"aaah" poems
I wear beads and African bracelets for beauty. I forget why the people before me wore them. I wear them with pride not because I earned them but because I simply look beautiful. Beautiful!? What does that even mean? My Nana has scars on her body. She shows them to me with pride. Narrates stories of the war in the past like an action movie only she didn't have a gun only bows and poisonous arrows. The missing teeth in her mouth causes her to spit almost every second she talks. But this embarrassment is only felt by me. She is proud of the hole in her mouth. Suddenly I feel the urge to remove my African beads. They have no meaning only that they are African and I am and so am entitled. But I have done nothing for my heritage. Not even fight for it. Slowly it's being forgotten and people are crossing over without a care in the world. 'To civilisation' we say. 'For the good of the people' we say. But is it? We were a community wrong as we were to circumcise women, marry them off at an early age, burn the wrong... We were a community. We loved each other. We cared. We taught our children how to feel and be the earth. We taught our children to respect the earth and in return the earth blesses us with herbs to cure. What did they call it? Aaah yes 'witchcraft'. We were not animals who forget their children in pit latrines or by the river side just because we cannot afford them or don't want them. We cared not of individualism because together we grew in spirit, body and soul. It was not backward it was culture. And culture is flexible. It can change but can never be terminated. It is not a shoe that when you grow out of you throw and buy another.
And so I am not telling you to go back to your roots because if am quite honest you were never in it. Rather embrace it. See how 'civilised' you will feel then.
yours
The Red_Head
Jun 21, 2017
Jun 21, 2017 at 3:08 AM UTC
The talks that we had
the smiles and the laughter
sigh...
I missed 'em.
You're a shooting star
wish you're not just a shooting star.
Sleepless nights
and morning hi's
sigh...
I missed 'em.
You're a shooting star
wish you're not just a shooting star.
aaah sigh...
but you really made me smile!
Mar 14, 2011
Mar 14, 2011 at 8:04 PM UTC
Imperialistic meddlers,
men of power greed and wealth
Western Imperialism
not too long ago
was once put on the shelf
Not too long ago
this name was never heard
Its name is New Order of DiSoRdEr
But still us folk of sanity
with eyes wide open
we see their compliance
lock-step herd vanity
In White House spin gone amuck
they throw their bolts of anger
to all countries on the globe
And with more and more displeasure
we witness their destructiveness
from sea to shining sea
But now I hear, see and feel
a distant faint rumbling the rising Valorous
the rumbling stampeding of democracy
by the forceful rightful anger,
the free-spirited valiant word
a word of truth and dignity,
the echo of today,
and aaah yes
to hear the thundering of the mass
To hear the thundering of the mass...
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 5:35 PM UTC
╰⊰✿´ℒ♡ⓥℯ'✿⊱╮
Spongy semolina cake
toothsome lemon kiss
rich, orange-blossom syrup
gold-kissed and fragrant
So buttery sweet
cinnamon
Aaah!
╰⊰✿⊱╮
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 12:16 PM UTC
Instagram
Anak: Tay, ano po iyong ingles ng gramo?
Tatay: Gram, anak.
Anak: E 'yong kilogramo po?
Tatay: Kilogram, anak.
Anak: May relasyon po ba ang gramo sa kilogram?
Nanay: anak ng kilogram ang gramo, anak.
Anak: Aaah! Ganun po ba? E 'yong tinatawag na instagram po?
Nanay: Madali lang iyan, anak. Ang tanong mo ba ay kung magkadugo sila?
Anak: Tumango ang anak.
Nanay: Ang instagram ay lolo ng gramo at tatay ng kilogramo.
Tatay: Umalis ka nga sa harapan ng anak mo. Na-bo-bobo ako sa iyo e. Dinadamay mo pa anak mo.
Sep 6, 2017
Sep 6, 2017 at 3:26 PM UTC
I've Been Waiting
So long, I've been looking too hard, I've waiting too long
Sometimes I don't know what I will find
I only know it's a matter of time
When you love someone... When you love someone...
It feels so right, so warm and true, I need to know if you feel it too
(Aaah-aaah) maybe I'm wrong
(Aaah-aaah) won't you tell me if I'm coming on too strong?
(Aaah-aaah) this heart of mine has been hurt before
(Aaah-aaah) this time I wanna be sure
I've been waiting, for a girl like you
(Ooh-ooh-ooh) to come into my life (life)
I've been waiting, for a girl like you
(Waiting for a girl) and a love that will survive
I've been waiting (I've been waiting) for someone new
(New) To make me feel alive, ah-ah
Yeah, waiting for a girl like you (waiting for a girl) to come into my life
(Aaah-aaah... Aaah-aaah...)
