"vees" poems - Hello Poetry

Hellenic Flesh and marrow Raphaelite form painted into life. Honey hair slipping through the vees between my fingers like sand conch-white skin You blind me like the noonday sun. Enveloping— body wrapped in body— ocean and sky meet at the horizon. Peel my skin from me like an orange. Apple. Heal me with hands upon thighs Stitch my ragdoll body together with the sutures of your kisses Stuck by the glue of lips Raise me like Lazarus from the valley of death from the orchard in Eden and the shame of skin Reupholster me like a dinette chair. Vivid as the Sistine Chapel your hand outs t r e t c h e d toward God I find you in pumpkin seeds scattered like tears on the floor of my car. They were yours.

0

Jul 25, 2011

Jul 25, 2011 at 2:29 PM UTC

vidya-ravilochan

Lily of the Valley

Hellenic Flesh and marrow Raphaelite form painted into life. Honey hair slipping through the vees between my fingers like sand conch-white skin You blind me like the noonday sun. Enveloping— body wrapped in body— ocean and sky meet at the horizon. Peel my skin from me like an orange. Apple. Heal me with hands upon thighs Stitch my ragdoll body together with the sutures of your kisses Stuck by the glue of lips Raise me like Lazarus from the valley of death from the orchard in Eden and the shame of skin Reupholster me like a dinette chair. Vivid as the Sistine Chapel your hand outs t r e t c h e d toward God I find you in pumpkin seeds scattered like tears on the floor of my car. They were yours.

38

So many minds have filled this space thinking of math and physics Vectors and integrals, derivatives and valence mean little to us- except the rolling assonance of the repeated vees

0

Apr 22, 2012

Apr 22, 2012 at 12:10 AM UTC

anny-pansy

English Class Room 241 Cory

So many minds have filled this space thinking of math and physics Vectors and integrals, derivatives and valence mean little to us- except the rolling assonance of the repeated vees

8

Sung and did not miss, watch this, where'swung a dub when we need vees lots and lots of vees the first friendly used many vees where we use double yous vees and bees sound so much alike, s'ard to tell Simultaneous, as always, other-ther things begin and end while I am contrating on a single point being made on a single pin, which is bearing witness to my assertincertainty that at least one thousand three hundred and ninety-two messages in lieu of angels, numbering in the billions if Sagan was right, fit per pineal node post initial exterior inhalation and that first draft look at this will you wontyou willyou wontyou one thousand three hundred and ninety-two guitar pickers in Nashville, Ten percent of whom are sworn to sing Rocky Top at every open mike in town every Saturday night and we survived, didn't starve or go plumb crazy, though we tried. It's good to be alive and remember imagining being abundantly more alive, and you know or not, I can't say. Did you read how Paradise, California burned for lack of rain? We heard, Down here in the Lagunas. All kinds o' folks prayed all kinds o'ways, and it rained. Mud-makin rain. Is it wrong to think the rain was called, if you can't imagine rain obeying a request for the jetstream to dip? Not here, we think right happens right here on purpose if you can imagine that a prayer, wave of a wing tip, an eagle's with permission. this is the eagle wing effect, rightused, should any attribute this to butterflies in China or Brazil. The eagle acknowledges the Pine Valley hummingbird who consented to make its final migration, so the rain had a path to follow.

0

Dec 6, 2018

Dec 6, 2018 at 8:21 PM UTC

kenpepiton

Follow through ( a storm came before)

Sung and did not miss, watch this, where'swung a dub when we need vees lots and lots of vees the first friendly used many vees where we use double yous vees and bees sound so much alike, s'ard to tell Simultaneous, as always, other-ther things begin and end while I am contrating on a single point being made on a single pin, which is bearing witness to my assertincertainty that at least one thousand three hundred and ninety-two messages in lieu of angels, numbering in the billions if Sagan was right, fit per pineal node post initial exterior inhalation and that first draft look at this will you wontyou willyou wontyou one thousand three hundred and ninety-two guitar pickers in Nashville, Ten percent of whom are sworn to sing Rocky Top at every open mike in town every Saturday night and we survived, didn't starve or go plumb crazy, though we tried. It's good to be alive and remember imagining being abundantly more alive, and you know or not, I can't say. Did you read how Paradise, California burned for lack of rain? We heard, Down here in the Lagunas. All kinds o' folks prayed all kinds o'ways, and it rained. Mud-makin rain. Is it wrong to think the rain was called, if you can't imagine rain obeying a request for the jetstream to dip? Not here, we think right happens right here on purpose if you can imagine that a prayer, wave of a wing tip, an eagle's with permission. this is the eagle wing effect, rightused, should any attribute this to butterflies in China or Brazil. The eagle acknowledges the Pine Valley hummingbird who consented to make its final migration, so the rain had a path to follow.

