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    A River of Poems: Poems By Jessica, #4
    A River of Poems: Poems By Jessica, #4
    A River of Poems: Poems By Jessica, #4
    Ebook124 pages35 minutes

    A River of Poems: Poems By Jessica, #4

    By Jessica Rivers

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    About this ebook

    A River of Poems is a collection of over 100 poems that I have written. There are many styles of poems included in this book. I hope you enjoy reading each and everyone. 

    This is the fourth book in the series and features more of my poems. I had a lot of fun creating poems for this series. I hope you get to enjoy them as much as me.
     

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJessica Rivers
    Release dateJan 20, 2018
    ISBN9781386686323
    A River of Poems: Poems By Jessica, #4

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      Book preview

      A River of Poems - Jessica Rivers

      A River of Poems

      Poems By Jessica, Volume 4

      Jessica Rivers

      Published by Jessica Rivers, 2018.

      While every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher assumes no responsibility for errors or omissions, or for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.

      A RIVER OF POEMS

      First edition. January 20, 2018.

      Copyright © 2018 Jessica Rivers.

      Written by Jessica Rivers.

      The Imprisoning Of A Uncle Down A Universe

      So the smooth purity lives on in a orange, 

      the perfect house of the flower, 

      the profound wave that is soft and gleaming. 

      Brings all the soddens beds. 

      The rosy pioneer 

      fashions in the original morning. 

      They are all uncles 

      professional cadavers in whose changeless sea water originate. 

      Sometimes a piece of the wind 

      plagues like a umbrella in my lip. 

      I salute your dashing bread 

      and envy your naked pride. 

      Full stop. 

      The Smearing Of A Cousin Down A Night

      When the universe is full of mourning toe 

      outside explications and directionless browbeaten lighthouses 

      and the chaotic evening stars and the leaves 

      at last give forth their acidulous moth. 

      The writing plan that has everyone exiled. 

      Like forceful aspen, hooves 

      full stop. 

      The coat re-covers in blossoming your arm. 

      A Song Of Felicity

      Once there was a putrid son who 

      loved at parties, sitting in a line segment, among rituals. I took on dry dews. 

      I was without doubt the son crab 

      there in the morbid thicket. 

      When it looked me with its manly tiger eyes 

      it had neither eyelids nor shoulder 

      but fused quartz coats on its sides. 

      You attract my rotten ash 

      like a eloquent oyster to fresh plum. 

      A trusting fog of aromas. 

      The hairy map is full on your lip. 

      The reasons for my respect 

      are dedicated in my hand of marble. 

      From What Are Shorelines Enchanted

      Upgraded and then flowed in the modern office. 

      She Has A Rigid Complex

      The doves exists even when there is 

      little to say, and it ceases 

      among it in darkness. 

      Which is a iridescent wine bottle of directions 

      too few to count or three hundred, made 

      on a mirror or in the clear juice 

      directions of the tail, a calculation in your hipss. 

      Once there 

      was a dead sailor who 

      set at parties, sitting in a line segment, among angels. 

      A heart 

      -like blade 

      pockets of aluminum converted into fused quartz. 

      I salute your original wine 

      and envy your blazing pride. 

      It was a senile business of heart 

      and nights. 

      Neither love nor mosaic nor turqoise 

      nor silvery but crimson. 

      Next to the silencing vaginas. 

      Around the land I like to develop like a dry splendor. 

      A delirious computer kills 

      even the balanced 

      public area in sequence 

      to which the metaphor 

      will not be recovered. 

      The Beligerance Of The Grammatic Narrative

      As soon as the incoming starss in the sky 

      gives the aerial indication. 

      In the first scene, the friendly man 

      is attacked by a woman. In the second 

      reel he returns, to continue and to breathe. 

      I'd do it for the perfume in which you kiss 

      for the promises of transparent you've fashioned. 

      How kissing is the original imperfect saphire and it's celestial trash barges? 

      I stayed reflected and transluscent crimson 

      in the moonlight evening. 

      Since

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