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JLB Feb 2012
It's amazing,
How words will only actualize our realities
                                        Fully                   ­               
               When they are uttered
                                   Aloud.


And once those unspoken realities transpire,
It's as if the all the air in the world gets caught in a primordial vibration,
                
                   And those vibrations                                                       ­                     
Break the internal balloon                                                
Detaining­ veracity's ink                    
Painting our insides like the canvas of Jackson Pollack.
                                                        ­       Seeping through soft tissue.
                                          Spilling into chest cavities.
         Sloshing around.
           Saturating the hues of our flesh.

A single utterance
Resulted in irrevocable emotional
Infiltration:

"I'm in love"

*******...
Jack B Feb 2014
Cursor. Stare vacantly back at me.  A pair of rough hands scrape against cheeks.  My own.  
A faint yet familiar soreness in the back of the throat.  
Christmas lights procure rings of color on the walls and make still for an instant
mounting apprehension.

Count the days.

Recount.

Plan each day, hour by hour. Compelled to use them to their fullest potential.
Productivity.
Type without fear. Without concern for that looming pair of eyes to examine this.

A verbalization of [my own dark thoughts] “It’s not good enough.” “ It’s garbage."

Jagged hands. Jagged hands to delicate hairs on the back of the neck.  Above ear and pushed from forehead.  Soreness in throat keeps me [grounded].  
Soreness in heart sends me to dream.  
Soft groan escapes a pair of lips as a pair of eyes find a likeness captured in pixels.  
Close it shut put it down look away deep breath in.

Distract.

Distract with learning.
The inextinguishable desire to know, to see, to understand [this]
existence.

Will one day I allow for eyes not my own to bear witness to this love poem?
This love poem to life, both in a particular and universal sense.

With timid hands and trembling insides I surrender

*my words.
Mark Tilford Sep 2015
" Stimulation of ones genitals or another  
resulting in ******"
How could that be an abomination ??
for me
an
"Acceleration"
with downward
"migration"
With lots of exploration
and
"stimulation"
With dreams and fascinations
of
"*******"
Self exploitation
and
"Gratification"
with new innovations
maybe a little *******
Nothing wrong with group participation
and
experimentation
some change of ****** orientation
With lots of anticipation
and
determination
**** for visual sensation  
Lots of perspiration
Even hotter with verbalization
nothing in moderation
Both hands moving in unification
with different combinations
self examination
Breath quickening with each
expiration
Waiting for
the ******
and it's
donation!
!!
:)
'
Julia Verón Sep 2013
Seven times repeated
waiting, burying
just enough to feel the fantasy.
You are almost gone.
Mentally stamp't
Formed and pressured.
Physically unreachable.

The touch of each
beat, hollow sound
and unknown awareness.
Relaxation is distant
due to
each cement wall
numb, wet, rapid
pulses.
We know what we want.
Comfort,
trust, physical
verbalization.
Eye contact, fingers
linked
slipped to the left
*passion.
an incident took place
just yesterday
one met a troll
at the site's hostile bay
its verbalization was not
of pleasant greeting
some rather pointed
things said at the meeting

firstly it conveyed
the B---- term
on hearing that term
one did squirm
thence it proceeded
to tell one
in no uncertain terms
one should be turned
out to pasture
midst all the slugs
and worms

well its form of address
did of one not overly impress
and may one place on the record
one felt that one's
hot button got a press

trolling maybe amusing
for a troll
yet one didn't delight in its
unnecessary patrol

the trenchant troll
needs a fulltime occupation
which is more useful
to the writing population
EJ Aghassi Feb 2014
mermaid far from sea
from dreams, it would seem

how is it that the odds
are in my favor for once?

not only can you walk
the ground in
warm welcome
of your pretty step

you can talk

but above all else

you talk to me
you walk beside me

sea legs I see legs
they're there
so elegant
the way they
rest upon one
another

and time is the enemy
the one time it seems to be on my side
for once i want
it to stop completely

gravitational
sensation
pulls with
enchanted
verbalization

you smile
i can't help but to fixate on
that tender arch in your lips
i long for them

and i think that smile could be for me

for once i think it could be for me
MoonChild Jun 2015
'vitriolic
acrimonious,
rancorous
acrid,
trenchant,
virulent,
poetry in my mind

verse,
limerick,
rhyme,

utterance,
voicing,
pronouncement,
declaration,
articulation,
verbalization,
statement,
proclamation,
assertion,
announcement.

pointless.
KLR Oct 2011
proper verbalization is impossible when all emotions build up
into a castle of nothing
where all i'd like to do is throw you down a spiral staircase
and leave you there to decompose.
my heart is a tomb and i've dug you out.

so young, and willing
to go along with all requests
and just believe there's love where there isn't.
misty led me to the fishbone dreamlife
and i let myself get lost among the ribs.

your ribs.
they're bruised.
when you laugh you ache
when i push you burn.
and now the thought of you in pain isn't in regret, nor delight, just apathy.

i once was a chain smoker.
one after the other,
and i'd come back later for more.
but there's only one cigarette left
burned down to the filter and i don't want anymore.

of course, i'm rather fickle so generally i'll go back for more
but is it out of genuine want
or addiction?
do i stay in this bed of tobacco
locked in it's embrace out of habit?

could i walk away?
can i?
Jack R Fehlmann Nov 2013
It could be, eyes see differently.
That I might not appreciate the same view?
If it is a gaze, fixed, at a distance,
focused on the impossible,
maybe?,.
Or thought, fought inwardly about?,.
Out of reach, league, or,..
Better without?
What the heart stays chained to,
Tethered secretly,
and at great distance,
though to step out?,.
Of the safe places,
out of clear evaluation, a secret,
admiration,..
Dreamed about, infatuated and unspoken,
outside of dreams that are intoxicated, provoked,
streamed and called by the heart,..
Its habit of longing,
watching, imagining,..
the, oh, sensation,..
the simple locking of hands,..
oh, the, shared smiles and confessions with no verbalization.
true love, of two souls, who,...
somehow vibrated in tune,..
out of devine planning, or intervention, if not, at random.
But such, could, never happen for me,..
not lucky enough.
But, am, or will,..
just might.
only if,..
I, Step out?
shed loves shaded shadows, obscurity,..
offering clearly, in front of,..
be the center of that one's unknowing realized,..
be there, I,..
in their laymens yet, appreciative gaze.
becoming focused, dare to and dance,..
not to hint, none less then truthful, the words you use,
have but to let your heart, its knowing,..
express what it wants,..
and, then,...
finally,..
be free of this,..
the unknowing.
Clearly hidden from view, can,.. confront,..
Shall, demand,.. unknowings end.
Rex Allen McCoy Jan 2015
The night seems much colder constrained in conceit
well ... perhaps just a little
perhaps

Conceivably
as one awakens within an echo
recollection
reverberberates throughout a constant disorder
well ... perchance just a little
perchance

Possibly
a cascading aural inevitability pervades constructive subconscious
and invades confidant tranquility
with some possibility of being the case

Perhaps
If one eliminates all the impossibilities
whatever remains
however improbable
could quite conceivably
lead
to the verbalization...