You're so good, when we make love it's understood
It's more than a touch or a word we say
Only in dreams could it be this way
When you love someone... Yeah, really love someone...
(Aaah-aaah) now I know it's right
(Aaah-aaah) from the moment I wake up till deep in the night
(Aaah-aaah) there's no where on earth that I'd rather be
(Aaah-aaah) than holding you, tenderly
I've been waiting, for a girl like you
(Ooh-ooh-ooh) To come into my life (life)
I've been waiting, for a girl like you
(Waiting for a girl) and a love that will survive
I've been waiting (I've been waiting) for someone new
(New) To make me feel alive, ah-ah
Yeah, waiting (waiting) for a girl like you
(Waiting for a girl) to come into my life
Oooh-oooh, oooh-oooh, I've been waiting
Aaah-aaah, (waiting for you) oooh-oooh, oooh
(Aaah-aaah) oooh-oooh, I've been waiting
(Waiting) I've been waiting, yeah
I've been waiting for a girl like you, I've been waiting
Won't you come into my life? (Life?) My life?
(It's been so long) I've been waiting for a girl like you
I've been waiting, (I've been waiting) oh-oh
Foreigner
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 6:02 PM UTC
╰⊰✿´ℒ♡ⓥℯ '✿⊱╮
Deliciously sweet street treat
From dough unsweetened
Usually long, thin or thick
Deep fried, golden-brown
Sprinkled with sugar
mixed with cinnamon
Chocolate dip
Aaah!
╰⊰✿⊱╮
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 5:33 PM UTC
The night sky lights up in a colourful array of
blues, reds, yellows, greens.
Spectators ooo and aaah over the display.
Loud bangs makes the little children flinch and squeal in delight.
Making memories with friends and family on these warm nights.
Plenty of food in the coolers and the kitchen to share
Board games on the table and lawn games on the grass to play.
Fireflies twinkling and dancing on the front lawn at twilight.
Campfires red and orange flicker softly in the dark,
warming the coldest of feet those nights.
Stories are passed on from generation to generation,
and silly campfire tunes are sung and danced.
It's summer time; ice pops to be eaten,
laughs to be exclaimed, photos to be taken,
friendships to be formed, and all-nighters to be pulled.
It's summertime, yes, it's summertime.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 1:58 PM UTC
Musical night chants in summer night a calling in stilled darkness
An impending scattered thought soothed by the nightingale
Reflection in a cool reverie
as the great earth-shadow stretches in abundance
The body caressed by moonbeams
dances the rhythm,
and the rhythm flows upon another;
a time to stroke and embrace
the eternal night passion
Participation of the Venus ritual involving heated flesh,
sweet, sweaty smell of pleasure
entwined excitement in a ******
chorus of Nirvana
And the final falling limp relaxation of
the aaah wow...
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 3:19 PM UTC
He took issue with the small gestures in life. The birthday message from a friend not seen in a decade, the idol chit chat that filled the cafe's, cinema's and other such places, proclaiming them fraudulent unthinking habit, a motion with no true sentiment and in return the followers of such social constructs took issue with him - or worse, pitied him.
He despised most human interaction because of this. Often being told that he 'rubbed people up the wrong way' or was 'too antagonistic' He just saw this as another excuse to expel him from the group (whatever that group was) All because he didn't partake in the usual social etiquette and fakery of the masses- this view only led to him being mocked further and neatly labelled as a stroppy, teenage rebel. His thoughts and voice cut down with replies of "Aaah stop feeling sorry for yourself!" "Stop going on about it!" " You're soo negative!" Because in all honesty nobody wants to be around a down in the dumps, killjoy, party pooper right?
He could find no solace in the little things nor understanding in the greater questions of life, so he drifted along. Bitter onlooker to a species so separate from his own. Desperate to somehow integrate into their ranks but convincing himself that such thoughts were mere acts of desperation.
And he was a desperate young man, desperate and despairing at his separation from the world and all others in it. Yet admittance to such feeling would rarely depart his form. No, he would mock and ogle at them from afar.
