Tangible with meaning

*Be creative
(dont just give me a description of the object try an add meaning or build a story around)
*Provide forms of imagery on the object
*2 poems allowed
*your title must be the object
*no collabs
*have fun

here is an example


"Water"


Darkness flickering between white lights

Standing in the kitchen with a blank mind

Staring at a glass of water I just poured

Transparent liquid right to the core

Cold to the touch of my lips

Bubbling back as it pours in

Half full or half empty

What meaning would that grant me?

Quenching my thirst with nothingness

Crystal beads resting on the rim

Distorting images from within

Shades of gray from every angle

Sparkling liquid cleverly labeled

But in a glass it recovers its name

In a glass it is all the same

Just a simple glass of water

Kind of makes we wonder

Am I really October,

Or nothing more... than a glass of water

Tangled tangibles

A gossamer web
A spider spun
Catches dew
At a cool new dawn
A single brown leaf
Fall to the ground
Waiting with its fellows
To follow suit
A flower petal
Fall from the bloom
Graceful in descent
To the waiting earth
Lauded by the songs
Of happy crickets
A yellow butterfly
Flutters giddily by
On an errand
that only it knew
Watched by admiring
Chirpy birds’ eye
The tangibles
in the ethereal
with silent communal grace
mates with
the intangibles.

A Tall Window

Domineering material
draped
from a barely visible pelmet ,
flowiing and caving
under immense torrents of pressure ,
overtaking the shoe box room
appearing to be ogres in their
brilliance ,
like expanding chests
breathing heavily
creating superiority .

Washing That Handglides        

Brickwork mazes
span the insulted moorlands ,
reinbursed tree's
guard their remnants of foliage .

Washing handgliding
from lines
in the wealthy winds
of Moorside .

These streets
are tightly packed ,
and minds of the residents
are most certainly whacked .

^ A Shell ^
Laying upon the sandy beach,
a shell of yesterday's broken dreams.
My thoughts washing backwards and into me,
as if the ocean could be sucked back into the tiny mysterious coils of a single hollow shell.
And I seemed, in this stillness to be as fragile as an emptied shell, with no mirth or no value.

::Jelly Candy::

A stillpond of seethrough glass,
With a corner sparkle in any glance,
the hues so bright to mind’s entrance,
taken totally by lingering aromatic ambience.
My hands reach out to make a lash..
With the dream of a colourful spalsh,
Only to be amazed at your maze of phase,
You have been a solid spirited sage in silence,
Still with a fluidised flow of mellifluous image,
To drive away inner clouts of red hot rambling rage.
Sprinkled pieces of cute cuboid sugars,
Sticking like a dewy kiss on rosy lips,
You are a life's preview of crimson charms,
Ever a Crystal clear gaze I cherish…
And a darling dazzling daze I relish...

great job everyone

PACZKIs

Tomorrow is FAT TUESDAY

It was named after me

Although you may know it as MARDI GRAS or CARNIVALE

It is the day before ASH WEDNESDAY

The BEGINNING of LENT

Our house is filled with PACZKIs
APPLE
BLUEBERRY
BUTTERCREAM
CHERRY
CHOCOLATE
STRAWBERRY
CUSTARD
LEMON
PRUNE
RASPBERRY

A pączek is a deep-fried piece of dough

Shaped into a flattened sphere and filled with confiture or other sweet filling

Pączki are usually covered with powdered sugar, icing or bits of dried orange zest
 
Pączki are made from especially rich dough containing eggs, fats, sugar

They feature a variety of fruit and crème fillings

Can be glazed, or covered with granulated or powdered sugar

Pączki have been known in Poland at least since the Middle Ages

My sweetie tells me not to overdo it….but it is ALMOST as good as SEX!!!!!



.

Rewind
"she sings a pretty song"
 
 eeerrrpp-dniwer
 
"she sings a pretty song"
 
 eeerrrpp-dniwer
 
"she sings a pretty song ....
 
 
The record hit the scratch,
played the same line over again.
The room lit like a match,
the crowd paid it no attention.
Not to empty the words she sang,
civil wars cannot be verbalized.
Madame Victrola felt guilt pangs,
machine prayed no one would agnize.
 