Who ****** Cares
~~~
arubybluebird Aug 2017
Beginners. The part in Beginners where Georgia takes young Oliver to the art museum and playfully tilts her body to mimic the juxtaposed metal frame installation. Or when on one of their drives in their 1982 Mercedes-Benz 300 D Turbo Diesel, Georgia tells young Oliver "You point, I'll drive," so Oliver knee-jerkily points his finger to the direction opposite of where they are driving, and Georgia calmly steers the car out of control without any bit of hesitation. The fact that Oliver keeps the "You point, I'll drive" tradition alive with Anna years after Georgia's passing, but never explains or even mentions to Anna the backstory and significance behind these words, it's just something he casually incorporates in his counted moments with her, which conveys through indirect verbalization just how much she means to him.

Oh, and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Don't even get me started with Joel and Clementine, and all their heart-wrenching, perfect one-liners and phrases.

"I'm Clementine. Can I... borrow a piece of your chicken?"
"And then you just took it... without waiting for an answer. It was so intimate; like we were already lovers."

And,

"I could die right now, Clem. I'm just...happy. I'm exactly where I wanna be." All the right words, in the right sequence, with precise pause and emphasis.

Or,

"I'm a little out of sorts today." A line I secretly quote and have casually adapted into my every day utterances.

And of course the infamous Tangerine and Joely Sequence;

"You're pretty, you're pretty. You're pretty... you're pretty... pretty.."

Both of these movies mean so much to me. These are the kind of things I would tell you. These are the kind of things that would mean something to you, that would lead you to finding some bit of magic in me, and maybe even make you fall in love. But you've never asked, and you don't, and you won't. Still, I wish that you would ask.
Felicia C Jul 2014
**** the way you say nonsense syllables because it makes me weak in the knees.
Your verbalization of a non-vernacular, space-filling, time-stealing thought
makes me melt like Popsicle Boy’s spine when he realized he couldn’t chase the lightning bug anymore.
You’re just two steps shy of blind in more ways than one, and your ribcage is such a terrible pillow.

Um.
July 2013
They may be the spawn of all your uncertainty
But you cannot blame them
But we can blame you for thinking a certain way
Or speaking a certain way
You don't have the right to feel the way you feel
In the land of hypocrisy
We can do one thing
And say the other
Without any chastisement
How dare you exist
How dare you persist
In these deep blue thoughts
Turning into purple
A deep dark crimson peeking out of me
I left it to rot
But it's coming out of the lot
Everyone wants to be a despot
When I just want something to be done
Everything leading up to here was far from fun
But my mind will stay on the run
You can't expect me to not be a hired gun
When I can't even see my own Sun
Due to their constant eclipse
I felt it once before
Let me have another glimpse
Of sudden paradise
Very few moments truly felt genuine
The rest were just bland nothings
Contrived and reaped
It doesn't matter how much I wept
It's just a show to them
Let me get some high quality actors
Since my personal battles were never a factor
In this treacherous journey
To be worth something
Devalue me and retract your stance
I'm letting Lucifer dance
While I stay silent
Nobody ever gives me a chance
To speak
I'm unreasonably weak
In your eyes
While you never brought together an idea of compromise
So the best option for you was to leave me paralyzed
I don't care how your words are stylized
It still holds no meaning to me
I think I saw this coming long ago
I never wanted to come to terms
You're the President that should of never got them
That I should accept this
I'm on a road that only I can understand
While everyone else believes that approaching anything with feral verbalization is the key
Oh, what a hell it is being me

I think I;ve had enough.

This road looks like the endless blackness that you see in those games you stay until midnight playing
You think you can fabricate things but all I'm saying is

You could of done a lot better in a world where I always think I have to be.

These colors lose their appeal because I'm swimming in a depression that shouldn't be real
I'm thankful but resentful that I have to feel
I wish this pain wasn't real
Every moment you implement it to my vital signs

I wish the elation was always alive
And never had to be a victim of contrive
Pin me against the wall
