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"unstressed" poems
(explicit) **** my soul         with poetry            scream out my gracious name              slay me with words                that peel my layers                 and simultaneously                                    drive me                                            insane finger me slowly, hotly with just the right rhythm and rhyme     push me past my                  tender limits                        into tongues of syntax,                                                       sublime alliterate my senses    (in swift stac                     c-at                            o) until my mind is but blank verse     mess up my stressed               and unstressed syllables in unsung language, versed I will speak to you in vowels (the only sound        I will be able to make) as you stroke    my iambic pentameter              in the heat of frothed-up                                                      ache we are this heroic couplet, you see         even if the meaning seems veiled            no need for simile or metaphor                as I feel your chest rise                               in deep inhale we are a natural paradox        so many ironies abound          discordant harmony is our synaesthesia      in visible darkness found and I love this delicious enjambment as your aura invisibly slips                                into mine our lines have no beginning,                                  no end     as we undo           the boundaries                       of time
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Oct 3, 2017
Oct 3, 2017 at 5:18 PM UTC
poetry slammed
(explicit) **** my soul         with poetry            scream out my gracious name              slay me with words                that peel my layers                 and simultaneously                                    drive me                                            insane finger me slowly, hotly with just the right rhythm and rhyme     push me past my                  tender limits                        into tongues of syntax,                                                       sublime alliterate my senses    (in swift stac                     c-at                            o) until my mind is but blank verse     mess up my stressed               and unstressed syllables in unsung language, versed I will speak to you in vowels (the only sound        I will be able to make) as you stroke    my iambic pentameter              in the heat of frothed-up                                                      ache we are this heroic couplet, you see         even if the meaning seems veiled            no need for simile or metaphor                as I feel your chest rise                               in deep inhale we are a natural paradox        so many ironies abound          discordant harmony is our synaesthesia      in visible darkness found and I love this delicious enjambment as your aura invisibly slips                                into mine our lines have no beginning,                                  no end     as we undo           the boundaries                       of time
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Cats are Iambic Pentameter Light-footed cats are nature’s iambics Each subtle feline step unstressed to stressed Across a lawn, a counterpane, a heart As a tail-twitching cat ballet, all grace But dogs are four-beat Anglo-Saxon1 lines Galumphing heavily and clumsily Across a moor, a sleeping-bag, a heart As a tail-wagging country reel (gone bad) Soft-footed cats are nature’s iambics And dogs are four-beat Anglo-Saxon lines 1Old English Anglo-Saxon (approx. fifth-twelfth century). Applies to four-stress hemistichal alliterative verse, e.g. Beowulf. - Stephen Fry, The Ode Less Travelled: Unlocking the Poet Within
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Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 3:49 PM UTC
Cats are Iambic Pentameter
Each morning I lie in bed and anticipate your arrival, my awakening, our escape To the fair ground lights outside the city, and I dream that as we peak on the Ferris wheel, And, with stars as our witness at this paramount moment, all of Texas comes into view. Autumnal air ruffles your hair, and I'm reaching for you  like always with little gestures: My smiles, your smirks, my laughs, and our quirks. Mingling at the summit, A hand brushes slowly along a knee with the smooth reintroduction to an old friend. Long fingers fumble with need, and it's just you and me distancing ourselves From our every day studies in distraction, comforted in our mutual procrastination. With you I catch  up on my anatomy and you excitedly review me in structures and railways. On a train homeward bound, the heat of blood rising in your cheeks and lips Sends an electric surge to my head and heart, and nerves tingle from anticipating home. Under your tutelage, I soon appreciate the bridge of a nose finally unstressed by glasses, The dynamic arches of a worn out back, and the strength of pillars erected in urgency 'Til daylight exposes last night's mysteries, and we rest in our ecstasy perspired, Both of us finally relinquished from the weight of anticipation for this weekend to arrive.
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Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 11:50 AM UTC
A Time to Wait and a Time to Live
I heard there was a secret metric foot that David knew was favoured by the Lord, and when he penned the psalms he'd often put this pattern the Almighty best adored amongst the endless praise and imprecations; unstressed, plus stressed, suffuses through his pages, though hidden by the English of translations; pentameters still echo down the ages. The spondee's spurned, and has been from the start; an anapaest's anathema, and grim. Though trochees may be near the Maker's heart, you'll never hear a dactyl in a hymn. There's only one the Lord thinks worth a **** the sacred, the unchangeable iamb.
