"vesicle" poems - Hello Poetry

There is a vast Ocean we call the Universe. In it are Galaxies like Plankton. Within them are Stars Systems like Cells. The Stars themselves are like Nuclei, are surrounded by Planets like Ribosomes, Vesicle, Rough and Smooth endoplasmic reticulum, Golgi apparatus, Cytoskeleton, Mitochondria, Vacuole, Cytosol, Lysosome, Centrioles within Centrosome. And sometimes in the planets are Civilizations like Atoms. Within these civilizations are People, some Positive like Protons, some Negative like Electrons, and some who just don't give a **** just like Neutrons. Making every single thing an Important (but Not Better than the other) part of the Whole System.

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Oct 24, 2013

Oct 24, 2013 at 9:56 PM UTC

masoom-rahman

Ocean of the Universe

There is a vast Ocean we call the Universe. In it are Galaxies like Plankton. Within them are Stars Systems like Cells. The Stars themselves are like Nuclei, are surrounded by Planets like Ribosomes, Vesicle, Rough and Smooth endoplasmic reticulum, Golgi apparatus, Cytoskeleton, Mitochondria, Vacuole, Cytosol, Lysosome, Centrioles within Centrosome. And sometimes in the planets are Civilizations like Atoms. Within these civilizations are People, some Positive like Protons, some Negative like Electrons, and some who just don't give a **** just like Neutrons. Making every single thing an Important (but Not Better than the other) part of the Whole System.

1

It uses the seatbelt as a vesicle Slithers across your shoulders, prickles your chest With every beat It pounds into your heart, wiggles into your veins You're infected But it feels so good Your blood forgets oxygen and caters to the pulse flowing throughout your systems At once, Gravity remembers it's job angrily it sinks to your feet pools and tenses Wearily it exits through the sole spiders into the floor the music has left you You are forever infected And it feels so good

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Oct 17, 2011

Oct 17, 2011 at 11:35 AM UTC

LadyNightshady

Pleasurable Infection

It uses the seatbelt as a vesicle Slithers across your shoulders, prickles your chest With every beat It pounds into your heart, wiggles into your veins You're infected But it feels so good Your blood forgets oxygen and caters to the pulse flowing throughout your systems At once, Gravity remembers it's job angrily it sinks to your feet pools and tenses Wearily it exits through the sole spiders into the floor the music has left you You are forever infected And it feels so good

19

some mornings even my hair seems to behave, when i don't need it to -- like weather or feelings. after today, i was content. i finally got my bed just the way i like it, settled in, surrounded by cush, and plush and (dead insects) despite a growing discomfort in my belly, i'm still fine; saltine remedy, mint tea potion. a lovely girl asked me to catch dreams for her. of course i will, in jars like fireflies, natural lanterns to light up your imagination. but the aching in my belly seems intent on staying until addressed appropriately-- sneakily creeping up on me like adolescent shenanigans-- acknowledgement is reminiscence, the kind you don't fancy at 1:00 am. so i mulled it over, going home; like a kick in the shins, it made me realize that the little place in me, maybe a vein or vesicle, is still missing. it used to be an ***** a limb; in months it shrank to an extremity, a digit, finally infinitesimal-- but still missing. (now) i'm having trouble making my peace with the fact that you'll have that artery, or capillary, or soul atom for awhile or forever, maybe. but i think, i posit in fact, perhaps by march, a few months more, i'll forget and be able to say "it's yours."

