Tongue Poems - Poems about Tongue

Thank you for calling Your Destruction. If you’re calling to bring forth your personal hell, press 1. If you’re calling for emotional devastation, press 2. If you’re calling to enact physical harm, press 3. …Thank you. Your Destruction is now offering a summer sale. If you are interested, please fill out the survey on Your Destruction website. …Please hold…please hold…please hold…please...

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A runner plagued by endless thirst, tried all manner of things to end the curse. A camel bag or bottle slowed his pace. His yen for simple, lasting relief, became a race - Relentless! Seeing smooth pebbles in the bed of a stream, he took a pea-sized one; stowing it under his tongue. His saliva flowed; his thirst was gone, up-aweigh! Until the...

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By the street lamp we stand by, our favorite restaurant. Seeing people are eating, hot dishes being devoured. Food plays with my hungry tongue, senses are jumping for joy. Another heavenly meal, mouth and stomach did enjoy....

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Putting my best foot forward shoulder to the wheel nose to the grindstone my Achilles heel while sticking my neck out I soon found as with my eye on the ball ear to the ground when I put my back into it not with tongue in cheek but to keep my chin up heard joints creak the onset of old age memory loss an early taste for in the end...

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Dragon tongue Ill be your dragon I see your smile Through your alien face I didn't mean to abandon you In time when the army needs us most Without the mass graves How can we take this land Just leave em for dead But don't kill them That beautiful spot On the hill with the flowers in bloom Now could be someone's tomb Forfeit the blue...

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I speak English— not because it is mine, but because it was burned into the soft clay of my childhood. They called it brilliance when I spoke the master's tongue, and shame when I whispered my grandmother’s lullaby. But language is not just words— it is blood, it is soul, it is memory coded in sound. Africa, how can you rise when you dream in the syllables of strangers? When...

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**Some Tongue Fun (Writtem for Peter Piper) To pen a poem a day May scare some muses away, so Pam’s poems purr past peaceful people and Master Milo’s mollifymany muses....

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There's a lot to be said for silence but you won't hear it from me I'm satisfied tongue-tied as the less said the more I see and even if the point is moot 'tis a wise owl who don't give a hoot YY UR YY UB IC UR YY 4 ME (Too wise you are too...

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This is the hour Words from mouths that sour Sometimes unclean and censure Get the picture Anguish and aggravation Every turn a detour Diverse and aggravation Uncontrollable tongue Tasteless ears Questionable thought How and where Through the hour, and second mouth event Time after time Word note Negative phrase sometimes becomes a positive gesture Not thinking and unresolving Think before one speaks Open up in expression having truth Mirror reflect, what do you...

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My voice broke on the edge of breath. We stripped the bark from our ribs like trees to find no center. Blood is a language we forgot in churches. I held your absence like a flame burning under my tongue, while skin remembers the names we never spoke. I was becoming not better just closer to the fracture before the old name. And you fell into me like a glyph not carved. We did not rise we undressed....

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As my words "cascade" off my tongue, onto the "myriad" of blank pages. Each letter will slowly "slither," slither into a "serpentine" of sentences. As I stop to read, will the pages "lilt" to me? With tired eyes I see a "nebula" bright night, as I look out my huge window at the "lunar" light....

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You sound like a fingernail dragged over a blackboard. Every word cast as blackmail from a forked tongue in cheek. Bathed in the vile, bile of diatribe, masticated to be flung as dung expelled. Your snarled words reek with the dissonant cadence of discordance. As your eyes flicker from side to side with lies, you look away, unable to face me, eye to eye, unmasked, unshielded, nakedly...

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As a kid I wouldn’t of thought that this is how it was, For every feeling of giving up, For every kick of the drum; My heart would call my bluff. As as a kid all I wanted was a feeling I could grow up, Living how I want, I wonder if that’s really enough...

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In the beginning, there was salt. It hung in the air like unfinished scripture, gathered in the throat of the sea, waited for a mouth dumb enough to mistake thirst for an invitation. Then butter, smeared on the void like gossip, greased the dark’s knuckles like an understudy, taught the abyss to melt. The first sound was not speech— it was a swallow, a hush, a...

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Love has no other desire but to fulfil itself." ~...

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