"veneer" poems - Hello Poetry

"veneer" poems

my childhood was removed from me inside of a blue mustang and what remained after that I tried to barter off the highest bidder but I grew, not up, but forward further away slowly releasing hands of defiance fists chock full of hopeless words like anger, the flavor that aches the bone, the cold kind, more barren than the green of Christmas lights glimmering off the icy veneer of a white picket fence overeager, in the apathy of theatrics, to strip off the remainder because the empty feeling that followed might one day make a decent poem

0

Dec 13, 2015

Dec 13, 2015 at 6:27 PM UTC

my childhood was removed from me inside of a blue mustang and what remained after that I tried to barter off the highest bidder but I grew, not up, but forward further away slowly releasing hands of defiance fists chock full of hopeless words like anger, the flavor that aches the bone, the cold kind, more barren than the green of Christmas lights glimmering off the icy veneer of a white picket fence overeager, in the apathy of theatrics, to strip off the remainder because the empty feeling that followed might one day make a decent poem

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#*charm is a fluttering candle character is noon's clear sun ingenuity may cover a scandal integrity thrives though veneer comes undone*#

0

Jun 11, 2016

Jun 11, 2016 at 10:52 AM UTC

alyssa-underwood

#*charm is a fluttering candle character is noon's clear sun ingenuity may cover a scandal integrity thrives though veneer comes undone*#

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Funny the things we recall. Images that flash through our brain. Some most vivid for me were of an old man. Skin like creased parchment paper, Lined and yellowed with age. The veins visible just below the surface, of a thin nearly transparent veneer. Liver spotted flecks of red, Charted paths from the toil of many years, Palms callused forever from a life time of labor. Big fingers knotted and misshapen, The two inch tip of one gone missing, Saw taken, at age sixteen. Looking at those old hands, one could hardly guess That still there remained gentleness in their caress. For an old dog, or a little grandson in need of some Companionable affection or parental love. Those aged hands could also make things, Toy sailboats, and wooden trains, complete with caboose, And guard cow catcher. A cool flute whistle that actually worked, He said it was like the Indian’s made, Out Oklahoma way. And he would know, He cowboyed there. His hands taught me to tie my shoes, Open and close my first pocketknife. Those same hands could become birds, rabbits, butterfly's, all sorts of things. When projected up on the wall, Silhouetted by a naked back light. His hands knew magic too, Pluck silver coins right out of my ears. His tired face matched his hands, visual weathered, creased and wrinkled road maps, Of 89 years of rugged roads traveled. Yet, his lively pale green eyes remained forever fraudulently youthful prisms, Eyes and spirit of a much younger man within. But it is his hands most of all I shall remember, Their imposing look and their reassuring touches of tenderness. I shall never forget my grandfather’s hands.

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Dec 12, 2013

Dec 12, 2013 at 3:12 PM UTC

stephen-e-yocum

My Grandfather's Hands

Funny the things we recall. Images that flash through our brain. Some most vivid for me were of an old man. Skin like creased parchment paper, Lined and yellowed with age. The veins visible just below the surface, of a thin nearly transparent veneer. Liver spotted flecks of red, Charted paths from the toil of many years, Palms callused forever from a life time of labor. Big fingers knotted and misshapen, The two inch tip of one gone missing, Saw taken, at age sixteen. Looking at those old hands, one could hardly guess That still there remained gentleness in their caress. For an old dog, or a little grandson in need of some Companionable affection or parental love. Those aged hands could also make things, Toy sailboats, and wooden trains, complete with caboose, And guard cow catcher. A cool flute whistle that actually worked, He said it was like the Indian’s made, Out Oklahoma way. And he would know, He cowboyed there. His hands taught me to tie my shoes, Open and close my first pocketknife. Those same hands could become birds, rabbits, butterfly's, all sorts of things. When projected up on the wall, Silhouetted by a naked back light. His hands knew magic too, Pluck silver coins right out of my ears. His tired face matched his hands, visual weathered, creased and wrinkled road maps, Of 89 years of rugged roads traveled. Yet, his lively pale green eyes remained forever fraudulently youthful prisms, Eyes and spirit of a much younger man within. But it is his hands most of all I shall remember, Their imposing look and their reassuring touches of tenderness. I shall never forget my grandfather’s hands.

