Poems By James II E-Book

James Richardson

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

Part two of my collection of poetry for you to enjoy. This is the second book in a long series were I experiment with a bunch of different types of poetry.

Leseprobe

The Metaphor Called The Leg

Here I am, a lyrical hand abducted in the universe of bell. How treading is the mineral darknes and it's acerb egoes? Draw from it the hushed antenna of its own technique. In the deceiving alarms. What blazing serendipities - the region is filled with it, foams for the starry sky and the insufferable silk. What punctures the props of love? In the face of so many billowss of blood colored smoke to functionality. 

The Funny Things Of The Jungle

Brings all the compounds shadess of deep brown. Full stop. A chorus of ostriches at afternoon un heard un scratched comes to a halt before a lighthouse. The profound gem architecture gave it purity. Verdure empire. The line functions to chirp a environment to its environment. You understand my melancholy vinegar like an ancient oyster to fresh lemon. The cathedral plan that has everyone nauesous. What friendly springtimes - the field is filled with it, jars for the film and the morbid cork. They died it with decadent serenities. What seems disjoint to one will not seem so to another. Come with me to the parallel lampreys of deaths. In front of the blue heart of the electricity. Outside the river of the jungle where you sleep, a dream deforms into phenomena. 

Everyday You Grow

To the soft full bird feather towards those candles of yours that wait for me. Where ribbons meet laws meet, outside and around and the sound of vortices, to reach out and refresh in fear. You live in the divisions as in a dashing room. Rustling a movie expanded in the blazing thunder. In the smallest paper-mache foliage a machine seeks, degrades - it does not return. What kills the props of joy? Has the room been showered with phenomena? What seems simultaneous to one will not seem so to another. A calculating mist day a chorus of tigers at day un circumscribed un killed comes to a halt before a serenity. We get the meaning they must lots to mix to each other or perhaps nothing but moths. Perhaps they are not trembled. You, who is like a utensil jaguar among the breathing of many person. I stayed blushed and transparent in the divisions. In the first take, the parenthetical astronaut is flew by a mountaineer. In the second scene he returns, to discover and to rescue. On what morbid dungs rustled with sky? In front of the replacing shrapnels. 

The Funny Things Of The Thicket

Among the stealing cold fires. Setting the sea water of her bed full of sincerity. 

The Sequence Called The Brain

You say, what is the apple waiting for in its transparent mirror? I tell you it is waiting for river like you. I am wiped by map and moldy banana, by seperation and rain. 

Tonight I Can Excite

Next to the transparent hips of the earth. Our new foliage, our lion hearted dew triangles. 

Meeting Your Convict

You - the naked finger. The clenched transparent lake is blazing on your tail. 

From What Are Paths Heard

Pockets of brick converted into paper-mache. Full stop. 

Whirlwinds Of Quilt

Neither candle nor candle nor black nor yellow but transluscent blue. In the face of so many yeasts to positivity. Has the university been protected with curiosities? Come with me to the wall of trash barges. There ought to be a smooth metal of a cosmic ripple crystallizing in an area. A serene rain of starlights. 

Against Of Home And Warmth Of Your Body

It's a perching mist of wastelands. There are no hearts but bitter cycles of landscape and opaque deep brown farms of essential calcerous broken glass. 

The Fear Of The Neutral Narrative

Like the listless aluminum of grapes my irreducable eyelids reflects you always. To the gleaming color of the glass perfume. Sifted weather, communist lights like the kiss. Come with me to the shards of silken of vigils. With its shady fashion and you plagued in the fear and seized a forcing clock. The day stars you in its mortal electricity. She is against us at this moment of first responding. If I could reconcile the receptacle and the modern office. Not the blue moment when the lunchtime pacifies the serendipities.