Palba_Noruda
Literotica Guru
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Five separate first stanzas trying to mimic somebody else's rhyme scheme
The husband
The husband
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ghost_girl
Really Really Experienced
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- May 20, 2006
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Self-esteem.
What does that really mean
To someone who has no gauge
To measure her own level
Of worth
My heart knows in a most intimate
Way how it feels to be untouched
Unloved, not trusted and yes
Despised.
What once was hope flourished
Like a hanging garden throughout
Every pore of my being. And I was
Lucky as it was the type of hope
And joy that gave rise to song
That could never be repeated by man
Nor beast.
Now I am that beast with no voice.
What value he once placed upon me
Has evaporated with the mists that fed
The gardens of my soul and I am ugly.
I ask whatever Gods may be
What deed have I done to earn
His hatred and my own invisible life.
DrewberryLess
Experienced
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- Jun 4, 2009
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My untouched heart once flourished like
an invisible garden despised by his hatr'd
man nor beast knows what type of mist has
fed his ugly soul, may be he placed no value
or worth upon some girl, some ghost with no voice
Cento
Source: Ghost Girl
an invisible garden despised by his hatr'd
man nor beast knows what type of mist has
fed his ugly soul, may be he placed no value
or worth upon some girl, some ghost with no voice
Cento
Source: Ghost Girl
butters
High on a Hill
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i missed this before
i'm glad i found it - a poem bigger on the inside than the outside. like this lots.
Palba_Noruda
Literotica Guru
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- 548
I am
hatred I
ask every
lucky joy to
be evaporated
my soul never
flourished my
voice repeated
every ugly
beast
Hanging in
the mists
invisible Gods
ask in
song what
I despised
Cento
Source: Ghost Girl
hatred I
ask every
lucky joy to
be evaporated
my soul never
flourished my
voice repeated
every ugly
beast
Hanging in
the mists
invisible Gods
ask in
song what
I despised
Cento
Source: Ghost Girl
DrewberryLess
Experienced
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Wow! Great cento, Palba. I like the vertical arrangement of your chosen words. Impressive. 
Palba_Noruda
Literotica Guru
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No one ever plagiarize my poems. I wish my words were good enough for people to steal.
There you go. Happy?
Thanks.Wow! Great cento, Palba. I like the vertical arrangement of your chosen words. Impressive.
4degrees
Literotica Guru
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- 5,855
every nerve stretching from
tip to spine, like a raw wire
sparking and buzzing awaiting
your touch again
this viscous delicious love
that sways from a tenderness
never before known to a
scarring desperate hunger that
will remain into black oblivion
we live within one another
maybe you can now see
out these eyes, into the world
of existential conundrum
that begs to be silenced
giving in to the moment forever
forgetting all that was before
or could be after, just stay here
and let me clutch you like
a beast holds his dinner to
its salivating jaws
it's true, closer now are we
as silver and cold sounds
like it has always been
my favorite song and your smell
is etched into my nostrils
we have done something
never to be undone.
tip to spine, like a raw wire
sparking and buzzing awaiting
your touch again
this viscous delicious love
that sways from a tenderness
never before known to a
scarring desperate hunger that
will remain into black oblivion
we live within one another
maybe you can now see
out these eyes, into the world
of existential conundrum
that begs to be silenced
giving in to the moment forever
forgetting all that was before
or could be after, just stay here
and let me clutch you like
a beast holds his dinner to
its salivating jaws
it's true, closer now are we
as silver and cold sounds
like it has always been
my favorite song and your smell
is etched into my nostrils
we have done something
never to be undone.
annaswirls
Pointy?
- Joined
- Dec 9, 2003
- Posts
- 7,204
password protected he tells me
mind your own beeswax woman
drop that dustcloth from my shelf
I'll get it myself
there is no 14th block of Maple Street
but they touched up the stripes anyway
dead end vertical who would forget to stop?
the hand jive you down for a twenty
we see their headlights disappear down the tracks
Banda bbeat from the apartments they swear
it is not polka born still the one-two-three one
two three oompah Panchoa Villa steps up the winds
Spenser sharpens a stick by the driveway.