40

I'd suffer four long years Before I set a letter on the page... I'd sob a hundred times, Waking from repeated dreams of you, The daughter I have lost, Running into my arms, and Our tears mingling Over the wasted years, Only to realize that dreams Are only dreams To remind me of my longing, Not yours. If I were to write you a poem, I'd tell you that sorrow cuts me still, Even though my heart is turning stone, That parts of me are fading out to gray... That family isn't whole while one of us is still Away. If I were to write you a poem, I'd say the old stool you loved Stands waiting, Your handwriting still claiming it As yours, Though you have left it here These years. But how shall I write a poem When the leaves of spring are glittering, And when meadowlarks are singing, And work calls me out to take the agony away? Perhaps in fall, When leaves begin their grim descents, And winds drive chilling clouds of gray, As mournful sounds of geese in southern vees Cast gloom upon the dwindling days, Perhaps in fall I'll take my pen, And try to write a poem for you Again.

0

Jul 10, 2015

Jul 10, 2015 at 9:24 AM UTC

don-bouchard

If I were to write you a poem,

I'd suffer four long years Before I set a letter on the page... I'd sob a hundred times, Waking from repeated dreams of you, The daughter I have lost, Running into my arms, and Our tears mingling Over the wasted years, Only to realize that dreams Are only dreams To remind me of my longing, Not yours. If I were to write you a poem, I'd tell you that sorrow cuts me still, Even though my heart is turning stone, That parts of me are fading out to gray... That family isn't whole while one of us is still Away. If I were to write you a poem, I'd say the old stool you loved Stands waiting, Your handwriting still claiming it As yours, Though you have left it here These years. But how shall I write a poem When the leaves of spring are glittering, And when meadowlarks are singing, And work calls me out to take the agony away? Perhaps in fall, When leaves begin their grim descents, And winds drive chilling clouds of gray, As mournful sounds of geese in southern vees Cast gloom upon the dwindling days, Perhaps in fall I'll take my pen, And try to write a poem for you Again.

37

Perhaps we ask the Earth too much. Instead of giving it a crutch We demand tee-vees and jets and such Commodities from factories: Big cars and tiger pelts to touch. Perhaps our goals are just too great To be fulfilled by the natural state. We want wealth, food on our plates, Cures to diseases we create. We'll drown the world in all our waste.

0

Nov 30, 2011

Nov 30, 2011 at 9:52 PM UTC

ben-coleman

Demand

Perhaps we ask the Earth too much. Instead of giving it a crutch We demand tee-vees and jets and such Commodities from factories: Big cars and tiger pelts to touch. Perhaps our goals are just too great To be fulfilled by the natural state. We want wealth, food on our plates, Cures to diseases we create. We'll drown the world in all our waste.

10

Aún la novedad Mi soledad Será cierto ser Le pregunte a un señor Hombre vago Barba blanca "Porque soy así" Me dijo "Cuéntame de la última vez que abriste los ojos y vistes" Me quede callado Subió la voz y pregunto otra vez "Cuéntame de la última vez que abriste los ojos" Y al terminar sentí mi sangre revolver "VAGO TU, VAGO YO" Empezó a reír y grito "SOY UN ESPEJO, LO QUE VEES ES UN REFLEJO" Y se quebró Mis venas agarraron la tierra Empecé a crecer Salio el vago otra vez Estirándose en un árbol de nuez Lo alcance Me dijo "Logras lo que tu quieras, lo que tu puedas, ponte las pilas, agarra la tierra, y verás" Crecí otra vez Al tercer cielo Vi los siete mares La luna y sus lunares Mi mujer y el sol El futuro en su infancia Mis manos y la mercancía Empecé ahogando en el mar Ahora vivo en nuevo hogar

