"wavelike" poems - Hello Poetry

I said fate plays a game without a score, and who needs fish if you've got caviar? The triumph of the Gothic style would come to pass and turn you on--no need for coke, or grass. I sit by the window. Outside, an aspen. When I loved, I loved deeply. It wasn't often. I said the forest's only part of a tree. Who needs the whole girl if you've got her knee? Sick of the dust raised by the modern era, the Russian eye would rest on an Estonian spire. I sit by the window. The dishes are done. I was happy here. But I won't be again. I wrote: The bulb looks at the flower in fear, and love, as an act, lacks a verb; the zer- o Euclid thought the vanishing point became wasn't math--it was the nothingness of Time. I sit by the window. And while I sit my youth comes back. Sometimes I'd smile. Or spit. I said that the leaf may destory the bud; what's fertile falls in fallow soil--a dud; that on the flat field, the unshadowed plain nature spills the seeds of trees in vain. I sit by the window. Hands lock my knees. My heavy shadow's my squat company. My song was out of tune, my voice was cracked, but at least no chorus can ever sing it back. That talk like this reaps no reward bewilders no one--no one's legs rest on my sholders. I sit by the window in the dark. Like an express, the waves behind the wavelike curtain crash. A loyal subject of these second-rate years, I proudly admit that my finest ideas are second-rate, and may the future take them as trophies of my struggle against suffocation. I sit in the dark. And it would be hard to figure out which is worse; the dark inside, or the darkness out. Anonymous Submission Joseph Brodsky

0

Jan 24, 2013

Jan 24, 2013 at 6:56 PM UTC

andrew-springer

I Sit By The Window

I said fate plays a game without a score, and who needs fish if you've got caviar? The triumph of the Gothic style would come to pass and turn you on--no need for coke, or grass. I sit by the window. Outside, an aspen. When I loved, I loved deeply. It wasn't often. I said the forest's only part of a tree. Who needs the whole girl if you've got her knee? Sick of the dust raised by the modern era, the Russian eye would rest on an Estonian spire. I sit by the window. The dishes are done. I was happy here. But I won't be again. I wrote: The bulb looks at the flower in fear, and love, as an act, lacks a verb; the zer- o Euclid thought the vanishing point became wasn't math--it was the nothingness of Time. I sit by the window. And while I sit my youth comes back. Sometimes I'd smile. Or spit. I said that the leaf may destory the bud; what's fertile falls in fallow soil--a dud; that on the flat field, the unshadowed plain nature spills the seeds of trees in vain. I sit by the window. Hands lock my knees. My heavy shadow's my squat company. My song was out of tune, my voice was cracked, but at least no chorus can ever sing it back. That talk like this reaps no reward bewilders no one--no one's legs rest on my sholders. I sit by the window in the dark. Like an express, the waves behind the wavelike curtain crash. A loyal subject of these second-rate years, I proudly admit that my finest ideas are second-rate, and may the future take them as trophies of my struggle against suffocation. I sit in the dark. And it would be hard to figure out which is worse; the dark inside, or the darkness out. Anonymous Submission Joseph Brodsky

38

Coming home, I feel I’m a fan on the stage of an amped up rock show in front of a hyped up crowd, about to dive – will you promise to catch me before my jump turns into a fall? Carry me over your wavelike faces, your hands holding me, floating me over to the dance floor with you all.

0

Jan 21, 2012

Jan 21, 2012 at 1:19 PM UTC

brettin-casie

crowd surfing

Coming home, I feel I’m a fan on the stage of an amped up rock show in front of a hyped up crowd, about to dive – will you promise to catch me before my jump turns into a fall? Carry me over your wavelike faces, your hands holding me, floating me over to the dance floor with you all.