0

Nov 20, 2012

Nov 20, 2012 at 4:45 AM UTC

foxsuitpoetry

for me, and for you/my sweet

some mornings even my hair seems to behave, when i don't need it to -- like weather or feelings. after today, i was content. i finally got my bed just the way i like it, settled in, surrounded by cush, and plush and (dead insects) despite a growing discomfort in my belly, i'm still fine; saltine remedy, mint tea potion. a lovely girl asked me to catch dreams for her. of course i will, in jars like fireflies, natural lanterns to light up your imagination. but the aching in my belly seems intent on staying until addressed appropriately-- sneakily creeping up on me like adolescent shenanigans-- acknowledgement is reminiscence, the kind you don't fancy at 1:00 am. so i mulled it over, going home; like a kick in the shins, it made me realize that the little place in me, maybe a vein or vesicle, is still missing. it used to be an ***** a limb; in months it shrank to an extremity, a digit, finally infinitesimal-- but still missing. (now) i'm having trouble making my peace with the fact that you'll have that artery, or capillary, or soul atom for awhile or forever, maybe. but i think, i posit in fact, perhaps by march, a few months more, i'll forget and be able to say "it's yours."

62

Bright hand touched the door Easing it slowly around With the tenderness of a prepubescent girl Lingering gently about. Wondering, loudly i might add, That you really hate these Venetian blinds. You sit in the fat leather chair, Which must have belonged to your dad a million years ago. You sip diet coke like your lost friend brandy, And you cross your legs in the most ****** way That my seminal vesicle shifts into overdrive. Through the tainted windows I see you raise your winter scarf to your throat Ceremoniously, or possibly vehemently. After which you clean your glasses with laser precision And raise them back into place. Your crystal gaze lands on the heavy door a few steps away, They wait in concentrated intensity As each heavy step’s staccato note is heard form the other side.

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Mar 19, 2013

Mar 19, 2013 at 5:01 PM UTC

connor-thomas

Some Resounding Words from the Horses Mouth

Bright hand touched the door Easing it slowly around With the tenderness of a prepubescent girl Lingering gently about. Wondering, loudly i might add, That you really hate these Venetian blinds. You sit in the fat leather chair, Which must have belonged to your dad a million years ago. You sip diet coke like your lost friend brandy, And you cross your legs in the most ****** way That my seminal vesicle shifts into overdrive. Through the tainted windows I see you raise your winter scarf to your throat Ceremoniously, or possibly vehemently. After which you clean your glasses with laser precision And raise them back into place. Your crystal gaze lands on the heavy door a few steps away, They wait in concentrated intensity As each heavy step’s staccato note is heard form the other side.

19

Forests of Time await in the vastness of our hearts and the simplicity of our inner gems, they sing to us paint themselves an accolade, sing to themselves a daring hum of life present, serene in the very same hearts out here are heartbreaks and suicides, here, in these moments our tyranny is our blessing. If you haven’t yet understood the power of this vesicle, comprehend. Here down to our toes, we are death, life, assimilated and working. We are paradox's conclusions we are demons denying themselves patience, do you hear me? This could be our last sentence, our last repeat of the cyclic crimes splattered across screens and into our minds, honed deep into DNA and memories passed down to us, do you think that karma doesn’t die…. Forget with me, for a moment what may tie to you to this or that, what may make you some way or another and remember, the possibility of your existence and it's slimness and it's fervor such beauty I could sing. Come home. Come home. Come home to the wonder of yourself. 7 billion+ people and you are lovable, by some one, somewhere, right now, know this, and no I’m not talking ****** partners, although they may fall into the mix, I’m talking family and friends, I’m talking the trees who shake and shimmy and bend, I’m saying the sky loves you, the rivers love you, the dreams love you, you are a shimmering essence of pollution turned sparkling star dust when you live like you are worthy, live like you know what you are, ( nothing short of a miracle) live knowing the magic and beauty that flows through you, yes, you who knows what death tastes like…and still smiles at the majesty of it all. If you haven’t yet understood the power of this vesicle, comprehend. We all have it on our very lips, we all have the ashes of those long dead in our lungs we burn that to make our cars run. We think we’re alone out here in the universe we never even left home Or explored the forests waiting in the vastness of our hearts. Come home. Come home. Come home.