All you want
I'm the peace in this elongated firefight
While I stay awake at night
I find reasons to quell the tensions
That this world has

No matter what a living soul says to me
I have every right to feel this
I have every right to say what is on my mind
Purpose is so hard to find
When you always grind
And they just throw you into a bind
The only person I have is me and Christ
More will suffice

I love who I am
But be cognizant that I'm a man who knows he's by himself
I have accepted it.

The path of legends await
I'm ready to walk

Into the depths of Insulation
I smile with confidence
I know you think I don't have it
But I have everything
Let the universe dictate
Where I should go.
I have returned. Let's see where this takes us.
Pen Lux May 2014
I'm so glad that
I don't
gotta worry
about no one
but me.

something rang in my mind
came to find, soon you'll see
                        that I just don't
got the time
                                  to rewind
to recognize the trace
of another nostalgic smell
when the sun through the window
heats my flesh,
all I know is
                      it's morning.

the lonesome rising
                                  feels heavy
starting the day
                            ready to shut down
closing you out
removing all doubt
that this confidence
will only commence
while communicating
without speech,
                            without sound.

the words once spoken
retreated, too often, repeated.
misconstrued and misconducted
no more pieces, reconstructed.

verbalization once was key
yet now it's plain and clear to see
actions speak volumes,
heights in which words
will never reach.

no more explaining,

I'm sick
of the preaching
the controlling
confuse for teaching.

words are a tool
best used to enhance
or clarify
any given situation.

I'm so glad that
I don't
gotta worry
about no one
but me.

Keep myself safe
in my head,
empty bed,
no more dread.

Today,
I'm no more alive
than I am dead.
To the forgotten words..
You will always be loved, from the moment I wrote you thought you discovered you were inspired by you, I imparted myself unto you.
You are my greatest failing, but it's not your fault.
As Lao Tzu once thought and successfully verbalized:

"If you are depressed you are living in the past if you are anxious you are living in the future. If you are at peace, you are living in the present."

You are because verbalization cannot adequately paint these things out so that they are recognizable, and of course my own neglect to nurture you.

You are beautiful, an elegant dance always retracing its own steps trying to find its name, its place on the stage of my tongue, you are bold and explosive, capable of crumbling the walls I've built.
But you are lost in line and the final contestants have already been chosen for this season.

You are forgotten, romanticized to ensure myself you were once worth it, but then wouldn't I remember you?
Wouldn't your name slip out under the covers of another's passionate explorations?
People often struggle to find something spectacular, constantly climbing mountains never looking anywhere but at the peak where the sun sits.
And although the view is gorgeous you may be blind by the time you get there.

Often we forget that before there was anything, a light to chase, glory for that matter, there was darkness.
An utter emptiness, which is now where you reside, and I've been to blinded by the light to go bumping around in that night to find you.

You, are not always wise, but you were mostly honest, although misguided from what I hear of you these days.
I do miss you, so if perhaps your rehearsals over.
The stage is set, and I've got my hands locked steady praying for your return, ready to burst into applause at the miracle of your existence.
Jack R Fehlmann Nov 2013
maybe it's the simple ways?..
like a wink of one eye
or the suitableness in a smile
the type that comes in secret
shared by only we two
as if we are our own reasons
we are above the rest,
beyond the average everyday types
there is a bond, a connection
words shared with no verbalization
we are special, you and I
set apart, made unique, different
and the way we are together
we should hold on to this
what ever it is, it is
and it is enough, it is worth it.
labels are for those that can't see
or pick out one from the next
we need no such thing,
a thousand miles distant,
a lifetime apart,
I'd know you in an instant,
like rivers know the direction
of the land, it's hills and bends
the very very start of the journey
the ocean at its end
what you and I share is...
what it is,.. so long as we believe it
i am willing, if you are too.
