"voiced" poems
I closed my mouth:
And spoke to you in the language of the rain drops,
Whispered to you in the language of the flowers,
Chanted 'I love you' in the language of the melodious birds.
I closed my mouth:
And voiced my feelings to you in the language of the ocean's waves,
Delivered my message to you in the language of the gentle breeze,
Conveyed my feelings to you in the language of the twinkling stars.
I closed my mouth:
And spoke to you in the language of eye contact,
Expressed myself to you in the language of smiles,
Shouted to you in my sacred language of tears.
I closed my mouth:
And whispered to you in the language of the heart,
Recited to you all of nature's implicit language,
Spoke to you, softly, in God's silent language.
Hussein Dekmak
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 9:58 PM UTC
Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer
was leading a lonely life working nights
at the fukfoorfiffenfimmer factory
where he was in charge of loading crates
full of fukfoorfiffenfimmers, onto cargo cars destined for the city of Cincinnati.
There was such a huge demand for fukfoorfiffenfimmers in the city of Cincinnati,
poor Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer worked his hunnyhush to the bone.
On one of his few holiday weekends,
Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer went to a hair salon for a trim.
Here he was attended by a hairdresser named, Henrietta Huckhellopolis.
Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer instantly fell for the husky-voiced hairdresser.
Gaining enough gumption and gallasisgoppingguff needed to bypass beating around the bush of courteous courtship,
Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer asked Henrietta Huckhellopolis if she wanted to leerlumpaloomp later that evening.
"I would love to leerlumpaloomp later this evening," she replied, batting her long lashes lustily.
And how those two leerlumpaloomped!
They leerlumpaloomped long through the night.
They leerlumpaloomped so loudly,
the neighbours ended up sticking stuffystoils
into their sensilivities, in hopes of drowning out the noise.
Nine months later,
the lovers were blessed with a litter of lullaloonillies—wot with the loud leerlumpaloomping and all.
But, of the seven lullaloonillies, four of them had two lumpalots instead of one.
Bolstering himself against drowning in despair at the prospect of having sired freak lullaloonillies,
Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer helped design fukfoorfiffenfimmers especially meant for lullaloonillies who have two lumpalots instead of one.
As the double-lumpalot fukfoorfiffenfimmers
were Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer's idea, the owner of the fukfoorfiffenfimmer factory gave Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer
a forty percent cut of the royalties.
*Fortunately some fairy tales come with a happy ending, because the city of Cincinnati was hit with a record number of lullaloonillies
born with two lumpalots instead of just the one.
The high sales of double-lumpalot fukfoorfiffenfimmers,
enabled Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer and Henrietta Huckhellopolis
to quit their jobs and buy into the fukfoorfiffenfimmer factory.
Yes, after getting married,
Harry Heironymous and Henrietta Huckhellopolis-Huffenhoffer
lived happily hever hafter.
So did the lullaloonillies....
including those with two lumpalots instead of one.*
Sep 6, 2011
Sep 6, 2011 at 1:16 PM UTC
For Al, who left us
With each passing poem,
The degree of difficulty of diving ever higher,
Bar incrementally niched, inched, raised,
Domain, the association of words, ever lesser,
Repetition verboten, crime against pride.
Al,
You ask me when the words come:
With each passing year,
In the wee hours of
Ever diminishing time snatches,
The hours between midnight and rising,
Shrinkage, once six, now four hours,
Meant for body restoration,
Transpositional for poetic creation,
Only one body notes the new mark,
The digital, numerical clock of
Trillion hour sleep deficit, most taxing.
Al, you ask me from where do the words come:
Each of the five senses compete,
Pick me, Pick me, they shout,
The eyes see the tall grasses
Framing the ferry's to and fro life.
Waving bye bye to the
End of day harbor activities,
Putting your babies to sleep.
The ears hear the boat horns
Deep voiced, demanding pay attention,
I am now docking, I am important,
The sound lingers, long after
They are no longer important.
The tongue tastes the cooling
Italian prosecco merging victoriously
With its ally, the modestly warming rays
Of a September setting sun,
finally declaring, without stuttering,
Peace on Earth.
The odoriferous bay breezes,
A new for that second only smell,
But yet, very old bartender's recipe,
Salt, cooking oil, barbecue sauce, gasoline
And the winning new ingredient, freshly minted,
Stacked in ascending circumference order, onion rings.
These four senses all recombinant,
On the cheek, on the tongue,
Wafting, tickling, blasting, visioning
Merging into a single touch
That my pointer finger, by force majeure,
Declares, here,
poem aborning!