0

Aug 26, 2016

Aug 26, 2016 at 1:23 PM UTC

Fah

Untitled

Forests of Time await in the vastness of our hearts and the simplicity of our inner gems, they sing to us paint themselves an accolade, sing to themselves a daring hum of life present, serene in the very same hearts out here are heartbreaks and suicides, here, in these moments our tyranny is our blessing. If you haven’t yet understood the power of this vesicle, comprehend. Here down to our toes, we are death, life, assimilated and working. We are paradox's conclusions we are demons denying themselves patience, do you hear me? This could be our last sentence, our last repeat of the cyclic crimes splattered across screens and into our minds, honed deep into DNA and memories passed down to us, do you think that karma doesn’t die…. Forget with me, for a moment what may tie to you to this or that, what may make you some way or another and remember, the possibility of your existence and it's slimness and it's fervor such beauty I could sing. Come home. Come home. Come home to the wonder of yourself. 7 billion+ people and you are lovable, by some one, somewhere, right now, know this, and no I’m not talking ****** partners, although they may fall into the mix, I’m talking family and friends, I’m talking the trees who shake and shimmy and bend, I’m saying the sky loves you, the rivers love you, the dreams love you, you are a shimmering essence of pollution turned sparkling star dust when you live like you are worthy, live like you know what you are, ( nothing short of a miracle) live knowing the magic and beauty that flows through you, yes, you who knows what death tastes like…and still smiles at the majesty of it all. If you haven’t yet understood the power of this vesicle, comprehend. We all have it on our very lips, we all have the ashes of those long dead in our lungs we burn that to make our cars run. We think we’re alone out here in the universe we never even left home Or explored the forests waiting in the vastness of our hearts. Come home. Come home. Come home.

41

September's sinking sun summons shorter days, persimmon's pearled berries have been gobbled up, sultry sunflowers still stand tall, but court their namesake's light coyly now, perhaps knowing it will starve them out when its arc loses length to the earth's taunting tilt mercury crawls slowly down the tube: 100, 90, 80, 70, like blood returning to the heart for a fresh start, until it settles in its own vesicle, patiently waiting for heat's return to pump it once again through its brittle artery I have no patience to wait for its return, no long yawn to greet eternal days, for I am cursed to know September's soft songs give way to October's ambivalent skies, and to November's naked ****** of all things green and gold December then, need not utter a sound to convince me what leaden fate awaits the long forgotten ghosts of summer, and the seeds I have yet to sow in futile ground

0

Aug 29, 2014

Aug 29, 2014 at 10:41 PM UTC

spysgrandson

September's sin

September's sinking sun summons shorter days, persimmon's pearled berries have been gobbled up, sultry sunflowers still stand tall, but court their namesake's light coyly now, perhaps knowing it will starve them out when its arc loses length to the earth's taunting tilt mercury crawls slowly down the tube: 100, 90, 80, 70, like blood returning to the heart for a fresh start, until it settles in its own vesicle, patiently waiting for heat's return to pump it once again through its brittle artery I have no patience to wait for its return, no long yawn to greet eternal days, for I am cursed to know September's soft songs give way to October's ambivalent skies, and to November's naked ****** of all things green and gold December then, need not utter a sound to convince me what leaden fate awaits the long forgotten ghosts of summer, and the seeds I have yet to sow in futile ground

19

i nearly do think and dream upon the wiggling human stuff the chaff and bile the sugar and kisses i neatly do collect my unmean thoughts on the elliptical burning teeth of life(wherein reposed days are languished and animated)i take each trembling hollow vesicle of common people things and crop about them me and my particulars i do think and bumble i marvel and revile (and i should think after knowing but i don't know A thing)

0

Dec 21, 2011

Dec 21, 2011 at 4:49 PM UTC

patrick-wakefield-1

Untitled

i nearly do think and dream upon the wiggling human stuff the chaff and bile the sugar and kisses i neatly do collect my unmean thoughts on the elliptical burning teeth of life(wherein reposed days are languished and animated)i take each trembling hollow vesicle of common people things and crop about them me and my particulars i do think and bumble i marvel and revile (and i should think after knowing but i don't know A thing)

25