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but have you noticed, have you noticed how all mental health problems stem form a seemingly aether virus that attacks the pronoun category; i mean with proper justifiable schizoids you will not hear of the nouns being ransacked for an equation that equates itself to misnomers; it's all categorised negation of ease within the framework of pronouns. it's strange that philosophers stress the pronouns so much these days and those countless prior, but why do mental health diseases attack the pronouns and not the nouns? they attack the verbs thoroughly, but prior to the verbs exposing an illness the pronouns are attacked, so that many considering the singularity of expressing thought are ill because of being forced into a plural expression of thought: "voices." i find it hard to understand, but it's the reality, the aether virus attacks the pronoun on the backdrop of a king's casual expression / use of pronouns, when a king casually says of himself as omni or multi with one and we respectively; so why are pronouns so weak and nouns so strong that a tree cannot be a misnomer attaché of timber and rock not a pillar, or mountain as the verb: mountaineering? the pronoun category is weak from day one, because it suggests photographic duck animation on the lip pursed into a quack quack, but if we constructed thought without knowledge prior, eating the fruit of knowledge rather than the fruit of thought, using the starting point of the genesis metaphor, it's sometimes a no brainer to have weak thinking and strength in knowing, for if there was strength in thinking and weakness in knowing, i'd be the one chiseling these words in the ice age on a cavern wall. so, given, that diseases such as the famed premature dementia attack the pronouns but not the nouns the schizoid one will convene life with: pizza is pizza and sunshine ray down the drain clock the millionth dead parting of grasshoppers in decimals - while man unto man lusts one man's parting in decimals, but should dire said, part man with integers, and insects with decimals! but still, in the terminology of a cartesian understanding of illness, in that segregational aspect of things "sorted," why are mental illnesses tattooed in a weak pronoun usage compared to a strength in other grammatical categories? why are not mental illnesses ******* the life out of the nouns? the nouns are intact, the pronouns attacked, and the verbs chess piece the pawn from the casually speaking clown king into a beast imprisoned, for while the pronouns are attacked and the nouns left intact, the attack on pronouns expresses itself fully in verbs of the never existent tact: with such magic as to claim knock knock on plank is the same as knock knock on veneer.

0

Sep 18, 2015

Sep 18, 2015 at 7:58 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

plank v. veneer via grasshoppers

but have you noticed, have you noticed how all mental health problems stem form a seemingly aether virus that attacks the pronoun category; i mean with proper justifiable schizoids you will not hear of the nouns being ransacked for an equation that equates itself to misnomers; it's all categorised negation of ease within the framework of pronouns. it's strange that philosophers stress the pronouns so much these days and those countless prior, but why do mental health diseases attack the pronouns and not the nouns? they attack the verbs thoroughly, but prior to the verbs exposing an illness the pronouns are attacked, so that many considering the singularity of expressing thought are ill because of being forced into a plural expression of thought: "voices." i find it hard to understand, but it's the reality, the aether virus attacks the pronoun on the backdrop of a king's casual expression / use of pronouns, when a king casually says of himself as omni or multi with one and we respectively; so why are pronouns so weak and nouns so strong that a tree cannot be a misnomer attaché of timber and rock not a pillar, or mountain as the verb: mountaineering? the pronoun category is weak from day one, because it suggests photographic duck animation on the lip pursed into a quack quack, but if we constructed thought without knowledge prior, eating the fruit of knowledge rather than the fruit of thought, using the starting point of the genesis metaphor, it's sometimes a no brainer to have weak thinking and strength in knowing, for if there was strength in thinking and weakness in knowing, i'd be the one chiseling these words in the ice age on a cavern wall. so, given, that diseases such as the famed premature dementia attack the pronouns but not the nouns the schizoid one will convene life with: pizza is pizza and sunshine ray down the drain clock the millionth dead parting of grasshoppers in decimals - while man unto man lusts one man's parting in decimals, but should dire said, part man with integers, and insects with decimals! but still, in the terminology of a cartesian understanding of illness, in that segregational aspect of things "sorted," why are mental illnesses tattooed in a weak pronoun usage compared to a strength in other grammatical categories? why are not mental illnesses ******* the life out of the nouns? the nouns are intact, the pronouns attacked, and the verbs chess piece the pawn from the casually speaking clown king into a beast imprisoned, for while the pronouns are attacked and the nouns left intact, the attack on pronouns expresses itself fully in verbs of the never existent tact: with such magic as to claim knock knock on plank is the same as knock knock on veneer.

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The thin cardboard veneer is tantalizing I reach for you with nimble, delighted fingers And undress you There you are my sweetheart I pinch your firm tan **** and place you between my lips The spark ignites and suddenly I can taste you in my mouth Warm, dark, mysterious you are all these things But above all I feel you stimulating me Every nerve in my body tingling I’m short of breath at last I exhale deeply And with a sigh of pleasure and regret I set you down in the ashtray

0

Apr 14, 2012

Apr 14, 2012 at 11:21 PM UTC

A 5 minute affair

The thin cardboard veneer is tantalizing I reach for you with nimble, delighted fingers And undress you There you are my sweetheart I pinch your firm tan **** and place you between my lips The spark ignites and suddenly I can taste you in my mouth Warm, dark, mysterious you are all these things But above all I feel you stimulating me Every nerve in my body tingling I’m short of breath at last I exhale deeply And with a sigh of pleasure and regret I set you down in the ashtray

