By Parizo Van Thulare
The echo of my rhyming
Making waves from the calcaneus up the nerve of auditory
Cleansing all which was blocked in tympanic membrane
This is poetry 's Lambast
The beauty of wisdom making Blast
This how i Cast
Hear them throb through the cortical cells
Storming and stomping as the dozer of Bells
The words through my lyics
The bond of my syllables
The fonts of the collabo
This is me the Commando
Parizo De Lá Poerto
Categories:
tympanic membrane, dedication, me, passion,
Form: Rhyme
A true friend is a priceless gift.
Never dominates you
But an important part in you.
Unlike others who can falsely define you
A true friend will try to refine you.
When the rest see you as a perfect nobody
He sees you an important somebody.
With remarkable loyalty he never ceases to amuse
And he sees backstabbing as a total abuse.
You always contently cherish his presence
And ardently long for him in his absence.
That is what I feel about you loyal friend,
If you were existing in mathematics
To me your care would be like an exponential curve
Whose asymptote is infinity, you care infinitiously,
Pardon me if my last word does not exist in a dictionary
The thing is I just wanna show my gratitude, it’s necessary.
Your friendship is a symphony whose music sound is loud in my ear
But never tears my tympanic membrane,
It causes tears somewhere else in me, in my eyes dear,
Tears of joy and happiness when you remind me I’m worthy,
The core of your friendship is burly…
Categories:
tympanic membrane, friendship,
Form: Lyric
SILENCE
Articulations bound by another’s place.
Maw silenced, no expressions from this face.
Inarticulate, the lingna moves not for Beauty.
Vocal cords caught, a voice sought.
Yet no lyrical, poetic vibrations projected.
Pinna, tympanic membrane never again to be affected?
Silences, preponderates the roar between a reality and memory.
Mnemosyne, perched on high, tells the story.
Mneme gives insight, with insight, no glory.
For all, fear, fear it has come to an end.
No longer a supposition ?, a bestfriend?
To hold out for a touch, may prove too much.
Auricle, not the Oracle, to believe.
The heart blinds, it doth deceive.
Love ?, did the soul ever receive?
It flounders at the bottom of boundless seas.
B. J. "A" 2
August 15th 2011
Categories:
tympanic membrane, lost love,
Form: Rhyme