He would rather be Outcast than Cast Out.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 11:39 PM UTC
i am ******* dying
to be something other
than a ***** hiding from
her own shadow,
twisting herself up in
senseless wants
maybe if i tattoo my skin
or gauge my earlobes
or pierce my nose
or wear band t-shirts no one's heard of
or go to shows and head bang alone,
then, yes,
then, i will be unique,
oh ****
there's a tumblr for that,
actually, there are a thousand tumblrs for that,
moving on...
how about i try
wearing black and
hiding from the light,
pulling away until
i only come out at night,
speaking to no one
but the notebook i carry
everywhere with me,
ah, **** that's been done too
here, here, how about this,
i'll enter the mainstream,
get my degree,
even work a job from seven to three,
marry a **** bag
with no sense of life,
have some kids,
and pretend i take joy in being a wife,
and then, when i'm having
his colleagues over for dinner,
i'll lose it and **** them all
with a butcher knife
as i backflip over
our ten thousand dollar
dining room set
they'll oooh and aaah,
and somehow forget,
that i'm ending their mediocrity,
instead they'll think,
what yoga studio did she join?
her legs are so much more
defined than mine
and as they all lay bleeding out
over their
steak tartar,
i will smile and smooth my
perfect blonde hair,
and wait
to join the leagues
of the unforgettable
Sep 6, 2012
Sep 6, 2012 at 2:00 PM UTC
.*thank god the English girls were into Pakistani boys... i'm literally off the hook... not that i was expecting to bang one of their hoards of spending outside a male sensibility of earning money... thank god i can double up with not being circumcised.... phew... uninhibited listening sessions to early Madonna, like some Duran Duran fetish... make-over death-metal... bass, man, the bass! the 80s snared the mark... woah woe... oh woah... so is there something to be bothered about? no? wh'aaah don't you use it... wh'ah'ah'ah'ah'ah... this is the part where i pretend to give a **** right? so i basically get to **** an oyster or a chattering clam? which one is which one is where i get reminded that i originate from eastern Europe, whereby eastern, Europe, is around the Urals, knee deep in **** in Russia? Copernican antithesis or something?! oh, don't let me down... i'm trying to get into the groove... you have your commonwealth fetish party, i'm the damaged goods guy... i'm the guy who'd make a great dog-leash companion but a ****** father.... well... don't know about a father, more like a ****** boyfriend... thank **** i'm not the sort to mind myself as: the desired goods; it's like... holiday... for 71 years; give or take; **** if i was the person, deluded, about fulfilling the role of a partner... no... that was never going to work... i'm out... the end... a big NO NO... i'm ******* listening to Duran Duran... if i had a girlfriend, she'd be in her late 40s for fuck's sake!*
not a lot of birch trees in western
europe, eh?
plenty of oak filled forests...
not many pine tree forests?
sure...
east meets west;
back east an oak tree
was... UNESCO...
western Europe...
not so many pines...
are there?
don't lie... i know there
aren't...
and there aren't as many
marshlands...
with marsh reeds....
in western Europe...
the air is variant in terms of
the perfumery...
but sure as ****
a lack of birch treets...
and certainly the oak
overcomes the pine tree
in terms of counted density.
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 11:04 PM UTC
she always make the first cup,
for the pleasure of pleasuring
is but another love poem
in disguise,
she, a prolific writer in dance,
in her own right nights
never enough milk,
yet never tell,
nonetheless,
my lips loud kiss each other
the exhaled aaah
can be heard just far enough,
to reach her kitchened, richened ears
who enjoys more that first cuppa,
she or me,
is a debate reinvigorated daily,
the judges remain secluded,
happily refusing to a verdict issue,
necessitating a new trial,
no mock this one,
for it is a daily-born creation
a Hawaiian java creamery of just
another love poem
5/13/17 7:24am
May 13, 2017
May 13, 2017 at 7:39 AM UTC
Rhythmically Pulsing,
Unfailingly Beating,
Tirelessly Pumping,
It doesn't until last rest...
It doesn't rest until last...
The "Dag-Dag Dag-Dag Dag-Dag",
The "Boom-Boom Boom-Boom",
The "Bleep-Bleep Bleep-Bleep",
It doesn't get tired normally...
It doesn't normally get tired...
The heart-ache happens,
Aaah-aah-aah-aah-aah..!!
Tired-old rig starts failing,
The fading "Dag-Dag Dag-Dag Dag-Dag",
The failing "Boom-Boom Boom-Boom",
The fainting "Bleep-Bleep Bleep-Bleep",
The pain then subsides to either of the two...
Either it can take a loan of few more years or..
It halts ultimately to relieve itself & the bearer.
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 11:10 PM UTC
Aaaa
aaaa
aaah…
Little Claire’s last words before she went
Turned phantom, lost forever from the touchable world
I know her as the ghost who hides in the kitchen cabinets,
Haunting our tea saucers,
And other good china…
Unable to cross over that fine river
Searching, incomplete, she is
Unsatisfied in some way
If only she could remember why
I am forgetful too
Mother is mad at me
I didn’t dust the cabinet linings
Like she asked
But Claire is so grateful, because I forgot
Just long enough, for the dust to
Gather
What she left unfinished,
A simple sneeze,
She really didn’t have a clue.
