"accentuate" poems
**You're a sight for sore eyes
Been blinded by the light
Too many times**
Waves upon waves
Of color changing iconic notions
Fueled up emotions and sad faces
Shadows and shapes shining bright
At the height of the modern age
**A different way to accentuate the names we put inside our minds
Digital rhymes change the journey we travel**
When it unravels, we share, post and tag
A lag and we're lost in the dim lights of what we do next
Shifting through pages of endless faces, words and updates
**Times alienate the importance of touch
Yet the ignorance has a much higher impact
Than the influence of how to overreact**
Observe this society....
Is this how our lives were meant to be,
Staring at phones and computer screens?
**** this technology**, for taking you away from me
Taking moms from children and dads from jobs
Making every other relationship lose trust and feel wrong
**** this technology for what it does to me**
What it does to you, to society.
**** this technology, but don't you dare try to take my phone from me.**
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 4:10 AM UTC
*We all
Dance around
A fire with lipstick
On our cheeks in lines
Powdered in patterns that* will
Accentuate the contours of our bodies
Symbols written in eyeliner so daintily
Adorned like ink meeting paper we are
*Decadent 287 temptation 285 ****** 307* flame 300
*The savages you have created with media we chant
Eninimef eninimef eninimef eninimef we chant*
In a circle circulating the world with our starving
Bodies that whisper of synthetic beauty and
Neglect naked and perverse we are posing
For your cameras capturing exploitation
And degradation because ****** 307 we
Are ****** 307 temptation 285 the savages
You have created with media eninimef we chant
We are the heat of broken records and burnt out cigs
Play us like your out of tune guitar our G-strings are so
Much more loose unlike the noose of your hands grazing*
Our skin we sing what you want no matter how deep
No matter how long the song we are exactly what
You want *the savages you have created of me –
The savages you have created with media –
Eninimef eninimef eninimef eninimef
We chant – we chant – we chant – we
Decadent 287 temptation 285
****** 307 flame 300*
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 3:48 AM UTC
Fatima Latima
I had wished I had no gift of sight
That the worst I could endure is hear you speak
And not snapshot the footfall of your gradation
You may not be a thief
Nor **** daughter of the dayspring
But definitely my heart you stole
I speak of the daughter of Arabia
Aesthetically, she rocks
The queen of the pilgrim sands
And aeonian desert stones
Beyond the hijab
Artistically knead with consummate craft
Like the relics of Mecca
Blest by the prophet’s bones
The blessed
I see torches
Beaming with intelligence
Within those mascaras
Exquisitely trimmed and vibrant
A lulu class botany
She fixes a searching gaze
As she saunters close
And the stride and tread
Beats a drum entrancing
Soothed in her solacing spell
I give in, to her lullaby
She halts her perambulation
Stands magniloquent and stupefy
Like some pop diva magazine pose
Or Victorian secret shot
A tactical derangement of her gluteals
As she rests her palm in its cleft
I feel contractions, my dartos muscles
The blew of summertime
Gently beats her exceptional form
Her belt submerge her thigh crevice
Cleft by the sundered rift of fleshy fat
Built by the dainties and delicacies
Seasoned by the finest Arabian chef
As her silken dress slithers and gowns
Under the breeze bulging and blooming
Like a rose blossom or sunflower fore
As she bends down
To assuage the burlesque
The sun specula lilts her sensational
Her smile apologetic bids me stillness
I am caught staring
Guzzling down her scent and
Feasting on empty imaginations
Of What If that accentuate the mind and
Speed a hormone
And I pray I sin no more
Next time we meet and I see her again
For I am but a writer
Learning to use my pen and paper
And hope you but forgive
My linguistic impotence
When I make my confession
Employing too plain a language
When I say thus;
Her smile is classical
Her walk magical
Her beauty celestial
Her stride sensational
Her religion ethical
Her character spotless
And that leaves me breathless
And forgive if I step on broken toe
And try speak of the unspoken
Her ****** is sacred
Her being a type that dresses up
In the milliards of brutes dressing down
And shamelessly style it fashion
I must see a priest
One confession I ought to utter
And even vociferate abroad
For once I had fallen in love
With an Arabian Beautie
A ****** of Mecca.