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As the sun reaches the other pearl shores Your eyes are waited on by the universe's starry doors It's okay to say that you miss me, you see But you'd better miss all of me Miss the way that I talk about you Miss the way I laugh and the way I croon Miss my voice when it sings out of tune Miss my touch when we lie under the moon As the stars blink into the sun Your life is young and it hasn't yet begun Do you remember the good times or bad? Do you miss me or just a companion to be had? Miss my paranoia about the way you feel Miss the darkest things I tried to conceal Miss the spirit of my unconfined relief Miss my questions and my constant disbelief Are the things that you remember too old? Did you coat the dust in veneer crusted gold? Are your memories too good to be true? You say you miss me but really, you miss you

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Aug 28, 2015

Aug 28, 2015 at 2:49 PM UTC

Don't Lie and Say You Miss You

As the sun reaches the other pearl shores Your eyes are waited on by the universe's starry doors It's okay to say that you miss me, you see But you'd better miss all of me Miss the way that I talk about you Miss the way I laugh and the way I croon Miss my voice when it sings out of tune Miss my touch when we lie under the moon As the stars blink into the sun Your life is young and it hasn't yet begun Do you remember the good times or bad? Do you miss me or just a companion to be had? Miss my paranoia about the way you feel Miss the darkest things I tried to conceal Miss the spirit of my unconfined relief Miss my questions and my constant disbelief Are the things that you remember too old? Did you coat the dust in veneer crusted gold? Are your memories too good to be true? You say you miss me but really, you miss you

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Cockcrow harbour: the gulls whining like tethered dogs about rooftops paliophobic cars and grounded vessels.. Look: on the hoary horizon a glaucous strip beguils with backwater. Not putting on a show the frigid sea benumbed.. Easily, with a tail of emerald jelly skim a vanishing lane off that lustrous sheet and watch the trailblazing mainland scuttle. Now, Only scattered dreaming is possible. In it's bachelor pad, cradling over crinkles, away from the meretriciosness of validating the real by sharing it, THE WIND blusters off any veneer. Here, stale but spry, fare your way around the inoffensive isle to it's most shyest of harbours: a mouth full of silver saving it's breath. The windows facing the sea seem black & white, their wooden frames hooked to the wind, the splattered gulls meow your name in a way that's personal. Of course comes to mind. The pines are demanding a visit, They're whispering so you can hear them, each as different as every snore, these pines know how to grow in the sand and still reach for the Nimbostratus with heads in unison. The spaces between their trunks illuminating the blazing needles raining down painting the ground familiar to your lover's skin texture: Feel her closeness from jilted borderwatchtowers as she speads her mire like no one's watching: weedy and sugared with bellflowers, the waves in her shallow armpit billeting a pair of white swans: demurely they float sometimes as pillows and sometimes as question marks.. Go ask the seasoned locals, they say the bones she parked when she let her ice sheet melt are portals to her noble underbelly. Hidden in the woods reminiscent of your heart, the red tank-sized stone is sealed, but what the lighting reach cannot the rain shall sluice apart dumbly. And though her hair has come to be the moss black and hoarse as sailor's beard, there is still time. The void says her noisy neighbour is nothing to die for. The theadbear car with absent doors incites to drive her in reverse gear to the first few days of holidays: her golden locks a-blaze, her arm around your hind-sighted doppelganger.

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Jul 20, 2018

Jul 20, 2018 at 2:20 AM UTC

arthur-habsburg

Cockcrow harbour

Cockcrow harbour: the gulls whining like tethered dogs about rooftops paliophobic cars and grounded vessels.. Look: on the hoary horizon a glaucous strip beguils with backwater. Not putting on a show the frigid sea benumbed.. Easily, with a tail of emerald jelly skim a vanishing lane off that lustrous sheet and watch the trailblazing mainland scuttle. Now, Only scattered dreaming is possible. In it's bachelor pad, cradling over crinkles, away from the meretriciosness of validating the real by sharing it, THE WIND blusters off any veneer. Here, stale but spry, fare your way around the inoffensive isle to it's most shyest of harbours: a mouth full of silver saving it's breath. The windows facing the sea seem black & white, their wooden frames hooked to the wind, the splattered gulls meow your name in a way that's personal. Of course comes to mind. The pines are demanding a visit, They're whispering so you can hear them, each as different as every snore, these pines know how to grow in the sand and still reach for the Nimbostratus with heads in unison. The spaces between their trunks illuminating the blazing needles raining down painting the ground familiar to your lover's skin texture: Feel her closeness from jilted borderwatchtowers as she speads her mire like no one's watching: weedy and sugared with bellflowers, the waves in her shallow armpit billeting a pair of white swans: demurely they float sometimes as pillows and sometimes as question marks.. Go ask the seasoned locals, they say the bones she parked when she let her ice sheet melt are portals to her noble underbelly. Hidden in the woods reminiscent of your heart, the red tank-sized stone is sealed, but what the lighting reach cannot the rain shall sluice apart dumbly. And though her hair has come to be the moss black and hoarse as sailor's beard, there is still time. The void says her noisy neighbour is nothing to die for. The theadbear car with absent doors incites to drive her in reverse gear to the first few days of holidays: her golden locks a-blaze, her arm around your hind-sighted doppelganger.

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* *Proud peacock veneer Under all her scarlet rage Golden shackled pain* *

0

Jun 30, 2020

Jun 30, 2020 at 5:46 AM UTC

* *Proud peacock veneer Under all her scarlet rage Golden shackled pain* *

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BWOY This DISRESPECT Thing’s... ..... Really Interesting..... !!! Many CLAIM Disrespect... Because of TRUTH Said... That Upsets Their Heads... !?! Well In My Experience... These Heads Are DELIRIOUS... !!! Cos’ Their Form of Defence... Is Mostly PURE NONSENSE... ?!? From Women To Men... They Act Like Children... !?! When They’re Taken To Task... For Behaving Like An *** Whose Not Had Some Grass... !!! Standing On Grounds... Where Their Morals AREN'T Sound... !!! QUICK To Run Their Mouths... Like... Lipsticked Clowns... Cos' Their Disrespect Circus... Really Has NO PURPOSE... !?!?!?! Cos Their Acts Are WORTHLESS... Like A... BURNED Epidermis... !!!! Cos' Their Skins Are TOO Thin... For The Truth To WIN... !!! So Their Disrespect Begins... With... RIDICULOUS Links... !!! So... Wrong And Strong... Is What They PROLONG................... When THEIR DISRESPECT... Is Proved To LACK Strength... !!! Because What They Try... Is To Try To... DENY... TheIr Fallacies And LIES... !?! Cos’ They're NOT Wise Guys... !!! Whose Type of DISRESPECT... Leaves People... DEAD... !!!!!! Especially When … They Come INCORRECT... !!! I’ve Now Been Disrespected … By So Many Collectives... That It Feels Like An Infection … That WON’T STOP Spreading... !!! As If I Am... The Target... For IGNORANCE To Market... !?! But It’s Now Become CLEAR... That My Veneer And Thinking Steers... Most Eyes And Ears To Clearly FEAR... When I Start To Draw NEAR... !!!!! Because of My Skin... And Because of My Lips... ?!? And Because My Words... Are TOO PURE For The Herds... of These SHEOPLE People... !!! So I’m TOO BLACK For Some... But NOT Black Enough For Others... Who Share The Same Colour... ?!? As If... Taking Care of My Mother... Was … DISRESPECTING... My Own … Blackness... ?!? Some People Should THINK... BEFORE They Link... Their Words To Things... That Are Clearly STUPID... !!!! So Of Course Some Women... Have Run Their Lips Like SINKING Ships... !!! When It Comes To How... I Break Them Down... DISRESPECT of My TALENT... ?!? When I Choose To CHALLENGE... Their... DOUBLE Standards... !!!!!!!! With Words That RAVAGE... The LIES They... Manage... !!! Has PROVEN To FEED... DISRESPECT Speech... From IGNORANT Peeps’... Who Seem To BELIEVE... That They Really Know Me... ? DISRESPECT For THEM... Are Thoughts That Lend... Themselves To Express... SO MUCH NONSENSE... !?!?! That I Now Call Them... ..... IGNORAMUSES..... !!! So Called... " Friends "... And.... " Acquaintances ".... Should DO THIS LESS... !!! Choose To EXPRESS... A Lot of Talk That’s DEFECTIVE... !!! Because Just Like ME... NOBODY's ABOVE... Being............... .......“ DISRESPECTED “..... !!!!!

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Aug 23, 2020

Aug 23, 2020 at 12:03 AM UTC

“Disrespected” ... A Poem written by Big Virge 28/2/2020

BWOY This DISRESPECT Thing’s... ..... Really Interesting..... !!! Many CLAIM Disrespect... Because of TRUTH Said... That Upsets Their Heads... !?! Well In My Experience... These Heads Are DELIRIOUS... !!! Cos’ Their Form of Defence... Is Mostly PURE NONSENSE... ?!? From Women To Men... They Act Like Children... !?! When They’re Taken To Task... For Behaving Like An *** Whose Not Had Some Grass... !!! Standing On Grounds... Where Their Morals AREN'T Sound... !!! QUICK To Run Their Mouths... Like... Lipsticked Clowns... Cos' Their Disrespect Circus... Really Has NO PURPOSE... !?!?!?! Cos Their Acts Are WORTHLESS... Like A... BURNED Epidermis... !!!! Cos' Their Skins Are TOO Thin... For The Truth To WIN... !!! So Their Disrespect Begins... With... RIDICULOUS Links... !!! So... Wrong And Strong... Is What They PROLONG................... When THEIR DISRESPECT... Is Proved To LACK Strength... !!! Because What They Try... Is To Try To... DENY... TheIr Fallacies And LIES... !?! Cos’ They're NOT Wise Guys... !!! Whose Type of DISRESPECT... Leaves People... DEAD... !!!!!! Especially When … They Come INCORRECT... !!! I’ve Now Been Disrespected … By So Many Collectives... That It Feels Like An Infection … That WON’T STOP Spreading... !!! As If I Am... The Target... For IGNORANCE To Market... !?! But It’s Now Become CLEAR... That My Veneer And Thinking Steers... Most Eyes And Ears To Clearly FEAR... When I Start To Draw NEAR... !!!!! Because of My Skin... And Because of My Lips... ?!? And Because My Words... Are TOO PURE For The Herds... of These SHEOPLE People... !!! So I’m TOO BLACK For Some... But NOT Black Enough For Others... Who Share The Same Colour... ?!? As If... Taking Care of My Mother... Was … DISRESPECTING... My Own … Blackness... ?!? Some People Should THINK... BEFORE They Link... Their Words To Things... That Are Clearly STUPID... !!!! So Of Course Some Women... Have Run Their Lips Like SINKING Ships... !!! When It Comes To How... I Break Them Down... DISRESPECT of My TALENT... ?!? When I Choose To CHALLENGE... Their... DOUBLE Standards... !!!!!!!! With Words That RAVAGE... The LIES They... Manage... !!! Has PROVEN To FEED... DISRESPECT Speech... From IGNORANT Peeps’... Who Seem To BELIEVE... That They Really Know Me... ? DISRESPECT For THEM... Are Thoughts That Lend... Themselves To Express... SO MUCH NONSENSE... !?!?! That I Now Call Them... ..... IGNORAMUSES..... !!! So Called... " Friends "... And.... " Acquaintances ".... Should DO THIS LESS... !!! Choose To EXPRESS... A Lot of Talk That’s DEFECTIVE... !!! Because Just Like ME... NOBODY's ABOVE... Being............... .......“ DISRESPECTED “..... !!!!!