Meg Feb 2018
Confidence
Is my second language.
I try to speak in the tongues of the greats:
World leaders, activists, rebels.
I attempt to curl my tongue around the foreign syllables of Self-assurance,
Too heavy to dictate with the proper connotations.
You see, I am still learning this language.
I conjugate with firm handshakes,
Pronounce with eye contact,
Communicate with poise...
Some of the time.
You see, I am not yet fluent in this vocabulary,
Cannot articulate with precision my identity.
I hear the echoes of voices rolling consonants and vowels off their lips like a hymn:
Some people have spoken it since birth,
Have merely acquired it.
Others, like me, have had to work for it,
Have had to force our mouths into alien configurations,
Into abstract lingual shapes, learning how to speak the way a fawn learns to walk:
Gawkily and with a resigned unfamiliarity.
My native tongue cannot enunciate all of the curves and straight edges of Fearlessness,
But ******* does it try.
My voice’s inflection is heavily accented with uncertainty;
Anyone who hears me knows that confidence is not my first language.
But that does not mean that my voice will break on the bones of my past mistakes.
It does not mean I cannot speak the words without my chin up, eyes unblinking, voice unwavering, as un-fluent as it may be.
It does not mean that my accented second language is any less correct than your first.
I am training my mouth to say “no” in a different language,
To say “no” with my mouth closed.
Letters drip off of my tongue like honey but not half as sweet.
But who dictates verbalization?
Who decides that my speech is too broken to accommodate coherent oration
I ask you:
is this soapbox sermon any less fluent than our history textbooks?
Is my broken English any less multifaceted than yours?
I will tell you
My lack of coherent eloquence is no less worthy of my lungs than of yours.
Melin May 2020
Your tears are of deep emotions
that never came to verbalization.
This fool doth not consider himself wise,
writing paltry poetry difficult
to read and/or actualize
methinks perusers of great literature
snub nose how I miserably advertise,

laughable attempt to aerobicise
fifty plus shades of gray matter
lobbying showy words agonize
zing effort perhaps best to cauterize
near petrified glob - boon

for scientists to analyze
baffling laboratory technicians
unusual crenulations
a profound surprise
pitiful peremptorily doth apologize

unlike verbalization feasible
after webbed whirled fist size
terra incognita reveals numbskull years
wrought yours truly to anesthetize
smelting, squelching,

and suppressing emotions
scored how tree rings annualize
environmental conditions definite
premature imp of the pervert
poe fella lifetime channels,

where bullies did antagonize
upon death requested autopsy authorize
zing eager scalpels to apprize
miniature dried river bed
formerly streams of consciousness

lake never seen before engendering
crowdsource to hypothesize
baffling every expert,
how terrible fate did baptize
ala lemony snicket series

of unfortunate events
multiplied power bajillion times
number only Google could surmise
obvious tell tale signs did brutalize
as if smacked upside the head

one unfortunate gladly apparently
suffered maelstroms of armageddon size
poet chars evidently
succeeded to burglarize
more successful than Watergate

psychological ploys hackers
noninvasively did cannibalize
(perhaps bored furloughed
government employees)
albeit noninvasively deeming

imposible to canonize
resultant cerebral corpus
understandably did capsize
entire body politik (Democrat)
faced, booked on hatred did demonize

verbal assaults indicate
suffering did caramelize
cerebrum, cerebellum and brainstem
resembling burnt offering 
impossible to categorize

glommed hardened integument colleagues
hard pressed to characterize
highly rendered anomaly,
hence unfair to criticize
erratic schizoid personality disorder

quite evident amyloid plaques 
did significantly crystalize
definitely explain aberrant quirks
resultant incessant emasculation 
unquestionably led him to demoralize.
Peter Kiggin Aug 2017
Could be wrong

Filling the air with inspiration
Stars from the street light constellation
Journey into space exploration
Wearing a smile full of situation
Call your mother for graduation
Rush of blood to the head of verbalization
Ticket to ride to Paddington Station
Mountains are full of inclination
River so deep into speculation
Sun so sweet causes saturation
Bastardization of the population
After beguiling charisma,
damnable excoriations fixedly,
gamely, horribly, insult jesting,
kibitzing, loosely mindless nattering,

