"volumous" poems - Hello Poetry

say it again how you need me to make your decisions is that how you see me as your counsellor? Not a mate or partner or as someone who walked by your side. Someone you could confide in or just someone, behind you could hide? My skirt is certainly volumous enough My arms could hold back a monster tide with just a bucket Take my advice and spit on it ground it beneath your heel and yell how I'm not fit to tell you how I know you, Own it Take the shoe and make it fit I'm over it

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Sep 18, 2013

Sep 18, 2013 at 4:27 AM UTC

helen

you are such a f**k**g butthead (but I love you)

say it again how you need me to make your decisions is that how you see me as your counsellor? Not a mate or partner or as someone who walked by your side. Someone you could confide in or just someone, behind you could hide? My skirt is certainly volumous enough My arms could hold back a monster tide with just a bucket Take my advice and spit on it ground it beneath your heel and yell how I'm not fit to tell you how I know you, Own it Take the shoe and make it fit I'm over it

27

All of these human can be nothing but be basic and face it It's tracing the lines of the facade that's been spliced hundreds of strides and on mauve colors lines placed then Retraced to the grid full of masterfully hid fingers stagnant and bent tripping placid and flaccid like ***** that are emaciated and crypt ****** and splattered like pavement placed upon pickled waves strafed across walled like cinder blocks half way through baking Entombed youth encased in the catwalk of toxins Ensuing and spewing no lines not concrete times and dimed up in baggy a sporadically creased into godsends. There is no god in the streets he's illegal and should have bend the taxes been spread towards all the youth it's intwined threads. The volumous illusion of writing. Put into cursive this is not my writing ******* stop hacking my account you credophile. The only way to live is the high life. It is thing overcoming the tops of woven rugs covered so that beneath there's a heap of root vegetation growth so deep seeded it grows in the sand it is mired in. Below the seep of the sin it's been trampled in. These horses don't have legs. Just ***** To just braid yourself in them.

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Mar 21, 2014

Mar 21, 2014 at 12:13 AM UTC

Lendonpartain

Belly Buddha

All of these human can be nothing but be basic and face it It's tracing the lines of the facade that's been spliced hundreds of strides and on mauve colors lines placed then Retraced to the grid full of masterfully hid fingers stagnant and bent tripping placid and flaccid like ***** that are emaciated and crypt ****** and splattered like pavement placed upon pickled waves strafed across walled like cinder blocks half way through baking Entombed youth encased in the catwalk of toxins Ensuing and spewing no lines not concrete times and dimed up in baggy a sporadically creased into godsends. There is no god in the streets he's illegal and should have bend the taxes been spread towards all the youth it's intwined threads. The volumous illusion of writing. Put into cursive this is not my writing ******* stop hacking my account you credophile. The only way to live is the high life. It is thing overcoming the tops of woven rugs covered so that beneath there's a heap of root vegetation growth so deep seeded it grows in the sand it is mired in. Below the seep of the sin it's been trampled in. These horses don't have legs. Just ***** To just braid yourself in them.

8

As our population grows our connection dwindles. Although the planet is evermore volumous, the human to human connection weakens. The media; the social, the printed, while simultaneously bringing updates throughout the world pulls apart basic day to day interactions. The king’s jester has left to become an internet marketer, taking with him the king’s title. The storyteller has become the publicists while leaving the stories to the kings. Power has become realized and is often quick and then lost. The gears have begun spinning and never again will be lost. For what it means to be human shall be hotly debated. For the king and his jester are no longer related. Time will lead to greater equality while simultaneously leading to greater poverty. There is no more dragon, for he has gone, and lost with him must return with dawn. We have reached night, but there will be day. Let us pray to the king, together, let’s pray.

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Jul 17, 2015

Jul 17, 2015 at 12:58 AM UTC

nathaniel-anderson

Our Night and Our King

As our population grows our connection dwindles. Although the planet is evermore volumous, the human to human connection weakens. The media; the social, the printed, while simultaneously bringing updates throughout the world pulls apart basic day to day interactions. The king’s jester has left to become an internet marketer, taking with him the king’s title. The storyteller has become the publicists while leaving the stories to the kings. Power has become realized and is often quick and then lost. The gears have begun spinning and never again will be lost. For what it means to be human shall be hotly debated. For the king and his jester are no longer related. Time will lead to greater equality while simultaneously leading to greater poverty. There is no more dragon, for he has gone, and lost with him must return with dawn. We have reached night, but there will be day. Let us pray to the king, together, let’s pray.

1

"What's your name?" Rebekah Halle *** "D.O.B?" 13 November 1XXX "What are you here for today?: Eye surgery 'Okay, you're going to feel a freeze go through your veins now -- and then start to feel very sleepy..." . . . I wake to.... Beep, Beep, beep Buzz the machines Whee, whoosh, voo Whirl goes the blood pressure machine. . . . Knock, knock, knock on the door And a nurse peers into check, then Silence, for a sec. . . Beep, Beep, beep. . And then… Knock, knock, knock, "Your eyes are looking great, I'll come back in the morning," Dr Kowal says. . . . Beep Beep, Beep, Beep I finally sleep... . And then… Knock, knock, knock. “Do you want your dinner now?!” Inquires the hospitality staff. . . Darkness strangles light — Again nurses wheel in their trollies… Volumous voices viscerate silence. ~ All In a hospital room.

0

Jun 22, 2024

Jun 22, 2024 at 5:18 PM UTC

bekahalle

The Hospital Room

"What's your name?" Rebekah Halle *** "D.O.B?" 13 November 1XXX "What are you here for today?: Eye surgery 'Okay, you're going to feel a freeze go through your veins now -- and then start to feel very sleepy..." . . . I wake to.... Beep, Beep, beep Buzz the machines Whee, whoosh, voo Whirl goes the blood pressure machine. . . . Knock, knock, knock on the door And a nurse peers into check, then Silence, for a sec. . . Beep, Beep, beep. . And then… Knock, knock, knock, "Your eyes are looking great, I'll come back in the morning," Dr Kowal says. . . . Beep Beep, Beep, Beep I finally sleep... . And then… Knock, knock, knock. “Do you want your dinner now?!” Inquires the hospitality staff. . . Darkness strangles light — Again nurses wheel in their trollies… Volumous voices viscerate silence. ~ All In a hospital room.

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