Finally…
Choo!
No more unfinished business.
God bless you, Claire.
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 3:01 PM UTC
Chini ya mnazi bandarini
Kumbukumbu ndizo zilizobakia tu
Kunizinguka akilini
Huba lako kulikosa
Yaumiza moyoni
Upepo kutoka baharini
Tulipoketi ukininong'onezea
Sikioni kwamba ni mimi tu
Kwamba utanipenda
Tukichora zetu mchangani
Aaah, nyakati za raha hizo!
Ukaniliwaza mtima
Tukapanga mipango ya milele
Nabakia kutafuna utamu
Wa kumbukumbu tu
Chini ya mnazi bandarini
Nikilemewa maradhi ya moyo
Filamu ya huba letu akilini
Tukicheza ufukoni
Penzi ndio madini ninayokosa mwilini
Kama kosa ni langu najuta
Usinkwepe rejea nakwita
Nitakuenzi nikutunze almasi
Tulitwae tunda la penzi nawe
Tulichovye buyu la asali
Wengine waone kijicho
Tupendane tena
Chini ya mnazi bandarini
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 3:07 AM UTC
I'm different
yeah I'm different,
I'm different
yeah I'm different,
been praised
since birth
for my originality
*****
mentality
bow down
to the freak of freaks
with the good techniques
compliments of god
just for being odd
think I'm plagued by benality
cursed by originality
they think it's the coolest
they think it's so great
they don't understand
how this twists my fate
I'm different
yeah so different
pretending to be indifferent
to being treated
maltreated
isolated
outcast
never understood
different isn't so good
and if I could
I'd be so much more generic
I'd have little simple thoughts
eco friendly watts
get starbucks on weekends
do my nails and hair
highlights down to there
and if you only knew
how it feels
to be so **** alone
you wouldn't be so prone
to envy my creativity
when it's met
with such negativity
to have no coherence
of proclivity
I'm a slave
in captivity
people come by and watch
but don't touch
they point
ooh and aaah
but they don't know what to feed me
how to care for mee
my biggest strength
is my biggest flaw
Since birth
I've been told
I'm so original
but I'm so broken it's clinical
almost criminal
these thoughts I have
living in a world so fictional
I'm so fuckin' lonely
and hungry
and slowly
freezing to death
with no one to keep me warm
or speak to
I'm cryin up a storm
because no one understands
no one knows my heart
no one knows my soul
you'd think with all this praise
I'd be able to climb out of this hole
but truth be told
lord behold
I am a long sad story
nobody can unfold.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 8:34 PM UTC
Aaah!!! No don't do that please.
Thunk!! Shut up you dumb *****
Aaahh!! Please don't do this
I said shut up before I slit your throat
That's it baby just relax and enjoy yourself okay...
Now get up and get dressed ya'hear
I said get dressed *****
No Awwh **** maine no
Awwh **** what have I done
**** maine ****
Sitting silently I unwillingly witness
the death of this woman
This beautiful innocent sweet woman
Sitting silently I witness
The death of this woman
This poor helpless creature
Being violently ripped to shreds
Ripped to shreds by the hands of the hands of this monster
Never even being giving the opportunity to live life to the fullest
Unbearable scars and permanent bruises
Will forever tattoo her once flawless skin
Skin the color of the earth's blood red deserts after the gorgeous sunset
Tinted with blood and the slightest hint
Of him
Head hanging limply to the side
Clothes no longer clothes but rags
Discarded on the floor by their lifeless owner
Her body battered and bruised limply lays
Exposed to the world and all of their unsightly thoughts
Her neck is only but a piece of matted skin for the bones are as fragile as china in an earthquake
Breast at their finest peak
Almost ad if they're going to explode
Explode like an active volcanoe
Het treasure is almost disfigures
Its as if it was only a toy
A toy giving to a reckless little kid
Blood here sagging pieces there
blisters oozing with the deafening odor of him
Puddles of *** on the sheets and in between her legs
Het hair matted to the sheets, dried tears and blood stains her face
Body pale and limp
It looks so familiar and yet so strange
I know this woman bit I've never seen her before a day in my life
Wait the picture
Its getting blurry and fuzzy
Gasp....thump-thump thump-thump
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!
Please don't do this
No please don't, please
DEJÀ VU
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 10:01 AM UTC
I leave in a hood where gun shots have become music to our ears.
It goes like "bang-bang"
We know its an alert that we are one short...