Hours, weeks, months Victrola played,
grinding the record to hollow noise.
Just few at the party grew dismayed.
Fearing exposure Madame kept poised.
"Dear Victrola what do you play for us?"
Spent, yet anxious, attempted a ploy,
"I PLAY YOU SONGS SO WONDERFULLY JOYOUS!!"
 
 
Her erratic lies near drove away all,
The hollow noises pushed them away.
Then slowly she came to her final halt
But the ones that loved her did stay
she did not speak, she did not know how
brewing a hate for her once lovely sounds
"Leave me!" But beloveds replied a vow
"We'll restore you to the purpose for which you are bound."
 
Help her they did, and again she plays songs,
Songs of love, her heart ache. "Sing, Madame sing on."

Oceanic Woman

Your lips are like sea foam as they touch my skin
tickling my every impulse to wade into your rip tide
and flirt with your under current

My eyes gaze upon your crystal blue beauty
as though it’s the majestic sea

I long for you to envelope me in waves of passion
to tear me apart with your lustful fury
to steal my heart
and keep it for yourself in our home
this, the tide pool of our universe

Under sand and shore I feel your breath
as smooth as the ocean air

My arms glide to you
like the wings of a seagull
making love to the sky

Ocean

Your rugged sapphire hands
Reaching and pulling up the starts
The wind you create, stirring up the beautiful day.
Ocean, in waves you splash the land
Reaching out, I can feel your longing
We wonder of what you hold from us
Colorful fish and bright anemone
You wonder of deserts,
Spending the years pondering legs
Fantasizing of the sky
To the naked eye you look so close
But you will never meet
Still your longing splash toward the heavens
Only to rain back down on our heads
Ocean, the holder of secrets
You count the lost wedding rings
And blanket the sunken ships
We long for your secrets
And you long for ours.

Balloon


Being a writer, stories stacking up on your mind slowly. Dripping with
creativity. But piling so quickly the words get clogged on the way
out.

Knowing you’ll never be on the cover of the Readers Digest or Time Magazine.

Being a photographer, eating yourself inside out for the right color
balance. Burning the tips of your fingers off just to develop that one
perfect print.

Knowing you’ll never be on the cover of National Geographic.

Being a person, scratching daily at your biggest insecurities.
Examining yourself on that big mirror, mirror on the wall.

Knowing you’ll never be on the cover of Seventeen or Vanity Fair.

Feeling like a balloon

It hurts to be red. Or yellow. Or blue.

Because the truth is, you’ll never have a special shape and you’ll never be filled with pure helium or made out of that pretty shiny plastic that says messages or plays happy birthdays.

No. You’re that kind of balloon you find at a carnival.

Rubber. Latex.

You’re the kind of balloon that is bent into fucking shapes and sold
by some lowlife in a clown costume.

Kids don’t think about the certain balloon they get.

You’re just another rubber balloon after discarding the last because it simply wasn’t good enough.

Doomed to a few days of being cramped into the roof of some school gymnasium

Doomed to a few days of being tied to a mailbox after the big party

Doomed to a few days of whatever before you get popped. Or just die out.

Then you just lay there, limp, until someone feels sorry enough

to throw you into the trash-

Where you lay until your vision is blurred over by coffee grounds and
banana peels

And you just close your eyes because it’s not fucking worth it

There’s nothing you can do about it.

And nobody is going to pull you out of the trash and give you a hug.

You’re deflated and you’ll never be one of those balloons with the plastic sticks

Nope, you’ve just got ribbons that cut off the
circulation to the poor kids’ wrists.

No voice. I am not a snowflake.

Welcome to adulthood.

I stare at the burning house
The Fire Fighters struggling to fight it out
Onlookers looking helplessly
Commotions and shouts
Something else schemes through my mind
Eternity.......
I wonder how this fiery place that awaits sinners would feel
Cos Im metres away and I still feel the heat
Fom this burning house

"Terra"

Preface

There once was era, in a distant galaxy of the universe, where experience where a human did not experience. She did not taste the sweetness fruit or he do not feel the deepest and most voracious rage to kill another of their brethren. The way you read this story, through this language, in reaction to your brain and your biology, did never so exist. You experience one way and we can never know the experiences before us as an intelligible life form, for we can only experience them as they relate to us as whatever we believe we are. Attempt to open your mind to all possibilities, even though you could never perceive or experience them. Let it go, and breathe in.