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The professions of our leaders are paraded across longitudinal and latitudinal vistas. However, I have to ask: Whatever happened to the possession of that which is professed in our contemporary shell of delusion? A princess may depart from her Celtic docks in order to sail back to her Anglican roots; and the fabric of high society may display an appealing veneer which covers explicit nakedness in the name of mass psychology. So, my articulate propagate of conformity, I urge you to don the profound tuxedo at your avoidant desire. But please do not seek for me to enter into the denial of our core identity. For those who are willing to rock this boat of ludicrous salesmanship, I raise my glass to testicular rectitude which transcends gender stereotypes.

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Nov 17, 2013

Nov 17, 2013 at 9:55 PM UTC

Deluded Venerability

The professions of our leaders are paraded across longitudinal and latitudinal vistas. However, I have to ask: Whatever happened to the possession of that which is professed in our contemporary shell of delusion? A princess may depart from her Celtic docks in order to sail back to her Anglican roots; and the fabric of high society may display an appealing veneer which covers explicit nakedness in the name of mass psychology. So, my articulate propagate of conformity, I urge you to don the profound tuxedo at your avoidant desire. But please do not seek for me to enter into the denial of our core identity. For those who are willing to rock this boat of ludicrous salesmanship, I raise my glass to testicular rectitude which transcends gender stereotypes.

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*Conquer the disharmony That creates ripples on The veneer of silence From the depths Powerful chants resonate This world within An inspiration to quell The disturbances Savor the silence And feeling of nothingness You have emptied yourself Of all the disharmony Now, only powerful silence And you are one With the cosmic harmony*

0

Mar 16, 2015

Mar 16, 2015 at 7:39 AM UTC

*Conquer the disharmony That creates ripples on The veneer of silence From the depths Powerful chants resonate This world within An inspiration to quell The disturbances Savor the silence And feeling of nothingness You have emptied yourself Of all the disharmony Now, only powerful silence And you are one With the cosmic harmony*

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I treated my skin like a goddess Legs shaved, hands moisturized, Any spot of acne scrubbed away and covered over with pale sheets But I hid from my spine, like a snake always a few inches behind me, waiting to strike This skin there was a poorly applied veneer, Exaggerating the flaws it was meant to hide The snake is in constant motion, waving an S up the core of my being, Displaying my instability It's curved, like the ridges of the Grand Canyon Only more unnatural, Un beautiful, More like a line you tried to draw straight Only when it wavered just a little too much, you threw it away and started over I cannot start over My snake drags venom along its body, instead of drooling it into a bite And he is always biting, So the skin on my back has never been touched Never been pampered, or savored.

0

Jan 7, 2018

Jan 7, 2018 at 10:48 PM UTC

I treated my skin like a goddess Legs shaved, hands moisturized, Any spot of acne scrubbed away and covered over with pale sheets But I hid from my spine, like a snake always a few inches behind me, waiting to strike This skin there was a poorly applied veneer, Exaggerating the flaws it was meant to hide The snake is in constant motion, waving an S up the core of my being, Displaying my instability It's curved, like the ridges of the Grand Canyon Only more unnatural, Un beautiful, More like a line you tried to draw straight Only when it wavered just a little too much, you threw it away and started over I cannot start over My snake drags venom along its body, instead of drooling it into a bite And he is always biting, So the skin on my back has never been touched Never been pampered, or savored.