0

Mar 17, 2016

Mar 17, 2016 at 12:04 AM UTC

max-alvarez

Cotopaxi

Aún la novedad Mi soledad Será cierto ser Le pregunte a un señor Hombre vago Barba blanca "Porque soy así" Me dijo "Cuéntame de la última vez que abriste los ojos y vistes" Me quede callado Subió la voz y pregunto otra vez "Cuéntame de la última vez que abriste los ojos" Y al terminar sentí mi sangre revolver "VAGO TU, VAGO YO" Empezó a reír y grito "SOY UN ESPEJO, LO QUE VEES ES UN REFLEJO" Y se quebró Mis venas agarraron la tierra Empecé a crecer Salio el vago otra vez Estirándose en un árbol de nuez Lo alcance Me dijo "Logras lo que tu quieras, lo que tu puedas, ponte las pilas, agarra la tierra, y verás" Crecí otra vez Al tercer cielo Vi los siete mares La luna y sus lunares Mi mujer y el sol El futuro en su infancia Mis manos y la mercancía Empecé ahogando en el mar Ahora vivo en nuevo hogar

33

and in this...(the insubstantial dawn) visions of poverty scar the sight "hungry animals" (a symbol for "starving men") scared faces scared children see!!! newspapers and tee vees! see!!! (why?--------i don't know) OH LITTLE MARY MURDERED BY THE MEDIA SUCH IS FATE! (the above , in Bold,,,should be repeated ....twice) we are such puny little libertarians or libertines as we (dressed in our tea party costumes and fake piety) pretend that we "MAN" heaven's Gate! .... ..... and with NUCLEAR WEAPONRY! they guard the "Door" CLASS VERSUS CLASS ( the endless war) endlessly stinking STUPID WAR cause the rich man's kid got bored ----------------------------- (from endlessly stinking....unto the end.... this should be repeated until you get it)

0

Jul 13, 2010

Jul 13, 2010 at 11:57 AM UTC

jeffrey-robin

stupidly stinking

and in this...(the insubstantial dawn) visions of poverty scar the sight "hungry animals" (a symbol for "starving men") scared faces scared children see!!! newspapers and tee vees! see!!! (why?--------i don't know) OH LITTLE MARY MURDERED BY THE MEDIA SUCH IS FATE! (the above , in Bold,,,should be repeated ....twice) we are such puny little libertarians or libertines as we (dressed in our tea party costumes and fake piety) pretend that we "MAN" heaven's Gate! .... ..... and with NUCLEAR WEAPONRY! they guard the "Door" CLASS VERSUS CLASS ( the endless war) endlessly stinking STUPID WAR cause the rich man's kid got bored ----------------------------- (from endlessly stinking....unto the end.... this should be repeated until you get it)

46

Double yous and Vees Mouth tickling me and mixing vees Vife and happy to be

0

Jan 8, 2019

Jan 8, 2019 at 1:39 PM UTC

caro-emv

Vife

Double yous and Vees Mouth tickling me and mixing vees Vife and happy to be

3

I hear first snow falling, Fat white whispers Geese flying in hurried vees The high warm drafts of August long gone; Alone here in my van Winkle doze I pull my quilt in close It's faded cloth dimly sweet And you cross my mind -- Our huddled adventures that Cold year when the world was you and I When a thousand sparkling zeroes lit our path. We were legendary -- April's city of hope, its emerald promises, so far away; I shall doze in the poppies meantime And cherish the winter moon's longing to hold me tight --

0

Oct 11, 2019

Oct 11, 2019 at 8:51 AM UTC

SLachina

I hear first snow falling

I hear first snow falling, Fat white whispers Geese flying in hurried vees The high warm drafts of August long gone; Alone here in my van Winkle doze I pull my quilt in close It's faded cloth dimly sweet And you cross my mind -- Our huddled adventures that Cold year when the world was you and I When a thousand sparkling zeroes lit our path. We were legendary -- April's city of hope, its emerald promises, so far away; I shall doze in the poppies meantime And cherish the winter moon's longing to hold me tight --

20