The Augur Orb and the Celestial Chalice

For see, and release
Your love, I would forever keep
My sweet Serra, of the bluest deep
For when your colors change, I am Terra.

Oh, sweet young beauty
Your love, so peacefully proud
Your essence and mine will rest upon the clouds,
Above your exalting mountains, dear Terra.

Behind your eyes I see a deaf glimmer.
Your colors extreme and I am here, sweet shimmering Serra.
What holds to your heart, what causes your fear?
I will never demand soul from your art,
But please never dimmer the burning tinder.

Terra of the Augur Orb, dost your beauty not for-tell?
Our synthesis is near, so sweet the smell.
Purge your art from this sphere
and make our brushes, never ever so clear.

Serra of sincerest Skies,
I will do what is said by your phosphorescent yellow eye.
But promise me this, you will bear me an embryo
A seed of the most wondrous surprise.

Alone in her domain.

Serra illuminates the cost of her refrain,
To administer the purge without perfect amount of pain.
The capacity of passion that Terra knew to believe,
Serra's skies, in the reflection of her seas.

Serra examined her many eyes,
And asked herself which shined the most, and why.

Her eyes whispered back a melody, mellow and somewhat dry.
Behind her eyes, was summoned Haelodie.

Oh the incautious phases of Serra of the soft, soft Sky
Do you never realize, for you, Terra would die?

She would renew her brilliant vast Canvas,
That brilliant Augur Orb, for your widowing ever-glowing eyes.

She loves yours,
Because she does not know mine.

She does not know my vastness,
For she only knows thine.

Awake sweet Serra and forever be [i]my eye
For you obscure nothing, beyond but a tear.
Hide your malice, and misplace your fears.
Take my Celestial Chalice, and feel all things appear.
Poor Beautiful Terra, ever so lost, and always sincere.[/i]

Serra and Haelodie came together to absorb
Their bodies mingled with the energy of the Augur Orb.
Their lips embraced, and their breasts touched,
There, two bodies, came together blushing
to you their own beautiful truths.
To accept the Celestial Chalice,
is never something you choose.

Terra and Serra alone in the Augur Orb.


Ah.. my subliminal, Serra.
I have been waiting for you to return,
Anticipation, for our fire to forever burn.

- But Oh! What a magnificent grail!
Fill it with my waters below the evergreen mountains
It will seep into the spirit from that bolstering fountain.

What gifts you give me, from your art form
Let us drink your viscous liqueur
Breathe out your esteeming Augur Orb.[/i]

From her sky, Serra breathed into her hair,
Cascading down to the depths of her seas,
Terra's heart there both blue and grey.
The hands of her respiration
descended to evoke a rapid transformation.

The beauteous sex of something beyond you
Is not something that can cross your imagination
because there is no such thing
But only your ascending interpretation.
You can only read your own language.
Traveling the byzantine complex of all creation.

The thrush of Serra's seed, descended all the way down.
The songbird dug a hollow pit, and implanted the embryo.
Terra's emulsifying pleasure ascended to her steep crown.
For she had received her seed, unbeknownst to her deceit.

And Serra's skies became black.
Forever petrifying her form to the Augur Orb.
So human did she look, but far from it her mind.
Unable to see, but birthing her born.

Haelodie hearkened from beyond, as Terra's presence darkened.
Her mirroring oceans drying up, her dearest birthed dying.
The birthed were the spirits of you and I.
Many of them, many who had never existed.
Their assailants unknown to them, for experience to them
Was filled with too much pain to ever conceive
That their mother was not in the sky, but across the seas.

Oh my sincerest, Terra, I have deceived your subliming mind.
A blooming flower from your orb,
I have fed sour water!
I have bound you here so you may never leave.
My false intentions are now meant for sorrow.
I am sorry my love, for now you must forever seethe.

Serra kissed her petrified lover's lips.
Terra felt, every embrace
But could not give back.

Music play, music digress.

The song of the grass

The grass can sing
like strings of violins
blades gently rubbing
a whispering sound
ambient and true
the waves
brush your ear
as you listen
to the symphony
as they greet the Olympian
covering the land
with golden ribbon
they play
to welcome the new day