9

Body next to body… Her breathe sounds like the ocean…wavelike, giving meaning to my silent waters The tap of her fingers on my skin play a melody never before heard, and they dance along to songs on the radio Songs that no longer sound the same, songs that make it impossible to be listened to without her being the resulting thought, songs that - in me - have become our songs Our atoms bonding through the power of Oxytocin in order to create the ultimate love molecule Mutating through ****** Feeling the slither of her lips on my lips - and I'm not talking about the ones on my face… Her breathe becomes one with mine, and it's unreasonable not to wish to spend every winter with her breathe being my only heater So by now It'd be unreasonable not to let love take the wheel So I sit back, and enjoy the ride… - F.V.

0

Aug 29, 2015

Aug 29, 2015 at 6:53 PM UTC

frida-virrueta

Connecting

Body next to body… Her breathe sounds like the ocean…wavelike, giving meaning to my silent waters The tap of her fingers on my skin play a melody never before heard, and they dance along to songs on the radio Songs that no longer sound the same, songs that make it impossible to be listened to without her being the resulting thought, songs that - in me - have become our songs Our atoms bonding through the power of Oxytocin in order to create the ultimate love molecule Mutating through ****** Feeling the slither of her lips on my lips - and I'm not talking about the ones on my face… Her breathe becomes one with mine, and it's unreasonable not to wish to spend every winter with her breathe being my only heater So by now It'd be unreasonable not to let love take the wheel So I sit back, and enjoy the ride… - F.V.

12

i too wish i could pirouette on the flames of fire; dive straight into an ocean without knowing how to float; shoot into space and breathe my own oxygen but purple flowers grow in my lungs and i cannot stop the weeds that come with them oh, it drains and it hurts - the blue leaks out of me like a nosebleed stream and i swallow them back in past my lips. then i face the corners of my walls for forty-two days, for forty-two days without a party where the world still whirls in wavelike motion and i stand in a pool of blue almost like sorcery after forty-two days the pads of my feet tread blue all up my capillaries, up my veins into the arteries they go - and back to the red flowers they are purple again

0

Apr 28, 2019

Apr 28, 2019 at 11:09 AM UTC

duanggfu

when the party's over

i too wish i could pirouette on the flames of fire; dive straight into an ocean without knowing how to float; shoot into space and breathe my own oxygen but purple flowers grow in my lungs and i cannot stop the weeds that come with them oh, it drains and it hurts - the blue leaks out of me like a nosebleed stream and i swallow them back in past my lips. then i face the corners of my walls for forty-two days, for forty-two days without a party where the world still whirls in wavelike motion and i stand in a pool of blue almost like sorcery after forty-two days the pads of my feet tread blue all up my capillaries, up my veins into the arteries they go - and back to the red flowers they are purple again

24

There is a morning with an icy note That frowns until all hands efface Again it’s hard to stay afloat Not sad? But still a somber place And sun—conceived; born for us again to dissolve the binds that hold and plague and rip and lust away the frost of The Frustrated Generation; too much! too much of the expectation and shaming, unwavering against the wavelike blossom But still a letter at the door That knocks to bore its way inside For what? For why a chance at more Than ways to sit and wait and hide For that cringing question; melting and clawing through a queasy stomach to the throat— to the forefront and visions—or just the chance to ask: the ***** and sting that steers to and from sense.

0

Mar 22, 2011

Mar 22, 2011 at 1:47 PM UTC

chad-katz

Untitled

There is a morning with an icy note That frowns until all hands efface Again it’s hard to stay afloat Not sad? But still a somber place And sun—conceived; born for us again to dissolve the binds that hold and plague and rip and lust away the frost of The Frustrated Generation; too much! too much of the expectation and shaming, unwavering against the wavelike blossom But still a letter at the door That knocks to bore its way inside For what? For why a chance at more Than ways to sit and wait and hide For that cringing question; melting and clawing through a queasy stomach to the throat— to the forefront and visions—or just the chance to ask: the ***** and sting that steers to and from sense.