Contract with this moment,
now satisfied!
Al, what you did not ask was this:
With each passing poem,
I am lessened within, expurgated,
In a sense part of me, expunged,
Part of me, passing too,
Every poems birth diminishes me.
_________________________________
(this poem more than most,
for its birth celebrates
my loss, your loss,
which cannot be exonerated 8/7/18)
_________________________________
written at 4:38 AM
September 8th, 2012
Greenport Harbor, Long Island
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 7:07 AM UTC
i look at you
and i can see it
in your face
you think you hide it,
but i see you
i see the hurt
the dark circles beneath your eyes
and the quiet plea
dancing on your bottom lip,
too afraid to be voiced
too afraid to be heard
because you’re too afraid
of being hurt
and i just want to take you
and wrap you up in my arms
hold you, console you
tell you things that you’ll believe,
but you don’t seem to believe
anything, anymore
because you have been deceived
too many times
so i’ll just look at you
and see the pain in your fake smile,
and i’ll smile back
and i’ll hear the attempted deception
when you tell me that you’re just tired,
and i’ll say me too
i know you’re broken inside
violets are blue,
and so are you
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 6:36 PM UTC
You said
That I can tell you anything
You said
That you are always there for me
Well it doesn’t seem like that
The other day
I told you a tiny snippet
Only a little drop in the sea
About my anxieties
About my irrational fears
I wanted to tell you for so long
But I am never going to do it again
Because the face you made when I voiced my feelings
That hurt
Your expression said that I don’t make sense
That I am crazy
That that’s totally ridiculous
That I am making it up
I mean, I can tell you the basic stuff
The everyday problems
But not about my mind
Not about my real reasons to cry
You said you want to hear
But you actually don’t
You know
it would be fine
If I had anyone else
to talk to
But you are aware that I don’t
And you make me think
that no one will ever want to listen.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 11:45 PM UTC
Birds have their homes.
This bird made this world,
Its own home.
When other birds struggled
To make friends beyond their homes,
This bird made followers and comrades,
Transformed them
The perseverent leaders of a challenging mission
It put its foot on Argentina and
Set its victorious fight in Cuba.
Availed losses in Congo
Voiced and breathed every millisecond
Struggled recklessly for a mission,
Freedom, peace & prosperity of all its fellow birds
Beyond borders.
The most superior of the superior birds
With an infinite and complex strings of cunningness
Put an end to this bird in Bolivia.
At the end, the bird failed
Fell a prey for other selfish birds.
As a root that fell and
Buried itself in the soil with an infinite power.
To give hope and shelter,
To all those who come under it,
For the near future and coming generations
The bird died!
But its mission ignited the phoenix flames
In its bird comrades.
Got them to fight for
Every drop of Injustice, Imperialism and hatred
That came racing towards them
As an inescapable bullet
Their hearts raised in spirit
When every drop of its thought
Hit them more fierce than
The world’s most powerful atomic bomb.
The bird died.
But its ideals for the mission
Rekindled the fires in their heart.
Being born an ordinary bird,
Fighting for the most demanded & toughest mission,
Its thought and principles
Set new leaders to fight the unattainable mission
Now, looking the most possible
Within an attaining distance
The bird lived its life,
An ordinary and the most challenging one.
But transformed a phoenix,
When it left the world.
And created more of
Daring Phoenix warriors;
Attain a world filled with peace and happiness.
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 9:14 AM UTC
Strangers known
by shared room
Honey voiced , high cheek *****
no less, no more
Licorice words pounding
on a chest
scrambling to wrap fingers
around a single perfumed breath
Two days dragging on
pulled through mud
stuck in fog
seconds are hours too long
Then ringing came
answered by drops of syrup
pouring out a reply, yes!
drinking it in with big gulps.
Mirror reflects practiced hellos
swishing hair put in place
teeth and lips splitting
breaking through stone face
Pacing back and forth
frantic footsteps pounding
crushing carpet in a line
south, north, south, north
No ring, no change
red blushes fad grey
phone silent, gaze up
stare blank
Is the swooshing hair the wrong way?
Is the grin too toothy?
Is the face not constructed right?