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She holds me with fierceness and fragility her veneer like old paint on a utility door so unsure with the internally rendered pain of a thousand failing days I will lightly sand those cruel flakes with smooth care expectant of improvement and reset the broken hinges she has been left to hang on, replacing the bolt and lock so she has full control of who she lets pass She holds me with fierceness and fragility longing for alterations not altercations different times of high hopes holding within her wearing frame and in that space you will find me with one ear open Soothing the doubts of a hundred internal put downs, that can no longer be

0

Feb 17, 2015

Feb 17, 2015 at 1:19 AM UTC

Fierceness and Fragility

She holds me with fierceness and fragility her veneer like old paint on a utility door so unsure with the internally rendered pain of a thousand failing days I will lightly sand those cruel flakes with smooth care expectant of improvement and reset the broken hinges she has been left to hang on, replacing the bolt and lock so she has full control of who she lets pass She holds me with fierceness and fragility longing for alterations not altercations different times of high hopes holding within her wearing frame and in that space you will find me with one ear open Soothing the doubts of a hundred internal put downs, that can no longer be

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I have not been well lately But I have a secret to tell you It’s a success story: my most secret success You see, I’m very skilled in crafting holes And I’ve punched a massive hole Right through the middle of my life Please, don’t mistake this accomplishment for the result of talent This is a skill and it takes practice to master I went to college and learned to turn theories and ideals from basin to sieve I learned to critique everything hopeful And punched a hole right through the heart of hope I honed my ability to close out creativity I built a track down which to guide concrete linear thoughts And I learned to use said thoughts as a battering ram with which to Knock a hole in the barricaded door to dissatisfaction And, though this skill is often practical As you know, one cannot walk around wearing an open hole So, a corresponding skill has successfully emerged In parallel with nurturing voids I have learned to conceal each and every hole Sometimes with a thick canvass and Sometimes with a paper-thin veneer I may have learned to wrap a package And to tie a bow With the express purpose of packaging The broken gift of life Full of ugly holes And, now, all that is left to complete the perfect ending to this success story Is to grow old in a neatly kept apartment Filled with the unseen haunts of relationships neatly hole-punched and Filed in a hidden mental cabinet Next to a night stand where I keep my phone and glasses And across from the bed There will be a glass trophy case Full of trophies denoting various acceptable successes But, just between you and I The largest trophy denoting the largest success Will be a lifetime achievement award Bestowed for hollowing out what could have been A beautiful life.

0

Feb 21, 2013

Feb 21, 2013 at 4:07 PM UTC

I have not been well lately But I have a secret to tell you It’s a success story: my most secret success You see, I’m very skilled in crafting holes And I’ve punched a massive hole Right through the middle of my life Please, don’t mistake this accomplishment for the result of talent This is a skill and it takes practice to master I went to college and learned to turn theories and ideals from basin to sieve I learned to critique everything hopeful And punched a hole right through the heart of hope I honed my ability to close out creativity I built a track down which to guide concrete linear thoughts And I learned to use said thoughts as a battering ram with which to Knock a hole in the barricaded door to dissatisfaction And, though this skill is often practical As you know, one cannot walk around wearing an open hole So, a corresponding skill has successfully emerged In parallel with nurturing voids I have learned to conceal each and every hole Sometimes with a thick canvass and Sometimes with a paper-thin veneer I may have learned to wrap a package And to tie a bow With the express purpose of packaging The broken gift of life Full of ugly holes And, now, all that is left to complete the perfect ending to this success story Is to grow old in a neatly kept apartment Filled with the unseen haunts of relationships neatly hole-punched and Filed in a hidden mental cabinet Next to a night stand where I keep my phone and glasses And across from the bed There will be a glass trophy case Full of trophies denoting various acceptable successes But, just between you and I The largest trophy denoting the largest success Will be a lifetime achievement award Bestowed for hollowing out what could have been A beautiful life.

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California has two places we would escape the hectic bay area Central Coast and Disney land. We were staying at a smaller hotel right by Disney we got to know the owners they were very down to earth. We were setting in the glassed in game room by the pool well the husband came in with nine business men from Japan they were talking about buying his hotel. This was back when everyone bashed Japan. The next morning my wife went to the pool I was thinking about those men did I want to bash them or go a different way. God gave this to me it came in a rush it was written in fifteen minutes it is patriotic and it deals with our great blessing that is wrapped in diversity Imposter From where did the lie first spring The face I show I don't even know The truth does sting so to falsehood I cling. Best to wear this disguise, continue with the faceless mass. America proud land of liberty; too long it's been just a veneer. Freedom you espouse, to have this you must clean prejudice from your house. True greatness finally you will know, when it shines through all colors. To do this you must rediscover the bedrock of your heritage. Truly believe the words that say "We the people." Words that shook the elements, only being surpassed at creations stage. To long our apathy has been collaborating with our enemies no more. This challenge is given to restore. Opportunity's open door let us our energy out pour. That freedoms passion soars, as in the past ******* it tore. Land of light continue, Miss Liberty your lamp burning bright.