19

Waves breaking all around, Midnight sky, without a sound. Sandy beach below my feet, Ground slowly losing heat. Wind blows your gentle hair, Making me love the nighttime air. Moonlit glow within your eyes, Complementing happy sighs. Your hand soft as ocean scent, Taking mine on the descent. Wavelike rhythm of your heart, Nothing keeping us apart. Midnight gentleness in your lips, The feel of your skin on my fingertips. We sit and watch the ocean view, But it just can't compare to the beauty in you.

0

Sep 29, 2014

Sep 29, 2014 at 2:13 AM UTC

nathaniel-brenner

Moonlit Glow

Waves breaking all around, Midnight sky, without a sound. Sandy beach below my feet, Ground slowly losing heat. Wind blows your gentle hair, Making me love the nighttime air. Moonlit glow within your eyes, Complementing happy sighs. Your hand soft as ocean scent, Taking mine on the descent. Wavelike rhythm of your heart, Nothing keeping us apart. Midnight gentleness in your lips, The feel of your skin on my fingertips. We sit and watch the ocean view, But it just can't compare to the beauty in you.

16

Apotosis the need to be needed at the level of corpuscular order, tunnels flushing- usable to useless, three cycles per sixty pumps synched wavelike recently discovered fact, squeeze them sphincters, wiggle that tail, this is that, or better said this is as that was. That's over. we timed it. Apotosis, is a messenger, you might see it as a program, a chron-job, an I'll go rhythm from the ole Pepiton lexicon. Apotosis of the completely alienated right, if nothing works as well as all the evil let be-ers think, then we know everything is getting better than that. True, hold right in the side of your mind you are on best terms with, judge the messenger by the message, this is judging angels. y/n get a grip, some such rights ain't alienable, we are on team earth, **** sapient sapient augmentalatedus, new construals of what we may be and these words are flowing where dry bones were, last I noticed.

0

Sep 15, 2019

Sep 15, 2019 at 11:11 PM UTC

kenpepiton

Since when do I need you

Apotosis the need to be needed at the level of corpuscular order, tunnels flushing- usable to useless, three cycles per sixty pumps synched wavelike recently discovered fact, squeeze them sphincters, wiggle that tail, this is that, or better said this is as that was. That's over. we timed it. Apotosis, is a messenger, you might see it as a program, a chron-job, an I'll go rhythm from the ole Pepiton lexicon. Apotosis of the completely alienated right, if nothing works as well as all the evil let be-ers think, then we know everything is getting better than that. True, hold right in the side of your mind you are on best terms with, judge the messenger by the message, this is judging angels. y/n get a grip, some such rights ain't alienable, we are on team earth, **** sapient sapient augmentalatedus, new construals of what we may be and these words are flowing where dry bones were, last I noticed.

29

I'm into collectivism Like averaging or statistical mean Out the empathy levels in Society. Where by evolving Takes peace to that next level. I see it in waves. Love is more Wavelike than photon. Peaks valleys Ticks tocks pendulums Swinging one extreme to Another but, over time, Almost immeasurably, Favoring the great advancements of this human condition. I'd love to be alive when man Matures. Learns that love is Really all there is. I want poetry to be a part of that Stride forward. My words aren't important. But the one step forward The future begins with. Call it faith. Call me a fool. But I see one day love Ruling this world.

0

Mar 22, 2018

Mar 22, 2018 at 11:24 PM UTC

wordvango

One day

I'm into collectivism Like averaging or statistical mean Out the empathy levels in Society. Where by evolving Takes peace to that next level. I see it in waves. Love is more Wavelike than photon. Peaks valleys Ticks tocks pendulums Swinging one extreme to Another but, over time, Almost immeasurably, Favoring the great advancements of this human condition. I'd love to be alive when man Matures. Learns that love is Really all there is. I want poetry to be a part of that Stride forward. My words aren't important. But the one step forward The future begins with. Call it faith. Call me a fool. But I see one day love Ruling this world.

25