Stood up and let down
sailor on a ship
already sunk and drifting
off the starboard bow
Stood up and let drown
by the honey voice
the high cheek bones
Failure in hindsight sighing
“I should have known
I should have known…”
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 3:31 AM UTC
the art of poetry
like any art
produces better work
when writers are not only
erudite but also smart
the lovers' painful state
upon loss or desertion
is voiced much more impressively
with less dramatic flourish
and more of the grate
that finishes the sword
at the old blacksmith's fire
where the hot flame of our desire
thrown into water
with a defiant hiss
turns into deadly steel
ready to **** and ******
friend or foe or lover
in our desperate search
for exits from the mire
or take the unexpected loss
of victory that seemed so close
on a wild battlefield
when suddenly the hero's gallant steed
falls victim to a hostile archers shot
and its proud rider is reduced to shout
"A kingdom for a horse!"
rather than holding a long monologue
about the treachery of fate
in short
less is oft' more
and lets the readers fill the empty spaces
with their own images and graces
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 5:23 PM UTC
V-is for vowing to never drink *****
While on our voluntary vacation.
We have voiced our verification
In a high voltage volcano
While playing volleyball
And checking our voicemail.
While in this void,
A terrifyingly vivid *****
Who was a model for vogue
In which she wore a V-neck dress,
And ate all her vitamins
Vocabulized with much volume,
Her vow
To always,
Drink *****
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 10:16 AM UTC
Who do you listen to you? Your heart or the people that have control of everything in your life....
891 days. 891 more days of being the owner of opinions and ideas that will go unheard. 891 more nights of sleeping in a place that I will never own. 891 more days of being a guiding older sister, and an unfortunately human daughter (key word human). Yes I have ideas, I am my own person, and yes I want to do things. Listen to me and value my voiced ideas as you would any other, and I will respect you. Force me into a mold of someone I am not, I will return what you throw in my face. I have problems and I am free to decide what I will do with them. You can restrict my body, but I assure you, you will never control my thoughts; my mind. Actions and words are easy to forget, but feelings, emotions, ideas…what constitutes the being of a person, cannot be erased from the mind. And the beauty of the true feelings of an individual is the ability for one to be able to choose who to share their true form with. If now I cannot, fighting and prying at me will only close me off further from your grasp. I have many sides and many personalities if I don’t trust you I will put on a mask, and I will only remove it when trust is earned or my spirit breaks.
891 more days of useless titles. Brother, sister, father, mother; useless. There's a biological relationship, sure, but family is not made up of pure science. People you can trust communicate with, share ideas and feelings with; that instinct to help when you know when someone is hurting, this constitutes a family. Love. Love is not forced, love is not created; much like trust love is earned and grown over time. One cannot decide that today a family will be made…forcing communication will only drive people further apart. Love grows when the conditions are right and that requires probably the most valuable thing us humans will experience in our life, time.
891 days until I am free. 891 days until I can be me. 891 days to learn, to grow, to cry, to laugh, and learn to show… show people who I really am. But like I said, everything takes time.
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 6:55 PM UTC
** TO HEPHAESTUS (8 lines)
(ll. 1-7) Sing, clear-voiced Muses, of Hephaestus famed for
inventions. With bright-eyed Athene he taught men glorious gifts
throughout the world, -- men who before used to dwell in caves in
the mountains like wild beasts. But now that they have learned
crafts through Hephaestus the famed worker, easily they live a
peaceful life in their own houses the whole year round.
(l. 8) Be gracious, Hephaestus, and grant me success and
prosperity!
5.7k
*Forbidden Beauty
Velvet touch was her beauty
Sweet, nonsensical, magical sin
In her clandestine dreams
Detecting her whisper voice
In beauty times does swell
Her silence breathes come alive
With beauty to match no other ...
Her eyes had more beauty
than any rose
with dreams of supreme gifts
her man would explode
with her kiss as a pill
she sings notes of her love
voiced keys and intervals of tenor
she closes her eyes in search
of a remedy ...
She's healed his lonely heart
with only a smile
as she leaves him in awe
of her soul~he drives many a mile....
As a woman of divine
magnifications
her ambiance,
majestic with song
medicine of melody
tune ~ she is one of a kind.....
He realized with sadness
she's his lost fantasy
he escapes from the harshness of reality~
knowing oh knowing ~ she was
Forbidden for all to touch ...*
Debbie Brooks 2015
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 10:10 AM UTC
XXXII. TO SELENE (20 lines)
(ll. 1-13) And next, sweet voiced Muses, daughters of Zeus, well-
skilled in song, tell of the long-winged (35) Moon. From her
immortal head a radiance is shown from heaven and embraces earth;
and great is the beauty that ariseth from her shining light. The
air, unlit before, glows with the light of her golden crown, and
her rays beam clear, whensoever bright Selene having bathed her
lovely body in the waters of Ocean, and donned her far-gleaming,
shining team, drives on her long-maned horses at full speed, at
eventime in the mid-month: then her great orbit is full and then
her beams shine brightest as she increases. So she is a sure
token and a sign to mortal men.
