyes.
it was blunt bobs and pixie haircuts. it was cut necklines and walking on air. giant chain necklaces and whispered chap-lipped secrets.
endless folds and bottomless love
in a deliciously musty floral hat box.
you're just low end in
loving apathy.
and i'm absent in my own life.
it was an interruption so unspeakably painful.
doesn't seem so hard to revisit.
but i can't.
May 3, 2012
May 3, 2012 at 6:20 PM UTC
Our moments together were
An inconvenience for both,
Necessity for neither,
Desired only by me.
I was a stupid, little girl.
I need not hold back tears
My ducts for you dried out
When my
Faith, love, and trust
Ebbed away with
Disappointing and lackluster years
Dropped down a bottomless pit
Your ability to ignore
My existence remains
Ever admirable
While my sentiments remain
Everlastingly indifferent
I'm a cold-natured soul
When you're an old man
You will think back on the days
You wasted our time,
And turned a blind eye
You'll wonder why your only begotten child left your life
If you are lucky enough to reach an age of old
A numbness so comfortable
Unspeakably whole
On your deathbed
Peacefully waiting
The departure of your soul
Notice,
I won't be there
I've turned a blind eye.
Oh, father, you've taught me too well
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 9:54 PM UTC
-- 1 --
He has a need to expend his seed: it is a never-ending endeavour, the smack of wood against leather. In the hot rush to consummate his love he must burn a more energy-rich depravity -- must look for a certain seriousness, a gravity. Right now he is past the ****** and the ‘hos’, “just girls,” he says, “just girls pretending to be women pretending to be ***** and he wants to see real girls naked and ashamed and cutting themselves for money. He gets off on the very idea of people deforming themselves for his pleasure.
-- 2 --
Here he is, being driven by his car. At each corner he sees girls huddled together, sharing warmth. Their lips are locked in thin lines of glamour and they swap his salty substances without even the slightest tremor of desire. At their waists they hold daggers, levelled at each other’s bellies. All the better to cut out the cancer of pregnancy.
-- 3 --
His vices have turned to hate. So equanimous before, so confidential with his needs: now he does not just implore his occasional dates with the soft sad pressure of his bulging eyes; now he asks direct. “Dance for me,” he says, in the privacy of his own filth. “No, sexier,” he exhorts, imagining the first ****** excitations caused by an unspeakably illegal piece of ******** He blames them for having bodies that do this to him. He blames them.
-- 4 --
He blames them.
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 11:32 AM UTC
expressive expression expresses itself
only ever in an ephemeral way
emulating evocation of endings and all they entail
which is never not more than what can be known
and always less than what is left living in the lake.
leaving all that had been learned
all that had been/on the verge of lust
and unspeakably, life.
when they tip-toe and twist away
trailing their tails, trying to tell us the opposite of
truth: time
that trusts the trap.
the opposite of what they bury
what is brought to brink.
miraculous masquerade molding itself into moons
many many many moons
that might.
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 1:09 AM UTC
Thinking, tonight, on a walk under some makeshift constellations:
Singing soft, rainstorm melodies makes me feel unspeakably alive.
At its completion, my story will have enveloped me like B minor at the predawn of a snow-covered day.
There is nothing more painfully right than the overlap of lines on my palms.
Symphonies are written,
Coming and going.
Maybe I’ve created her, too,
as plows leave drifts.
Jan 22, 2011
Jan 22, 2011 at 3:10 AM UTC
Emotions run deep, and deeper they must seep
But what do they seek?
Nothing but sheltering words,
be it from a Sheik, or a Greek.
The imagery is both out-worldly and unspeakably realistic
We try to find a way, a channel, a historical shuttle
Only to have it expressed in vague words
"Here, another puzzle".
The words dance in rhythms and riddles
Sometimes unfathomable,
Yet once aligned, they cast a spell.