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Jun 22, 2010
Jun 22, 2010 at 8:07 AM UTC
A lamp to my feet
Sunday’s an auspicious day to suggest that you, as a student, take a recess in order to try and decompress from our studying and stress Now, of course, if you’re so possessed, or some might even say obsessed, you could study for a test, we all want to do our best but some work habits can oppress and leave one all depressed Just  take a needed rest and if your needs are unaddressed get caressed when you’re undressed some would have that thought suppressed or simply left it unexpressed but under oath I would attest and to a priest I have confessed all my roommates acquiesced that for relaxation it’s the best and quickest way to get unstressed there are a hundred things I could suggest you type “A”s tend to make everything a contest in this, there are no professors for you to impress this isn’t a competitive, academic trap, trick or jest I just know that, on Monday, this girl will be refreshed
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Apr 30, 2023
Apr 30, 2023 at 11:11 PM UTC
It’s Sunday
When I'm loved by some, I think of you and feel blessed. In your company alone, I find myself totally unstressed. I have no one but you, Only you as my Confidant. I believe in you deeply, You won't betray, it's evident. I thank you, Divine Being. You took my burdens away, You kept evoking me that Tomorrow's another day. Your Love and Care and Grace, Knew no bounds. I fall short of words to praise, And even If I do, it'd be never enough. You know me better than I, I replay and hold on to pain. Help me, O lord! to get through. I'll never forget to thank you, again.
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Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 6:03 AM UTC
MY GRATITUDE TO YOU
My sister has curly hair From day one She has cut and burned it at every chance Her hair is dark and thick Like our fathers I wish I had his hair instead I wish the follicles on my head Wernt thin and brittle And quick to fall Would that make me a man? My sister has a flat chest, My ******* have been called the best My family and friends alike She calls her own chest, childlike If we traded, and my breath was unstressed If they fell from my body Would that make me a man? What an unjust God Who would give us bodies That did not fit our souls What cruel diety Would leave us feeling So cramped
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Jun 15, 2023
Jun 15, 2023 at 11:38 PM UTC
[Not] ppl
Kamau Brathwaite wrote That "the hurricane doesn't roar in pentameters" And I really believed it could be true That Caribbean hurricanes had their own cadences, their own dances : Ida was reggae, Allen was merengue Brigitte was gwoka David was cha cha cha and Edith was kadans rampa and Dorian calypso All dactyls hatched instead of iambic pentameters Out of each island Zeus 's head Until i met the still eye of Hurricane Muse. Muse was her nickname Her real name was Shar Named after shark and share and shear and sharon, Named after a calypso rose Fearless except for lizards, a rose of  tiny thorns With a taste of a stormy black coffee Born to a dragon of Jade and a   white *** tigress In the midst of the 1961 hurricane season. Shar has the S of Sébastien Sally Sam Shary Sean and Sara The H of Humberto Hanna Henri Hermine Harold and Hélène The A of Andrea Arthur Ana Alex Arlene and Alberto And the R of  Rebecca René Rose Richard Rina and Rafael And she dances not only calypso And quadrille and zouk But a mix as well of Salsa Hustle Affranchi and Reggae In iambic pentameters While she gently paints fearless green lizards Having her five iambs of coffee First thing in the unstressed and stressed morning Before she even opens the syllables of her still Muse eye.
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Sep 7, 2019
Sep 7, 2019 at 3:23 AM UTC
In the still eye of hurricane Muse
What keeps me happy makes me happy, can get me blue than slaps me, lastly aske me, What happened at sea? Connecting closer and closer to you and you, it's easy to lost sight of the light that's brought you to, walking through the valley of doom, with a capital V for vicious, vastly, and the various moon; I was swept to my back by the scariest broom, left breathless, meat of my body unstressed and stretch less for the world to consume. Woken up my throats choken up from all this rough spoken stuff, though none was really spoken to me but rath spoken through me, while thinking I'm being consumed when I was only consuming. Earth - yes I get a bit gloomy and ********** sue me! But all you'll get is what I've given to ya, the beauty of the moon, sun, land and the blue sea.
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Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 12:05 PM UTC
closing further
My lord and savior, Stuck in a world Fifty years too late And thousands of miles away. Salmon flesh stuck to his legs And his camouflage blent into his surroundings; It was only visible by the sewed-on patch that read, "Stop War." Hair held back tightly, Sitting across from me With a look of pure fascination, We were introduced. My gaze consistently found him, Eyes closed, picturing the words and only the words. Shoulders, chest, abdomen moving to the rhythm of Stressed and unstressed syllables, Snapping his fingers when his body contorted the most; He could have walked on water. With him standing on a chair screaming Ginsberg Like a pastor would The Bible, My heart skipped a beat And I found religion.
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Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 3:42 PM UTC
Jesus of Haight-Ashbury
"Caliban must have dinner." Let him have first a bit of scansion Of the vowels marooned to his feet Along with the consonants washed ashore By a called up mock storm Inhabited by catalectic trochaic Trimeter, hexameter or pentameter Name it ! This muse is his. For his is the muse This muse is his island And every storm of hers is a beatitude Passed on him by his Sycorax. So blessed is Caliban For his is the musedom of light This muse is a perfect antilabe He has pampered her with caesurae He has spoiled her with feminine Stressed and unstressed syllables Kissed her with iambic pentameter Caressed her with hemistichs A trochee here A spondee there Caliban is beatitude in scansion. Blessed is Caliban For his is the musedom of light.