(ll. 14-16) Once the Son of Cronos was joined with her in love;
and she conceived and bare a daughter Pandia, exceeding lovely
amongst the deathless gods.
(ll. 17-20) Hail, white-armed goddess, bright Selene, mild,
bright-tressed queen! And now I will leave you and sing the
glories of men half-divine, whose deeds minstrels, the servants
of the Muses, celebrate with lovely lips.
5.3k
What if they had a War and nobody came !
my sentiment all along
Actions so transparent and telegraphed a mile long
absurd anchoring, even more absurd triggering
so absurd as to be meaningless
the hotchpotch logic of simpletons on acid
The banal manifestations of the anodyne retards with advanced hysteria
Think unruly kids on Colombian marching powder
think advanced psychosis with total stage ten delusions
Watch mass hysteria contagion
Logic was never there, rationality bolted beating Usain Bolt
Inveterate liars and fantasists now control maddened throngs
Oh dear! they decided I am madly in love with acquaintance
neither I or poor acquaintance know this
But let not the truth get in the way of a soap opera by the insanes
After All meaningless triggers and Delusionary prompts
keep the sheeples busy in People's Power utopia
They are all having a war, nobody has told me about it
I don't understand their language yet they are very eloquent
Deep in their imagined Neuro-linguistic Programming or mental pygmies playing Pavlov Dog theory of the semi-illiterates
I just realized why cancer is prevalent amongst them
They carry so much poison and emotional ******* in their beings
It pollutes and eat away at them internally, they get cancer!
Never have been interested in little minds and liars and thieves
Have little time for dumb people, the toxics and the sheeples
What makes cretins think I take anything of theirs to mind
what can I learn or gain from contemptibles
I don't feel inferior so why would I want to learn
how to slander and defame others to bring them down
'Slander is the GREAT LEVELLER voiced one of them
poor inadequate soul, poor pathetic degenerate
I look twenty years younger than my years, no wrinkles
Just slightly greying, mind as sharp as razor
Because I don't carry acidic ******* hate or foul nonsense
in my head,
Because my mind is full of worthy knowledge
because I am not an ignoramus with attitude
because I am not a shameless coward or an empty headed nonentity
Because I am not amongst the madding crowd
I am not an insignificant pointless HATER with cancer in waiting!
I am NOT a SHAMELESS RACIST white THIEF discrediting the
Victim I STOLE from
OR
an OBNOXIOUS gang of SOCIALIST crazed subhumans cancerized
by jealousy and envy
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 4:47 PM UTC
A lowly hill which overlooks a flat,
Half sea, half country side;
A flat-shored sea of low-voiced creeping tide
Over a chalky, weedy mat.
A hill of hillocks, flowery and kept green
Round Crosses raised for hope,
With many-tinted sunsets where the slope
Faces the lingering western sheen.
A lowly hope, a height that is but low,
While Time sets solemnly,
While the tide rises of Eternity,
Silent and neither swift nor slow.
4.3k
Mean but resisting
Love stronger possessing
His charm I was Divinely
touched by his spirit
I want it so easy to flaunt it
"Both Suited" Black tie affair
Smoking out the joint
What a dangerous pair
Darker than any smoke
What's the point??
Going to blow devil words
Angelic Paradise birds
Do we have this planned out,
what do we see? He's not suited
Cruel 2-B ****** life is dark
but **** good easily taken
Fruit of the soul mistaken sliced
and parted
Paint's it Graffiti hood
Careless ****** up to him
Reckless my lips played
him hard
Smoked killed me off-guard
He sneaked around the fruit
Strawberry strange pursuit
My soul this is the last straw
Deadly strawberries beguiled
by the??
Strawberry smells of the
black rose
All covered seductively posed
The song plays out strawberry
With solitude voiced by
Soprano wine by the bucket
of deep red "Gallo"
Intense smoking love incense
Smoking jacket cuddled me
cello
Strawberry sounds smothered
Good night dark strawberry moon
I grabbed him way too soon
Dec 3, 2016
Dec 3, 2016 at 10:31 AM UTC
I have faith in medical science
But little in practice.
