"wri" poems
.
**■■■■■■
|.....l.....|
|.....l.....|**
• let the
ticks on
my wri-
st•mirr-
or that
of my
pulse •
for what
i fail to cle-
nch in fist•in
my heart, nev-
er falters; never
•••••dulls•••••
**□□□□□■12■□□□□□
■11 ^ 1■
■10 I 2■
■9 ●-----> 3■
■8 4■
■7 5■
□□□□□□■6■□□□□□□**
••••••for••••••
with each tick of
the hand • is a
glimpse into
the uncert-
ain future
• let slip
the loo-
se gra-
ins of
sand•c-
lose the
tempor-
al gaps
to bring
you......
much
clos-
er•
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 11:58 AM UTC
Minsan isang araw tayo’y magkikita
Mga ngiti’y mamamalas - sa pananabik ay lunas
Mga mata’y mangungusap na tila ba nangangarap
Tangan ang isang hiling - Pag-ibig yaring hanap.
Minsan isang araw tayo’y mag-uusap
Ihahayag ng puso - natatanging pagsuyo
Ibubulong sa hangin - aanurin sa baybayin
Paglingap at hangarin walang sawang sasambitin.
Minsan isang araw ika’y mayayakap
Ikukulong sa ‘king bisig, tila kalong ng ulap
Nanamnamin ang sandaling walang kasing sarap
Aangkinin ang ligayang wri’y abot alapaap.
Minsan isang araw ika’y mahahagkan
Kasabay ang damdaming pagsinta kailan pa man
Mga labi’y magniniig habang dinig yaring himig
Walang humpay itong minsan ‘pagka’t ika’y iniibig.
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 12:39 AM UTC
wri
ting is
threading
your life
thro ugh
a nee dle
and if
you sew
secrets
you’ll
get
po
ke
d
a
l
i
t
t
e
May 2, 2022
May 2, 2022 at 12:35 PM UTC
so guess what, one day
I found a key (to a closet (in the church.))
and it was very dark and dusty
in there &
the ladder nailed to the wall was only wide
enough for
one
foot
at-a
time,
so, it’s lucky that
I’m skinny enough to wri-i-iggle my shoulders
up and through the hole in the
closet’s web-trailing ceiling.
I clambered up there and into this black
forest.
Plants were sprouting
up in big rills and clumps--
stalks thin as my finger and
pipes wider than my waist,
some fading up into the ceiling’s darkness...
others squatting low, and glaring up
at me with One. black. eye.
they were all deathly still.
Then,
the creaking boards, the black forest, the cramped path of unmarked dust that winds between the pipes, all that just
SIGHED and VIBRATED,
and with a hisssing hoarsse
!shhhhhhhh...
breathed!
and my heart just stops!!! BAM!
{cricket}
and i feel ****** into a dark mouth! i am caught and trapped by this black closet’s maw andI’mwaitingfor Godknowswhat tocomewrigglingfromthepipes-- ! --!
and then guess what?:
!b’URsting up its throat
is a SONG!
slowlyand Suddenly,
a blaring, screaming,
golden
!EAgle of a chord
that s(oa)rs and c’RASHES into anotherand another one
all rising and falling,
champing at the bit until One Thousand hhums and shhivers
fill each pipe.
and it feels like
holding ten coins in a stack and making them jump-clink-clickity-HOP together--
oh, it feels like
pushing your fingertips into a bucket of cold paint
it feels like the moment after jumping off of a tall tree
it feels like un-rippling your braided hair with both hands
like a songbird’s claws curling about your finger,
like closing your eyes in a hot summer-sun
and falling asleep in a hammock
it feels like holding a blacksnake
that curls and struggles strong against your wrists,
that’s what this church ***** feels like.
I’m gonna **** the genius that started playing while I was in there.
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 10:47 PM UTC
I wish I could writ e
and wri t e
and wr i t e
and w r i t e
until nothing is left unsaid.
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 9:53 AM UTC
i
"It's over, isn't it?" You ask,
Unsure of what to do. Bask
In the glory of forgetting a
Fight, fulfilling what I would say,
Night coming to take me away,
For I cannot stay. Breakaway, nay,
My mind will not sway. Play
For the day I will say
And pray that I must get
Away. Away. Away. And never ask
In what way I did bask.
ii
But the words are cut short.
iii
And someone else will die tonight,
This is simply the human plight.
We do not control, or know,
How we'll react to Death's scythe.*
Running up from behind, poked sides?
Charging headlong, blind, and teeth bright?
Or a chase, running shorts chafing?
But I have not finished wri-
iv
The fever is the cure, no?
v
I do not suffer, or
Make others suffer, yet
I am told that I am
Heartless, lack empathy,
Am mean. My rage speaks truth,
And the truth can help you.
vi
It's all in your head, right?
Mar 13, 2011
Mar 13, 2011 at 8:49 PM UTC
1 weeks pass by
With my mind still numb
Crack open the notebook
Retrieving a pencil to hand
I proceed to wri......
Nothing
Mind goes numb
How does one break of this spell?
2 weeks pass by
As I visit Hello Poetry daily
Reading poems,
Never reacting to some.
As my mind could not
Even fathom a response.
3 weeks pass by
I grow wary of my notebook
Collecting dust has become its new fame
Would peek through it time to time
Looking for hints
To guide me from this spell.
4 weeks pass by
A part of me felt lost
Have I broken from my love?
Finally, the advice of a long lost friend
Came back with fury
"Just write, scribble, ramble, and rant"
The spell was broken and my mind freed.
Spent the night with my one true love.
Apr 1, 2010
Apr 1, 2010 at 6:49 AM UTC
t t t tttap the clever
W O R D S;,...
they just
w _ a _ _ i _ _ _ t there
some//thing
i can't press in my palms
tugs. at. my. skull.
twistsupmyspine
it doesn't feel good
this\trying\to\feel\ a n y thing
then _ there's
bodies; I need
it's just a {mirage}
to >linger >upon
so intricate in e^ver^y^de^tail
evenyoucannot #see
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 2:41 AM UTC
⚓ ⚓ ⚓
Name that metaphor (half-assed boating)
Polish the brass on your life preserver
Wring out some meaning for dockside observer
Moorings are tenuous; life is floating.
Mar 30, 2017
Mar 30, 2017 at 10:01 PM UTC
When it
happened
I didn't
tell a
soul. I
did not
even tell
my----self.
Be--cause
wri---ting
about it
makes it
real.
Very real.
Jan 12, 2016
Jan 12, 2016 at 3:54 PM UTC