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Sep 11, 2019
Sep 11, 2019 at 12:28 AM UTC
Beatitude in scansion
Pressed hard against warm flesh in the barely illuminated darkness guesstimating the blessings of your fresh mess, I ingest the best and leave the rest unstressed. Soft caresses underneath the dress bring visions of ancestral ****** in jest. My accentuated ******* bereft of the simplest zesty scents leave jesters lamenting about the repressed nexus of flexing wreckers. Flickering trestles rustle as the mesh lays lifeless after undress and the pressures of the rescuers sheds ravenous blushers rushing and undulating such as plush calves do. Fissures, wet, impress impresarios investing in resting besties and ********** lechers; a pitcher, ditched by the rich, flashes in the marsh stressing the finches and leaching petroleum onto the beaches.   I reach for another peach and beseech the mashed potatoes makers, “just take a rest” –
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Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 5:08 PM UTC
crap salad: for this day of our lord
The melancholy eyes of departing, The lingering taste of love’s last kiss. To the skies I've been sentenced and In the soil you've been left, softly sprouting. Oh, what I would do, to spread my roots There next to you. Our petals caress with love unstressed And our leaves would collect the morning dew. But I’ve been plucked, Snatched in the claws of the bird! Cast to flight, cursed to explore A life without you that must be endured. Upwards dragged but eyes cast down, Drinking in the sights of her last frown. The wind pulls me clean, and I see The last of that morning's dew Falling with a shimmering gleam.
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Feb 21, 2018
Feb 21, 2018 at 3:16 PM UTC
Airport
A poor old man chants through his crumb-y beard: (In iambic dimeter) “The WORLD has CHANGED” “The WORLD has CHANGED” (sometimes unstressed-unstressed-unstressed-to-stressed, Even though his biscuit is not impressed) “The world has CHANGED” “The world has CHANGED” (and back to iambic dimeter) “The WORLD has CHANGED” “The WORLD has CHANGED” While at another table a man shouts Importantly into his busy-ness ‘phone: “SO DO YOU WANT TO PAY YOUR MONTHLY BILLS OFF EACH MONTH LIKE I DO? THIS IS A GREAT…” (He pauses for a bite of his Big Linda Braekfast [sic] Special)…“OPPORTUNITY FOR YOU I NEED GOOD SALES REPS THAT’LL WORK HARD TO REPLACE SALES REPS THAT WOULDN’T!” A part of this healthy, nutritious breakfast
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Apr 16, 2018
Apr 16, 2018 at 3:07 PM UTC
Tia Linda's Grab 'N' Go II
Silence once happened hither To this place of point Yet , the needle and it's thread Sleeps forever sewing and weaving me I once spoke as whispers A sound of one sea shell The soft flicking of a Single sheet of paper And softly eating jelly beans A crumbling sound of an empty plastic   A dance goes it's twist Crush , buckle , mangle ,and daydream No-one could perceive with an ear A sound so softly made of a relaxing guitar tuning A loosen sound of kitten purrs A book of Spanish poetry Translated into modern English There was a thick fog outside my window I saw strange flashes of lightning in the shy There was no sounds of thunder... A rainbow in a celestial sphere Of a red beautiful dawn A relaxation of a whisper Always to his own Forever to never I understand Hello to you dear fall I've been waiting patiently for you unstressed For I will greet you With a whisper near midnight With a nimbly slow movement From a pleasantly subdued manner A near fall whisper
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Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 3:15 AM UTC
A near fall whisper
Tho' I do write with truth, my self's conceived - That where your love abodes, resides just me. My love in rhyme, is rhyme in part deceived Do, I linger still or let this sonnet free? The former is a rhythmic dance of words Where A can't wait the love connect of C. The latter brings the sorrow near the thirds As each unstressed, would stress the pain to be. I pass this ninth with syllable delay The tenth, I love but yearns a love as true. I burden here, where eyes of yours can't sway Yes now, at last, do I withdraw from you. I hope the other grows to love as I But doubt that heart the will of heart to die.
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Feb 10, 2019
Feb 10, 2019 at 7:04 AM UTC
A Breakup Sonnet (sonnet)
There was a richness in her voice A calm, deliberate, unstressed expression of thoughts Even if in disagreement I never offered a voice Only listened Content, in the melodiousness of the breathing of her mind
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Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 2:13 PM UTC
The Cigarette After
When i am loved by some, I think of you and feel blessed. In your company alone, I find myself totally unstressed. I have no one but you, Only you as my confident. I believe in you deeply, You won't betray, it's evident. I thank you, Divine Being. You took my burdens away, You kept evoking me that Tomorrow's another day. Your Love and Care and Grace, Knew no bounds. I feel short of words to praise, And even if I do, it'd be never enough. You know me better than I, I replay and hold on to pain. Help me, O lord! to get through. I'll never forget to thank you, again.
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Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 7:54 AM UTC
GOD
Moonlight can give a helping hand, To ease a mind that is harassed, Its mystic rays can calm the nerves, To leave one pleasantly unstressed.
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Oct 10, 2022
Oct 10, 2022 at 4:08 AM UTC
Mystic Moonlight