Straight spined doctors
Racing stopwatches against
Their appointment books.
Extolling the virtues of thousands of years of medical research
But unable to consider anyone's opinion other than their own.
Kindly, soft-voiced nurses shuffling from
Room to room
Doling out condolences and reassurances
Paired with regimens
Of drugs and IVs.
While Old Time in the ticking clock
Slows
To a dead crawl.
And the noise of heartbeats on machines
And discussions out in the hall
And loved ones distracting and pacifying patients in beds
Layer on top of one another to form a firm blanket of
Crushing. Boredom.
And the antiseptic smell does nothing to ease
The passing of time spent waiting
While the medical machine spins its wheels
To the chime of slot machines.
And the bustling rush outside a curtain
On hard white floors,
Does less than lend a sense a peace
But more of frantic urgency.
Minute long - task oriented visits
Where they know names, numbers, and insurance coverage
And they know how many steps it takes for them
To lend more of their valuable time
In that modern balance of cost and care.
Leaving me wondering,
Where did the connection go?
I wonder where peoples' trust went
And when it was replaced with,
"How much will this cost me?"
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 8:06 PM UTC
Blank mind
Eyes open
Intake everything
Or focus on a
Singular star.
Any number of
Profound and perfect things
Could be murmured right now
And etched into the
Night sky’s infinite existence
To dance with the stars
*So I—
With hands cupped over mouth,
Eyes bleary from tears,
And hoarse voiced—
Whisper*
“I’m so stupid”
And it was by far
The most insightful,
True,
And honest thing
I’ve ever said.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 4:32 PM UTC
Sometimes I can’t see you anymore,
You’re nothing like the girl I fell in love with.
Your voiced change, I noticed,
And your hair parts in different ways.
It's almost like you’re someone new,
Something I never understood.
And I can’t begin to understand
Why the hell you ever changed.
You were beautiful,
You were great.
You were heartwarming,
And you made my day.
Everyday.
But now you’re gone,
This girl I loved, she’s moved away
In her place a mannequin, a fake.
She looks like you, but she's not the same.
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 12:43 AM UTC
Three summers ago
I loved a boy
who's hair when moved
by wind or hand
was always magical,
who possessed tanned skin
and eyes so blue
they were waters to drown in.
Around him I felt enchanted
and he was enthralling.
He captivated me,
turned me into a slave of my emotions,
with words and promises
I knew he couldn't make come true.
"Run," my friends urged me, "as fast as you can."
But without him life was jaded,
their warning
had been voiced too late.
Already I had pricked my finger,
on a spinning wheel
and fallen head over heels
in that chemically induced slumber
we sometimes call love.
He opened a door for me that led straight
into a world filled with
bushes of roses
and buckets of sunshine,
I promptly forgot that too much sunshine
scalds the skin
and turns it a burning, vivid red,
almost as vivid
as the crimson blood
a touch from the thorns of roses draws.
I knew I had been warned so I stayed there
bleeding and burning,
swearing to myself as I suffered
that I would never again
give my heart to someone
who would not give me theirs in return.
This summer, three years later,
being around you
means feeling like being able to combust spontaneously
and I cannot forget
the sensation of my skin in contact with yours.
It made me realise
that though I have always loved you,
I started loving you a little bit too much.
You are my every thought.
They say you never make the same mistake twice,
that it is your own stupid fault the second time around.
But if it really was a choice
why then is it
that I spend all my nights these days
pleading with the universe
to let me unlove you.