The spell is poetry.. and it has a society
Countless souls, and souls yet to come
11th of August, marked the arrival of its rightful king
Tired and tireless, a lifetime of embodying poetry
O captain, my captain!
Let us roam the forgotten streets and share a bottle of cheap gin
Let us whisper inappropriate jokes into the ears of those who deem suicide a great sin!
And Let us remember that once conscious, mankind was in tragedy,
but through comedy, we found our remedy.
Rest in Pieces,
For I swear to Jesus, I can hear your laugh at "Pieces".
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 5:32 AM UTC
Evil is innocence
unspeakably betrayed
as it laughs at it’s partner
about the deal that was made
Apr 15, 2023
Apr 15, 2023 at 7:24 PM UTC
Do not be afraid;
go ahead, like my page,
because oftentimes sad is
the only thing I am,
and if it is in sadness
that I am solely literate,
I shall be sad,
and when you happen
to give it a like,
I will be unspeakably glad.
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 1:23 AM UTC
Helpless to reject you when you call for help
pick up because i'm powerless to do anything else
beg for some kind of insight into this insanity
manage to hold my breathing half way steadily
speak in calm tones, gentle, to console
you're crying - and you have no way of knowing
what that still does to me (it cuts me)
The whole time i call myself helping, offering an ear, a shoulder
something to hold onto when your world is blown apart-
this tightness in my chest, a consistent catch in my breath
an ache, a longing, not something i can explain
but it has words of it's own - and i know what it would say
"i still love you, I'm sorry"
this conversatuion serves to make me smile and mar me
unspeakably
(click.)
(dial tone. . .)
May 14, 2012
May 14, 2012 at 2:15 PM UTC
Make your love unspeakably wild she told me
like the textures of your nakedness
in the dripping sun and blinding water
when its late, late august
before the first damp morning
when you can’t deny
that the real heat is gone from the night.
It's ok to be sentimental if
it keeps the buzz in your ears
in this nowish spot in time
when there’s less and less
to draw you out of your nest.
There’s every excuse for this dullness
after a quick seven years
the weight of it shows in your face
on your grandfather’s heavy brow.
You both wondered
why you sometimes felt like strangers in this place
and why the sweetness of brome
can send you reeling in the dusk.
Seven years gleaned of their mornings
like so many beans in a bright steel pan.
Arriving late and later still
I felt the dawns irredeemable chill
and in the bluest of October afternoons, she said,
may your love be unspeakably wild.
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 6:20 PM UTC
I opened myself
Arms stretched
Welcomed
Into his bed.
Uncaring of
What it will cost me.
Why
Am I this way?
*** is Binding
Intertwined unspeakably
Beyond lifetimes
And far past
Our hearts
Own Comprehension.
We mold together
Passion overwhelming
Self destruction
Igniting
With each ******
Left lingering
For eternity
Between ruin and bliss.
Jul 25, 2019
Jul 25, 2019 at 12:07 AM UTC
1.
I open Her stitches with the dullest screwdriver available in my horrid workshop
I ask her if she wants the agony to cease and she promptly responds “Stop!”
Her request is denied just as my affection was rejected through paper, red ink, and hollow apologies
2.
I assail Him with with a hammer until bony shards protrude from skin
The boastful **** is still breathing when I contort the lumbars of his spine
This gory peacock’s skeletal feathers display my anger in all essences of its awe-inspiring glory
3.
I dangle Her plump body over a chimney billowing greasy smoke
She attempts to strike deals for mercy and I respond with a choke
The bargaining persists all the way down until rollicking flames turn her mouth into silky ribbons of ash
4.
The Next frequently indulges in unspeakably awful chipperness
So, naturally, I make him gulp down a week’s worth of happy meds
While his heart sputters, depression’s taste wipes away all traces of the a smile on his face
5.
My work done, I casually stroll back home
I muse on all the wicked deeds finally expunged and take out a shining Magnum
The cold piece of steel turns around to face this peaceful victim, its trigger pulled in acceptance
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 5:14 PM UTC