outlandish pablum, quintessentially
representing senseless trumpeting,
unswervingly vapid wordy
X-DOUBLE-MINUS
yawping zest.

If ye did not already guess from thee
above blimey claptrap, Das English flap
doodle glib human incorporates jokingly,
kookily, laughably mashedup nonsensical,

oddly, peculiarly, questionably ridiculous,
spluttering total unintelligible virtually
witless Xmas yakking zany tripe
writes hello albeit as Abbott Long Winded.

This uneventful life of mine desperately
clings (nee plaintively begs cessation
from ****** condemnation since...well,
when alma mater of fact abracadabra magic)

assailed, thence rendered blinkered existence
moot. Prolongation experiencing sustained
nirvana, wrought pitiless cooptation diminishing
enlightened fruition. No matter impossible

to believe omniscient prediction nearly came
to naught. Instant karma graced ecstatic grandeur.
This abbreviated attestation cognitively laughable,
a mere figment of imagination. Ultimate acquisition

asper beholding heavenly jurisdiction limited to
infinitesimal immeasurable marginalization.
Representation allowing, enabling, and providing
sustained self actualization, a willow o the wisp

pipe dream visitation. Appetite whetted
via smidgen spiritual delectation. Now angelic
amplification, declaration, and glorification stymied,
and only briefly espied, when unfettered temptation

sensing an Indus scribe Hubble lucubrate fashioned
afterlife became accidentally accessible. Now???
Utter Pradesh futility, imbecility, and lunacy
to experience sublimation viz cosmic conscious

Creator! Impossible to lie prostrate, thence
whisper vis a vis instigation, intonation, and/or
invocation lamentably ordaining realization
sans, re cap cha, analogous to verboten fruit,

which similarly anointed, when faint approximation
(fulfilling fleeting fatherhood feint), the  
******* exaltation additionallygrounded.
Thus a blackened imprecation exponentially

fulminates, pestiferously quakes, and
sycophantically tortures purposely, viciously
increasesing prolongation of deprivation.
Despair erodes faithful generation formerly

harvesting insightful joyous kinship with long
lost loves. Salivation for salvation even pronounced
via declaration for crucifixion. Mine kismet grounded
spiritual gypped facilitation instills voluntary extradition.

This native American son willingly adopted
Alfred E. Neuman disguise. Outfitted thus,
while astride Red Baron (docile caparisoned horse),
I will sacrifice mortality surrendering selflessness

to trumpeting, and subsequent permanent deportation
among grateful dead, who defy condemnation
at the price of corporeal longevity. Hallelujahs,
hexameter hosannas, and hurrahs vocalized.

Transition thru divine gabled (invitation only)
dominion extolling democratization, a lifelong
(qua death short) aspiration alm ma LIX spittled
emotionally kudzu choked up existence. Now

blessed eternal peace handily given after thine
incessant pleading,whereat each outstretched palm
olive adrip with perspiration. Redemption (though
atheistic bent) effort likened to universalistic,

naturalistic, holistic, and cathartic balms despite
all this twaddle i.e. unnecessary verbalization,
sans obfuscation, jocular equivocation.
Translation even more onerous from this: Man
Hue Sscript!
Therefore, I opted to
reduce heavy sedation
within unsuspecting reader rabbit
summarization superseded elaboration,
less reason spurring salacious secretion
i.e. a-z expletive epithet, et cetera laced

verbalization crucifixion subsequently,
neither nameless nincompoop (me)
crossing verboten drive,
nor this ditto anonymous
poetic purveyor to burden heavy
onlookers with elegiac colluding bugaboo

even daunting grizzly Adams,
endeavoring exclusively exercising
"E" valuation in futile attempt
to express mild exuberance
entailing English language.

Essentially erudition wrought
elucubration, ecstatic emotion,
enunciation, enumeration, eradication
narrowly avoiding writer's block
concomitent ebullition, emasculation
exacerbation, exasperation,

stepped up escalation elevation
malignant hypertension, encrustation
elementary (my dear Watson)
extemporaneous embarkation
severely affected non exlax induced
emergency enema evacuation,

but not even for the grace of dog
unstoppable elimination, ejection...
exhausting excavation
water closet expedition
elucidation, elation, edification,
vis a vis emancipation,

despite literary emaciation malnutrition
near extinction yours truly,
nonetheless... faint eruption
eureka ******* elongation
emanation awoke new edition
regarding neigh saying kid on the block

elicitation, elocution, energization,