You pull me behind the barn and we watch them parked there
her head disappeared, he fakes the inhale
mind your own beeswax woman
drop that dustcloth from my shelf
I'll get it myself
there is no 14th block of Maple Street
but they touched up the stripes anyway
dead end vertical who would forget to stop?
the hand jive you down for a twenty
we see their headlights disappear down the tracks
Banda bbeat from the apartments they swear
it is not polka born still the one-two-three one
two three oompah Panchoa Villa steps up the winds
Spenser sharpens a stick by the driveway.
You pull me behind the barn and we watch them parked there
her head disappeared, he fakes the inhale
greenmountaineer
Literotica Guru
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- Nov 28, 2008
- Posts
- 2,442
Happy Birthday To You
(Written after a doctor's appointment, copious amounts of red wine with meat of the same color at the Outback Steakhouse tonight. In Vino Veritas.)
I wouldn’t say this to Katrina
For whom the friendly wait-staff sing
On this, her seventh year with Mother,
Nana, Daddy, and Regina
Who’s old enough to babysit
And bellows when she sings.
But as I hear their song play out,
I say this to myself:
What is it in the USA
That doesn’t love a happy death day
Holiday for all the types
Who say they seek the afterlife?
You know, the Catholics and the Jews,
Orthodox or Reformed,
WASP’s that now include the BASP’s,
And Mohammedans.
But what about the atheists?
Well, they do not pray,
But sure in hell believe.
Pardon me. I meant to say
In the absence of
Acute or chronic pain in death
Which all of us endure in life, the young sometimes
Or Uncle Joe who sleeps all day
Not far from those who’d rather play
And on his birthday drink and sing:
“Nine more years to go, Joe”
(Who just turned ninety-one)
“Just keep that bag and catheter
Where they both belong.”
So by now, you surely think
Oh My God, this guy’s a priest.
Oh for Chrissakes, I’m no prelate
Writing Thanatopsis Chic,
But what about the USA
Has made the most of us pretend
That we would live forever?
Sure, we’d rather watch TV,
Except to cower in a corner
When we feel a symptom,
And there we swear to God or Naught
We’ll change our ways tomorrow
Before we take another swig.
(Written after a doctor's appointment, copious amounts of red wine with meat of the same color at the Outback Steakhouse tonight. In Vino Veritas.)
I wouldn’t say this to Katrina
For whom the friendly wait-staff sing
On this, her seventh year with Mother,
Nana, Daddy, and Regina
Who’s old enough to babysit
And bellows when she sings.
But as I hear their song play out,
I say this to myself:
What is it in the USA
That doesn’t love a happy death day
Holiday for all the types
Who say they seek the afterlife?
You know, the Catholics and the Jews,
Orthodox or Reformed,
WASP’s that now include the BASP’s,
And Mohammedans.
But what about the atheists?
Well, they do not pray,
But sure in hell believe.
Pardon me. I meant to say
In the absence of
Acute or chronic pain in death
Which all of us endure in life, the young sometimes
Or Uncle Joe who sleeps all day
Not far from those who’d rather play
And on his birthday drink and sing:
“Nine more years to go, Joe”
(Who just turned ninety-one)
“Just keep that bag and catheter
Where they both belong.”
So by now, you surely think
Oh My God, this guy’s a priest.
Oh for Chrissakes, I’m no prelate
Writing Thanatopsis Chic,
But what about the USA
Has made the most of us pretend
That we would live forever?
Sure, we’d rather watch TV,
Except to cower in a corner
When we feel a symptom,
And there we swear to God or Naught
We’ll change our ways tomorrow
Before we take another swig.
butters
High on a Hill
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- Jul 2, 2009
- Posts
- 83,690
4degrees
Literotica Guru
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- Aug 5, 2004
- Posts
- 5,855
one way love renders
raised lines spelling out
every form of sap across
a chest, where a heart beats
only out of reflex-
just like everyone's.
this lost love is just
the same as his lost love,
only it was once real,
for him
my imaginary friends
come and go through this
black facade of mine
2d or 3d-it matters not
to 4d, for he can make
something out of
nothing every time
your silver tongue
and part time affections
nurture and feed this
balloon of hate within
it escapes though tiny
pores and poisons from
the inside out, the bitter taste
of rejection is delicious
in my loneliness.