I live in a hood where blood has
Become the painting of street art...
Its like we lose to gain...
I live in a hood where underground kings have become the pimps of all clit's..
Its like "aaah-aaah"
Yeah ***** you gon' be ****** for
A ***** to gain rands...
I like in a hood where knives have become friends with underskin..
Its like knives have been glued into pockets...
So welcome to my hood...
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 4:50 PM UTC
1
don't you young
become poets
it may sound romantic and cool
but that's what it is - it sounds
Yeah, it's all about how it sounds
Mom was right:
*Better be a dentist -
for though you stare all day into mouths
you'll be agape when you look at your bank accounts*
Dad was right:
*Better be a surgeon-specialist -
for though you fix areseholes all life-through
your bank account is never a dark hole*
And poetry, remember,
they must have told you, doesn't sell;
the Humanities are not for humans;
Writing is for those who can't talk their way up -
so don't aspire to be a poet
dear young ones
for you'll suffer all life
of scarcity of means,
plenty of sneers and want
2
And your husbands will tell you:
*I married you cause being a poet
I thought you could moan and oooh and aaah
and make better love than that!*
And your wives will scowl:
**** your poetry!
Get me real diamonds and money!*
3
So dear young ones
perhaps you want to give up your verse
and turn to medicine or finance
or engineering
and study for dollars instead
*a return on investment
is what you want*
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 11:17 PM UTC
when Death calls
at the casements of this mortal home
he’ll not scythe my soul
into the black unknown -
No!
with feathered feet
and honey-breath
will dance my lucent Lord of Death
i’ll breathe - aaah! -
in bright and velvet arms
here you are
my Prince
at last
Apr 1, 2012
Apr 1, 2012 at 8:55 AM UTC
AaAH !!!In this ecstatic fusion of
sighs,whispers and breaths
raising to wild decibels
in the aura surrounding US...
lover...
do you fail to just
see how my eyes well up
the instant
your gaze morphs
into that one touch
so what...
if your eyes fail to
see the invisible tear
in my heart as
...I trace those lines
in my silences where your
kiss lingered just a moment ago
How I wish
it was your soul
which lingered there instead...
in all its vulnerable wholesomeness
Oct 11, 2010
Oct 11, 2010 at 2:18 AM UTC
The Gram sir,
polygonal father firefly
stand in Cibatus ...
thread and thread form light.
In the year 1300
miliérnaga great night,
the Lucibatus provoke a detritment an *****
He fell back to Cibatus
And her delicate body broke into two parts...
In the center was in "A";
Her two columns
Stumble down at the head of Mr. Gram.
He in the compartment,
The pulverized seeds scraped
Galloping ice that undermined the Cibatus
The year in 1200,
Oh syllogism much light!
You coordinate the central hole Cibatus basket;
gramineous navel dim oracle
Coming through the middle,
Dodona River as light.
In the center of barley,
Mr. Gram healed their wounds;
Fecracia corpuscles,
Major ***** Susea ...
that ruled with all his power by blizzards.
"Not Cibatus or broken,
traditional custom was broken by wind
and not by Light gram "
In the dark night of San Corinth,
It fell night where Mr. Gram asleep ...
happy told the fierfly
your damage would not alter its sun.
Toward the end of the day,
He said his greatest roar...
Their wings hawked loose
Cibatus noise pain!
Lat night came,
and invisible, transparent body
wanted spring,
Love this protozoan
Cibatus alone.
Farewell said fierfly in 1300,
when it fell by the protozoan crag ...
Signs metal birds
They said ...; Aaaah ..!
and noise Gram God,
They said! Aaaaah ... Aaah ...!
Nor no hugs or charity,
the rough particle spring circle
flierfly donated the ***** ...
Limestone Road
He loved the feet of ash,
white bodies laughed
and they transmuted his absent body.
Flierfly he opened his eyes...
Cibatus looked at his winged whistling song:
" Fly Fierfly,
stretch your threads;
Mr. Whiskers love Gram ...
buried next to the root of Cibatus "
Farewell Thousand Three Hundred ... !
JOSÉ LUIS CARREÑO TRONCOSO
10 to 11 July 1995.
Apr 4, 2018
Apr 4, 2018 at 5:16 PM UTC
As the bells ring for saints
to go into heavenly slumber
At sunset the grey-haired lay
in the box proper
Away from the moist air they'd
love to take in longer
Acute heartache stay, hours into days
as brothers go beyond the border
A chunk of charming choristers
sing hallelujah
A once happy home goes silent, a
loving sand goes yonder
Aaah! I, scared to go in now
pray to you merciful father.
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 4:21 AM UTC