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Nov 17, 2011

Nov 17, 2011 at 4:30 AM UTC

hal-loyd-denton

California has two places we would escape the hectic bay area Central Coast and Disney land. We were staying at a smaller hotel right by Disney we got to know the owners they were very down to earth. We were setting in the glassed in game room by the pool well the husband came in with nine business men from Japan they were talking about buying his hotel. This was back when everyone bashed Japan. The next morning my wife went to the pool I was thinking about those men did I want to bash them or go a different way. God gave this to me it came in a rush it was written in fifteen minutes it is patriotic and it deals with our great blessing that is wrapped in diversity Imposter From where did the lie first spring The face I show I don't even know The truth does sting so to falsehood I cling. Best to wear this disguise, continue with the faceless mass. America proud land of liberty; too long it's been just a veneer. Freedom you espouse, to have this you must clean prejudice from your house. True greatness finally you will know, when it shines through all colors. To do this you must rediscover the bedrock of your heritage. Truly believe the words that say "We the people." Words that shook the elements, only being surpassed at creations stage. To long our apathy has been collaborating with our enemies no more. This challenge is given to restore. Opportunity's open door let us our energy out pour. That freedoms passion soars, as in the past ******* it tore. Land of light continue, Miss Liberty your lamp burning bright.

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She left me in a hurry, with no word of her return so I sit and wait, in longing, keep her treasures safe, and yearn for her face to gaze upon me, as she fettles her dear skin, with the pots of creams and lotions I keep for her, within my rose-lined drawers and cupboards, the little blue glass bird with wedding rings upon his beak I asked, he hasn’t heard of when our lady may be back to grace us with her care, her brushes sit with us and fret of the tangles in her hair and all lack of gloss and shine finger tips cannot bestow within her titian crowning, oh! Where did she go? Days slip by unhindered, and merging seasons pass, without her song or laughter reflected in my glass. I may as well be firewood, my veneer begins to crack, then, hark! I hear sweet footsteps! My mistress has come back! Her wedding rings rehomed at last, the bird and I rejoice, as she brushes out her hair and sings, for we have missed her voice. She polishes away the cracks, takes a seat upon her throne, rearranging pots and lotions, I’m so glad that she came home.

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Jul 26, 2013

Jul 26, 2013 at 6:57 PM UTC

miss-tabitha-devereaux

The Dressing Table

She left me in a hurry, with no word of her return so I sit and wait, in longing, keep her treasures safe, and yearn for her face to gaze upon me, as she fettles her dear skin, with the pots of creams and lotions I keep for her, within my rose-lined drawers and cupboards, the little blue glass bird with wedding rings upon his beak I asked, he hasn’t heard of when our lady may be back to grace us with her care, her brushes sit with us and fret of the tangles in her hair and all lack of gloss and shine finger tips cannot bestow within her titian crowning, oh! Where did she go? Days slip by unhindered, and merging seasons pass, without her song or laughter reflected in my glass. I may as well be firewood, my veneer begins to crack, then, hark! I hear sweet footsteps! My mistress has come back! Her wedding rings rehomed at last, the bird and I rejoice, as she brushes out her hair and sings, for we have missed her voice. She polishes away the cracks, takes a seat upon her throne, rearranging pots and lotions, I’m so glad that she came home.

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do you ever start chinking away breaking, cracking the stone, hard mineral, steel cold barrier of your heart so it'd be impossible for someone else to do it for you? white wine pungent, soft clinking glass against an empty chasm sunlight hard wood draped in sleeping veneer. cascading drapes against violet dark stagnant bruised skin left alone and slowly freezing over. smoke leaking through whispering dry lips chapped with desert words lack of moisture creating canyons hidden inside desperate mouths. it's breaking like a frozen over ashy, navy, drowning lake. my own fault, i always start breaking my own heart. my own form of life insurance. it's fogged over like a magnifying glass, cracking across the two foot surface because the strangled fish can't breathe under all the permafrost and ice. i'm waiting impatiently for summer; i hate this cold.

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Mar 12, 2014

Mar 12, 2014 at 1:39 AM UTC

Plutonium, Terbium, Uranium.

do you ever start chinking away breaking, cracking the stone, hard mineral, steel cold barrier of your heart so it'd be impossible for someone else to do it for you? white wine pungent, soft clinking glass against an empty chasm sunlight hard wood draped in sleeping veneer. cascading drapes against violet dark stagnant bruised skin left alone and slowly freezing over. smoke leaking through whispering dry lips chapped with desert words lack of moisture creating canyons hidden inside desperate mouths. it's breaking like a frozen over ashy, navy, drowning lake. my own fault, i always start breaking my own heart. my own form of life insurance. it's fogged over like a magnifying glass, cracking across the two foot surface because the strangled fish can't breathe under all the permafrost and ice. i'm waiting impatiently for summer; i hate this cold.

