Larsen M. Callirhoe Posted May 28, 2009 i write sense out of nonsense. i see darkness. it is my new light. i see everything in the dark. the light is where one cannot see. the darkness blinds me and the light covers me with nothing but its coolness soothes me. lol Larsen M. Callirhoe Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
rumisong Posted May 28, 2009 i write sense out of nonsense. i see darkness. it is my new light. i see everything in the dark. the light is where one cannot see. the darkness blinds me and the light covers me with nothing but its coolness soothes me. lol wow, I missed this one... this is awesome Vic- I would versitize it and say its a poem! Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
rumisong Posted May 28, 2009 made a hefty sandwich t'other day - the plastic fillings were too much for my eyebrows to just brush off - when will these granules pour? and who will pay for them? once the flavor is determined to be nothing but salt! heave ho- they want so much... cryogenic certainties have made their way out of the sauce- now they fill the pot with replies they were not in want of... and tree top truths are left in the trailer, unedited credits fall to the bottom of this screen... Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
rumisong Posted May 28, 2009 rumisong wrote: ... made a hefty sandwich t'other day the plastic fillings were just too much for my eyebrows to brush off- so, just when will these granules pour? and who is going to want to pay for them? once their flavor has been determined- nothing but salt! heave ho- they want so much cryogenic certainties making their way out of the sauce, now filling the pot with replies they were not in want of tree top truths left in the trailer and my unedited credits falling to the bottom of the screen the show is not over Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
rumisong Posted May 28, 2009 pithment discernedin grivolous fright grumplets be burned and friers alight to hold hungers fraught so near dungeon's bowel these lessenings taught hath loosened the vowel glib beckonings crave an easement's descent for what we once sought behaves as lament give ho, and give ho let us raze in a'scorn we mustn't let go this bedeviled old horn beloved as a chariot leaves window's light harken oh plithious desirous enflight Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
rumisong Posted September 26, 2010 (edited) spankings are not going to green the already perpendicular spaces between knotted pluralism and Frankish columns across the platonic meridian (this post is due to the resolve to write SOMETHING/ANYthing on a computer reboot ;)) Edited September 26, 2010 by rumisong Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
rumisong Posted October 1, 2010 Crinkley crutzels would cry out for cream had not the stroovens gone into the stream and hivvers and haxes hasten to haul what pillars and plinkers put bedding to pall have none to need nor nedder of naught let living deleaders sling't all their lawt Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Aleksandra Posted October 9, 2010 I wrote with my finger on my fingerless hand from bellow the desk in the empty room without a house. I will look at you all beautiful and charming hidden covered with mud and trash from the sky. I would hug the snow black and thirsty just to satisfy my hunger for blood. I am nobody who I know and you are someone who I don't know, when you buh-bye to me, I wonder, if the bulb was working in your basement on the third floor. Stop writing now, with elbow of your foot. I am sick reading this scrap that comes from the south bellow the south pole. A bear - eating rats and dancing with the one who has money in the knee-pocket of his swim-suit. Bla-bla --- blabing The poet is a liar who always speaks the truth - Jean Cocteau History of Macedonia Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
rumisong Posted October 9, 2010 I wrote with my finger on my fingerless hand from bellow the desk in the empty room without a house. I will look at you all beautiful and charming hidden covered with mud and trash from the sky. I would hug the snow black and thirsty just to satisfy my hunger for blood. thats some really deep Draculian stuff going on there, mistress-of-macedonia Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
tonyv Posted October 9, 2010 Love Time/Social Time I don't care what the rats digest in Poland, nor how they dance the disco in Nepal. She casts a shadow bigger than Rhode Island when waiting for that susage stuffer's call. She told me that it's hard to let him go; he's freshened up and shaves it like a pro. Here is a link to an index of my works on this site: tonyv's Member Archive topic Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Aleksandra Posted October 9, 2010 Tony, this is more ridiculous than mine lol. :D The poet is a liar who always speaks the truth - Jean Cocteau History of Macedonia Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
tonyv Posted October 9, 2010 I know ... Here is a link to an index of my works on this site: tonyv's Member Archive topic Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
rumisong Posted October 17, 2010 if you as meal ink a line of feel then me as cruel link a pride of tool if you as north drug a verb of fourth then me as singe hug a tier of hinge if you as sigh form a queue of pie then me as wane torn a lyre of sane Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
rumisong Posted November 6, 2010 Its about carnal feet in disguise that we have plundant figs for our celebranitions- were not for squiggs and flornings, our hemp would drink its own christening. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
dedalus Posted December 4, 2010 Can I nominate Sarah Palin? Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
waxwings Posted February 21, 2011 (edited) Here is the first stanza of a poem I started a while ago and have not finished. It is written in pseodo-English. If you can decypher it (and you should be able to) let me know. The key is that the syntax is that of simple, everyday speech. Kindre groupe ung brachy upsing ap min glasson nod vies maspeck hos gamed duomas. Hey, guys. I am almost clined to spek theses makum more sensity than voter pomses. :icon_cyclops: Edited February 21, 2011 by waxwings Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
waxwings Posted February 21, 2011 I wrote with my finger on my fingerless hand from bellow the desk in the empty room without a house. I will look at you all beautiful and charming hidden covered with mud and trash from the sky. I would hug the snow black and thirsty just to satisfy my hunger for blood.I am nobody who I know and you are someone who I don't know, when you buh-bye to me, I wonder, if the bulb was working in your basement on the third floor. Stop writing now, with elbow of your foot. I am sick reading this scrap that comes from the south bellow the south pole. A bear - eating rats and dancing with the one who has money in the knee-pocket of his swim-suit. Bla-bla --- blabing This couldly veryous swelyl the syntactically upsiest versination you has crayonned and has tangirible content aswell. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Aleksandra Posted May 25, 2011 While the stone was building a house, I escaped from a house to build a paradise. I locked the door, and I stayed out alone with the cold stone, that has a heart from a clay. I used the stars that are mine, to form the heart in a heart, but the one is just the same - a stone. It was a dry day to cook on wood, I am afraid my house would burn again. I asked some water, but nothing. The one said: here is some wood...Well, I don't need that, so I mix it with tears, to make a dough for HIS heart. Still nothing, he turned in a magic, flying with the clay. I talk and talk, ramble and ramble, eating words on streets, eating sand with my leaves, walking with my ears... All messed up. Stone... stone...stone. Warm as the stone is. Nice to meet u, the dawn said... Well good night, morning. It's time me to dark my light. Well... Stone Stone, I love stones, to break my head, then maybe the cat will be some bird. The poet is a liar who always speaks the truth - Jean Cocteau History of Macedonia Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
abstract Posted November 6, 2011 intangible masterpieces groink to the laves of calendar. Twelve muses excuse blue safety goes black then white left than right. "Swimmerring seamstresses," he catapulted. "Markedly radiated forward the joining room, There's no time fumerary." There's water bloom. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites