#talker - Hello Poetry

Girl, you so jive. You can talk butter off bread all sweet, whether the sun is shining or not. I seen your type before, wearing a dress, your purse matching whatever printed accent swaying in the wind. I bet when it rains, it doesn’t touch you too busy moving, too many things going on. I bet you smile even when no one is around. Who needs company when you got it going on like that? Gone head, snap your fingers, do your step with your jive self. You walk in like you own the place, scratching off pieces of your heart whether it’s the right place or the wrong time. One thing they can’t say about you is that you hold up the line. Everybody gets a piece. You ain’t fooling nobody with your jive self. Some things are more important than money. With your sweet, jive self.

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May 20, 2025

May 20, 2025 at 1:24 AM UTC

kewayne-wadley

Girl, You So Jive

Girl, you so jive. You can talk butter off bread all sweet, whether the sun is shining or not. I seen your type before, wearing a dress, your purse matching whatever printed accent swaying in the wind. I bet when it rains, it doesn’t touch you too busy moving, too many things going on. I bet you smile even when no one is around. Who needs company when you got it going on like that? Gone head, snap your fingers, do your step with your jive self. You walk in like you own the place, scratching off pieces of your heart whether it’s the right place or the wrong time. One thing they can’t say about you is that you hold up the line. Everybody gets a piece. You ain’t fooling nobody with your jive self. Some things are more important than money. With your sweet, jive self.

32

To me, My words, Are my thoughts. Milk in a pan drifting, Lazily in mexican waves, On tiptoes with fingertips, Stroking the three litre line. to you my words are the time you blinked and clots of milk swelled into pregnant pufferfishes and a siren hissed incessant incantions you swore fate birthed to hex your mind and a trident foamed at the mouth relishing the theft of nature's permission to shapeshift into a lightening bolt and to zap your stove a blistering white in three times ten to the eight metres per second

0

Oct 6, 2020

Oct 6, 2020 at 2:52 PM UTC

Sundas

Fast talker

To me, My words, Are my thoughts. Milk in a pan drifting, Lazily in mexican waves, On tiptoes with fingertips, Stroking the three litre line. to you my words are the time you blinked and clots of milk swelled into pregnant pufferfishes and a siren hissed incessant incantions you swore fate birthed to hex your mind and a trident foamed at the mouth relishing the theft of nature's permission to shapeshift into a lightening bolt and to zap your stove a blistering white in three times ten to the eight metres per second

13

the owner operator of the poetry site doesn't adhere to his own guideline's rite it states that all members must be polite yet he allowed slurs from the Michigan ***** one clearly recalls what happened on that day a lowlife bloke used the term ***** in an offensive way whereupon the poetess who'd received his nasty comment, left the site's bay she'd not be subject to this derogatory spray no action taken against the one in the wrong he still remains part of the site's throng an injustice within the owner's weak song the smell of it is unforgettable of reeking pong would seem that the trash talker **** does whatever he likes and the webmaster is complicit in the words he trikes

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Nov 4, 2017

Nov 4, 2017 at 8:31 PM UTC

ElizabethSquires

Complicit

the owner operator of the poetry site doesn't adhere to his own guideline's rite it states that all members must be polite yet he allowed slurs from the Michigan ***** one clearly recalls what happened on that day a lowlife bloke used the term ***** in an offensive way whereupon the poetess who'd received his nasty comment, left the site's bay she'd not be subject to this derogatory spray no action taken against the one in the wrong he still remains part of the site's throng an injustice within the owner's weak song the smell of it is unforgettable of reeking pong would seem that the trash talker **** does whatever he likes and the webmaster is complicit in the words he trikes

42

Sitting in a crowded room, everybody has something to say, i try to tell a story but nobody would listen. At that moment when i try to raise my voice, i just realise that am blocked out. I sit alone in a crowed room and i wonder what my purpose is. Much of a helper thats all i am, much of a planner thats what i am, so much of a listener and a talker when something needs to be solved, but less than that am blocked out, less than that am invisible. Thats what i am just less than that

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Jun 4, 2015

Jun 4, 2015 at 5:46 AM UTC

nolwazijoubert

Blocked out

Sitting in a crowded room, everybody has something to say, i try to tell a story but nobody would listen. At that moment when i try to raise my voice, i just realise that am blocked out. I sit alone in a crowed room and i wonder what my purpose is. Much of a helper thats all i am, much of a planner thats what i am, so much of a listener and a talker when something needs to be solved, but less than that am blocked out, less than that am invisible. Thats what i am just less than that

14