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 4:55 PM UTC
the new tupac will have you too walkin with gangstas
the new two stupidity now two steppin with prankstas
murked the first one sayin he's blacker the berry
when i'm sweeter than juice
bass voiced top me if you want to experience that jacked tweeters induced
when i own all of Victoria's secrets as proof
tellin me what the body when all his deducement has him actin when he's wearin his shoes
crypt walking like that it's only talk
missed balking like has bass fits jocking as his only walk
******* with me when All Hailed Mary like if she was his when is only stolen balk
I'm walkin again the gauntlet cuz all the women they want this flauntin all **** like if i was jackin all the wanted
like ghost whippin me imma follow you till i'm haunted
pain really, so bow down, when my diamonds glisten
listen again is just as well bilateral biased has his confused his like the ol' eminem was in the new form gettin his face jacked again
like me smokin crack with friends like all given enemies stressed was all given was a race black and then
we actually are the same race like i knew you back like i owned all the streets like his females thuggin as heathen
**** riding i'll **** your *** up like settin me up when i'm always the last muthafucken breathin
exposing the ***** heathen breathin like if you were the only man catching bullet rounds exposed like the new you was still alive
to the next ** hiked my socks up construed you at hit stupidity when will ride
ghettos owned by just the black reppin when you're steppin the whack, honest it was just onyx
i'll blast your *** like if you stole my pump shotty:
like i never was wanted runst follies
anamoly run has all criminal cops all fathering fun deceiving that all to gain was never greed when all greed in need bothering sons:
all you still down with me when we ride it
looking like a *** while i'm guy gee stag when you're looking into their eyes, they'd know comparison of a bird control as if fathering guys
my knowledge is flight applauding the time, are you still down with me
i hide behind the love of beauty of my womens eyes when you're looking like the female opened you up to your face compared to opening thighs
they don't know like how you stare in the future that tommorow comes only after the dark
knowing me marks the coming of the actual god
I am "unconditional heart"
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 11:59 AM UTC
O'er the South landscape a force did attack
Whipping winds thrashed furiously about
Buildings were smashed down by the great thwack
Angrily the tornado voiced its tout
People cowered neath protective cover
The skies were tinged in a grey green rage
Twas like a roaring train passing over
The ghastly scene was of utter carnage
Driving rains fell they added more insult
Oklahoma's South witnessed devastation
Nature had reeked an awful assault
A twister caused so much destruction
The tornado was of powerfulness
All in its path under extreme duress
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 6:42 PM UTC
A rain cloud, I was
in one of my incarnations,
heavy and pregnant with water,
it was proud,
billowing, adorned with
lightening's golden thread,
it poured in torrents,
with roars of thunder,
then sped through the fields,
that became fertile,
farmers with their ploughs
and bullocks came out,
the fields were bright green
with dancing rice saplings
Some other time
I was an ecstatic bulbul,
mango blooms told me amorous tales,
I voiced each in snorous ghazals,
The rice fields were ripe,
musky scent was ******
Women came in waves
and harvested the rice,
their songs were on romance,
ardent love and parting
hearing the bulbul
they perfected their singing.
A long time ago
I was a goat's kid,
I sprang around and danced
in the harvested field,
the cloud wanted to pet me
but she was so far,
bulbl sung a special tune
for me for a while
Looking at the green grass
on the other side of the fence
I would think wistfully,
what life would bring.
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 10:28 AM UTC
professor Burke and professor Lee
two mathematicians who could not agree
loudly voiced their differences at half past noon
having daily lunch at the Greasy Spoon
the subject on the fateful day was Pi
and they could not see eye to eye
a disagreement on the thousandth digit
had Burke turn red and caused Lee to fidget
said Burke “No you are off by one!”
spat Lee “Your math is poorly done!”
Burke shouted, “Lee, you have gone too far!”
reached toward the counter for a candy jar
but his hand instead encountered pie
a hideous gleam sprang to his eye
he flung the pie with all his might
hit Lee full face, eyes wide with fright
but Lee recovered and found more pies
Boston Creme took Burke between the eyes
apple, custard, lemon, berry
pecan, pumpkin, key lime, cherry
pies of every kind were thrown
plates' radius squared remained unknown
the police arrived to break up the fray
took the two meringued men away
many hours later in the quiet cell
with pie for ink and tempers quelled
the two stood looking at the wall
upon which lay their equation scrawled
said Burke, with both their faces long
“Well, what do you know. We both were wrong.”
Mar 14, 2019
Mar 14, 2019 at 11:20 PM UTC
You are the
liquid sugar
I rub into
my skin
soaked
through to my
pores so
deep within
on a cellular
level as I
gulp it down
swish in saliva
in liquid love
sounds
washed through
my system
in textured
spin
you balance
out the thickness
of my insulin
you
pique
hot
energies
into blush-fused
crush
swirling
endorphins
and hormones
in maelstrom rush
my cheeks
on fire,
ripe fruits
drip
juice
I must
breathe
in staccato
to control
this
sluice
But when I
get peak-high
and then
slope
so
low
you harmonize
the taut,
slick pull
of my
undertow flow
It's just a matter
of a few
words, syll-a-
bles spoken
velvet-voiced
cool
smooths
the rough
of my
broken
So please
inject it,
fresh
into the river
of my blood
Bring it over,
hot sugar,
before I
surge
into
flood
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 2:42 PM UTC