raised lines spelling out
every form of sap across
a chest, where a heart beats
only out of reflex-
just like everyone's.
this lost love is just
the same as his lost love,
only it was once real,
for him
my imaginary friends
come and go through this
black facade of mine
2d or 3d-it matters not
to 4d, for he can make
something out of
nothing every time
your silver tongue
and part time affections
nurture and feed this
balloon of hate within
it escapes though tiny
pores and poisons from
the inside out, the bitter taste
of rejection is delicious
in my loneliness.
Palba_Noruda
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Feb 7, 2009
- Posts
- 548
Jackson
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Palba_Noruda
Literotica Guru
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I ought
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UnderYourSpell
Gerund Whore
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- May 20, 2007
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- 15,794
I read your poem and it hit me
right between the eyeballs,
like you was pickin' bits
out of my brain.
Why in friggin' hell couldn't I get it down like that?
Oh mannnnnn you were right on the button
even down to the last crumb
and I have to sit here and eat it up,
when it shoulda been mine!!
right between the eyeballs,
like you was pickin' bits
out of my brain.
Why in friggin' hell couldn't I get it down like that?
Oh mannnnnn you were right on the button
even down to the last crumb
and I have to sit here and eat it up,
when it shoulda been mine!!
Palba_Noruda
Literotica Guru
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Bad Babble Bad No Need To Read
________
Type in
________
Type in
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Palba_Noruda
Literotica Guru
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- Posts
- 548
Desk. Power. Tie.
Swivel chair. Legs crossed.
Balding. Stutter.
Nervous laugh. Hands
folded. Purse. Gold
chain about the neck.
Conversation. Billing.
More nervous laughter.
Hand gesture. Question
In the eyes. Hesitation.
Squint eyes. Disbelieving
look. Back pedal. Question.
Assured answer. Leans
back in chair. Knowing
smile. Are we ready?
Swivel chair. Legs crossed.
Balding. Stutter.
Nervous laugh. Hands
folded. Purse. Gold
chain about the neck.
Conversation. Billing.
More nervous laughter.
Hand gesture. Question
In the eyes. Hesitation.
Squint eyes. Disbelieving
look. Back pedal. Question.
Assured answer. Leans
back in chair. Knowing
smile. Are we ready?
Palba_Noruda
Literotica Guru
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- Feb 7, 2009
- Posts
- 548
Do you
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V
vampiredust
Guest
Two Dimensional
The elm casts its kraken shadow,
sinking the schooner of my one step,
two step. I can't dance to the beat
of you, city thumping under my feet,
but must fold you up into an origami
plane and fly you to my apartment
where I can watch every building,
road and tree pop up, see clouds
drop down, the sun dangling
like a hypnotist's pendulum, making
us dazzled with its illusion of brightness.
The elm casts its kraken shadow,
sinking the schooner of my one step,
two step. I can't dance to the beat
of you, city thumping under my feet,
but must fold you up into an origami
plane and fly you to my apartment
where I can watch every building,
road and tree pop up, see clouds
drop down, the sun dangling
like a hypnotist's pendulum, making
us dazzled with its illusion of brightness.
Angeline
Poet Chick
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Palba_Noruda
Literotica Guru
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Did you
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Angeline
Poet Chick
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When I say you dig, Jack
I could mean Kerouac or Kennedy,
assuredly not the Ripper
I'm not so near
obsessed with blood or death
would rather shade my eyes
and say hello Be Nimble,
you're looking thin, Sprat,
and if All Trades can knock
me a bookcase I'm copacetic
because I don't know Jack,
Jack although I do cozy up
to the boy with the popcorn,
the peanuts, and the prize.
I could mean Kerouac or Kennedy,
assuredly not the Ripper
I'm not so near
obsessed with blood or death
would rather shade my eyes
and say hello Be Nimble,
you're looking thin, Sprat,
and if All Trades can knock
me a bookcase I'm copacetic
because I don't know Jack,
Jack although I do cozy up
to the boy with the popcorn,
the peanuts, and the prize.
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