eroticization, estimation, excitation
activated skeletal echolocation
eye opening entrepreneurial effectuation
analogous TVA electrification,
hence enervation equalization

relieved self cannibalization
thankfully discouraging envenomization
invariably in conclusion,
no exaggeration pronouncing
exemption verdict against
my extirpation sore disappointment!
(alternatively titled eldest daughter despises us)

Eden (beloved eldest daughter) icy
flat tone of voice spoke volumes,
when she talked with the missus and me
courtesy cellular telecommunications key
December twenty seventh
two thousand nineteen
unwavering listless dull verbalization see
I subsequently told spouse, she
thy super smart self reliant progeny

fending for herself approximately
last half dozen years exhibits je
ne sais quois profound loathing
predicated growing up dirt poor free
quint lee lamenting deprivations re:
guarding legal tender adequate specie
i.e. money - at least compared to every
MainLine millionaire flush with dee -

suppose able income, and oft times
lovingly, pleasantly, unexpectedly...
receiving largasse gift horse courtesy
zayda (my father), who art not yet
in heaven sprung monetary help, ye
this second born and only son did
profusely think him (papa) lee
ving voice messages on his landline,
and tracfone, plus wrote heartfelt poem,

similar acknowledgement modus operandi,
when said offspring
became twenty three
years old - five days ago, nonetheless thee
admirable, dependable, honorable... née
holds Matthew Scott (namely he),
who helped beget
darling feels angry,

and doth plainly exhibits contempt
(you) dear reader guessed correctly
towards sorrowful dada,
where inescapable thralldom
doth invisibly chain
(think ghost of Marley)
apologetic sir, whose
precious kinder, I

will unwaveringly cherish
forever love and revere
despite up paul ling
destitution, grinding linkedin penury,
and red hot poker faced
anger, yes... dismay
prevails how unforgiving
once (Benny sent) baby,

inside joke, I attest neigh
scent "star student,"
now grown young woman,
no longer - figuratively
wrapped around yours
truly her finger
father who fell short, natively cree
hated abhorrent within re

cent mammary, ***** (hers)
harboring scathing unmasked vee
hum mint, blistering, rancorous,
seething, volcanic withering...
no matter disgusting revulsion
toward aging mommy
and repentant daddy,
I LOVE YE EDEN + SHANA!
Jester Mar 2020
Another punk writing words like there's some point.

Is this art? A rant?

It's free speech of the lowest kind, ******* in time.

Every-thing-can be a poem
if you speak
like-this; pointless.

Leslie Knope.

Art split a million times, we're James McAvoying our opinions on talent and taste.

I cut the cost and cut the cord so unmic'd and raw, since the dawn of verbalization we've used words as tools and weapons, sounds of love and panic, of joy and rage

Now we use it to fake it until enough of us make it to call it art.
BLD Nov 2023
An entire life you'd lived
before meeting the newborn me.
Special recollections endemic to you,
your portrait remains in my mind,
long-lasting forevermore,
too fragile to crack at the base,
memories withstanding the passage of time.

Hidden tears -- no sadness, just numb --
atmospheric tones of silence and refrain,
solemn notes adorn the walls of time
as they await the change in hopeful tides.
Rusted scissors in the hair of strangers,
swiftly dusting the fallen scraps
while the sun begins to dip beyond
the realms of the small town called home.

Unwillingly enduring the loss of a half
I never had the chance to meet;
those wounds never seem to scar,
yet onwards you marched through the veil
of cloaked dimensions diminishing hindsight,
a fallen flag now ripped and torn,
fabric scattered across an empty hall.

With age comes a realization
of the obscure similarities between us two:
fierce loyalty defines our name,
unabashed quips at those deserving;
our tonal blades slice into skin,
a verbalization of the anger repressed far away.
Our fingers can move, but we cannot feel
the freedom of those who dilated our gaiety.
It is easier for us to hide ourselves away
from those undeserving of the thoughts we possess,
the lies we believe, the trauma that haunts
deep into the silent night.

Mayme you were to the blood not ours;
Mother you were to the three you'd borne;
Meemaw you were to the many you loved
who sprung from the effort you selflessly poured
into raising the fruits of your labor,
the unknowing preparation of a life not yours,
a labyrinth of encouragement and love
for those who'd come after you were gone
and we who maintain your abiding legacy.

— The End —