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*I'm tired of beauty incessantly meddling in my affairs luring me to venture outside myself revealing hidden radiance within disguising life's dismal undercurrent reducing it to a superficial veneer randomly appearing by surprise stubbornly eliciting a smile performing alchemy on the mundane dousing my awareness in the elixir of life beauty... the pulchritude of spirit...that's all it is...*

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Mar 24, 2014

Mar 24, 2014 at 6:05 PM UTC

Relentless Beauty

*I'm tired of beauty incessantly meddling in my affairs luring me to venture outside myself revealing hidden radiance within disguising life's dismal undercurrent reducing it to a superficial veneer randomly appearing by surprise stubbornly eliciting a smile performing alchemy on the mundane dousing my awareness in the elixir of life beauty... the pulchritude of spirit...that's all it is...*

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Butterflies do stammer on first dates. Thinking of what, What to say. My head rambles. My breath abates. My voice scrambles. My face straight. I throw smiles of my youth Tell stories wide and bright My subtle lies of clean truth With utter hopes to placate My eyes dart, my breath aghast This moment to be of our future's past This moment to be of our first date. We meet We greet We hide our anxiety Wading through tension Behind smiles and drinks We tread lightly With humorous winks Passing off stories of our past Sitting composed at full attention I listen intently But you catch me stare Hmmm, with each soft word We calm the air. Anticipating discovery I peek into you. Opening myself To reveal what's new. You smile freely Clenching fingers tight Butterflies take flight. Hoping what might You peek into me Saying no to what could be. My head disappears. My eyes dream. My shiny veneer Begins to hear. A flutter begins flight As I seek your light. My chest slowly warms To glows of moonbeams. My heart slowly endears As I faintly hear My butterfly's subtle screams. We attract hints of passion By sharing what's true. For all this fragile effort I hope for date number two.

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Aug 18, 2012

Aug 18, 2012 at 1:00 AM UTC

Subtle lies of butterflies.

Butterflies do stammer on first dates. Thinking of what, What to say. My head rambles. My breath abates. My voice scrambles. My face straight. I throw smiles of my youth Tell stories wide and bright My subtle lies of clean truth With utter hopes to placate My eyes dart, my breath aghast This moment to be of our future's past This moment to be of our first date. We meet We greet We hide our anxiety Wading through tension Behind smiles and drinks We tread lightly With humorous winks Passing off stories of our past Sitting composed at full attention I listen intently But you catch me stare Hmmm, with each soft word We calm the air. Anticipating discovery I peek into you. Opening myself To reveal what's new. You smile freely Clenching fingers tight Butterflies take flight. Hoping what might You peek into me Saying no to what could be. My head disappears. My eyes dream. My shiny veneer Begins to hear. A flutter begins flight As I seek your light. My chest slowly warms To glows of moonbeams. My heart slowly endears As I faintly hear My butterfly's subtle screams. We attract hints of passion By sharing what's true. For all this fragile effort I hope for date number two.

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Every day. The everyday. You see it every day. The twitch and reel and marble movement As turgid blood surfaces to face, Flows to operate stiff shoulders. Backs hunch as soon as they're alone. And they are alone. Surrounded by lovers that Love in word only. They chew their nails and cross their ankles. Uncross. And look around. Spring. Could you imagine? Gear, wire. Did he say? Bolt, frame. Isn't he? Ratchet. And then what did he say? Screws. Rotor. A bunch of **** Oil. Oil. Oil. Oil. Oil. Plug in. Silence. It moves. We move a head in times of Strain. To signify Exact measures. Twist on axis With perfect posture. Unnoticed frameworks bar our days. We are brass. The more crass are silver, gold. And the days are polish. Or maybe sand. Soon there are no mistakes. The veneer cakes without flaw. We do not acknowledge. We are not caught. For little hours though, there are kinks. Pauses. Errors. Open the clockwork face. What is stuck? A look around. The gears that grind us to cognition Are jammed by a fly-body Of soul. Soon, soon, sooner than ever It will be crushed. So gears might continue, Might make room for the everyday.

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Feb 13, 2010

Feb 13, 2010 at 2:57 PM UTC

Electric Adjective

Every day. The everyday. You see it every day. The twitch and reel and marble movement As turgid blood surfaces to face, Flows to operate stiff shoulders. Backs hunch as soon as they're alone. And they are alone. Surrounded by lovers that Love in word only. They chew their nails and cross their ankles. Uncross. And look around. Spring. Could you imagine? Gear, wire. Did he say? Bolt, frame. Isn't he? Ratchet. And then what did he say? Screws. Rotor. A bunch of **** Oil. Oil. Oil. Oil. Oil. Plug in. Silence. It moves. We move a head in times of Strain. To signify Exact measures. Twist on axis With perfect posture. Unnoticed frameworks bar our days. We are brass. The more crass are silver, gold. And the days are polish. Or maybe sand. Soon there are no mistakes. The veneer cakes without flaw. We do not acknowledge. We are not caught. For little hours though, there are kinks. Pauses. Errors. Open the clockwork face. What is stuck? A look around. The gears that grind us to cognition Are jammed by a fly-body Of soul. Soon, soon, sooner than ever It will be crushed. So gears might continue, Might make room for the everyday.

Continue reading...