Jun 18, 2012
Jun 18, 2012 at 9:12 AM UTC
I want to be your chocolate chips.
Frankly, you are the cookie.
You are plain and sweet,
Perfect really.
You accept any topping or ingredient.
She is a box of raisins.
You two could mix
Be a great team
But she doesn't make you pop.
She can't accentuate your true sweetness
Your beautiful simplicity
Your strength. I want to be your chocolate chips
I want to go through the fire with you
Melt into you
Like she never could.
And I want to make you shine
Because the sweetness in me might just bring out the perfection in you.
So I guess what I am trying to say
Is that if you want to have raisins
I could have that cookie too
But I'm really craving chocolate chip.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 8:39 PM UTC
- A Psalm Of Johnson when he committed a ****** sin
Oh Yahweh, Oh my Yahweh, I must confess,
I sinned against you and now my life's a mess.
No matter how hard I try to do whats right,
Hot women end up being my kryptonite.
Aug 22, 2021
Aug 22, 2021 at 6:11 PM UTC
Womanhood
In my ever eternal fight between
Pain and rapid mood swings
I have learned to accept
What I have been given by my mother.
Womanhood
In my ever insulting fight between
Objectification and misunderstanding
I have come to understand
"My body is a temple"
Is not a complement but an insult.
Womanhood
As my hair grows longer and longer
And I cut it shorter and shorter
And people tell me to "look more feminine"
I can't help but dress "more masculine."
Womanhood
Because I have to accentuate my assets
With tight jeans and skinny dresses
And if I forget a push-up bra
"It's a boy" jokes are made.
Womanhood
Because my knowledge of cars
And my firm hand shake
Awes men and makes them test me
Instead of conversing with me and moving on with their day
Womanhood
Because I am scared to leave the house by myself
And my father's overbearing protection
Instead of believing I can protect myself
In any given situation
Womanhood
Because my brother can go out whenever he wants
And can curse like a sailor
But I have to be a sweet southern belle
And answer a million and one questions just to take a walk
Womanhood
Because we have to justify ourselves
Because guys have to be perfect in the eyes of "feminists"
Because all of this bullsh!t has gone over the edge.
Womanhood
I can't call myself a feminist
And I sure ain't a misogynist
I'm just trying to scrape by
Just trying to get through this trying
Womanhood
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 11:41 PM UTC
She plays music
Not from memory, but as she goes
Her hips like the curves of a cello
And her voice like velvet
(Exactly like its notes)
She was as smooth as the mahogany wood
And nobody could master her
(Rather accentuate her beauty further)
Her music was tantalizing
And she taught me how to play it
All throughout the night
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 12:50 PM UTC
I pulsate
Fixate
On the nodding beat
Thats taking over your mind.
I feel you hanging on
To the last note that fades
Away from my grip.
I create
Animate
The vibrant scene behind your closed eyes
The million goosebumps
Riding up your arms
The silent shiver
Down your spine.
I emanate
Accentuate
The singing of strings
As your hesitant voice joins
In a burst of exuberance.
And now you pull me down hurriedly
Glancing back at the weird looks around you.
From my vantage point around your neck
I chuckle internally
And welcome the peaceful silence.
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 3:19 AM UTC
The clothes on a perfectly sculpted mannequin
do not accentuate the garment's beauty.
Rather, it hollows it, makes it unwholesome
and outlines all the more clearly how empty it truly is
to the point where one forgets what one is looking at.
Like a vague pronoun.
The human mind, the decent soul, cannot and should
not be subjected to such a ********** and feels inhumanly
compelled to destroy the effect.
And that is why mannequins are so good for sales.
Feb 13, 2010
Feb 13, 2010 at 3:05 PM UTC
I'd be okay with getting old
If I got to keep these gams
They'll wrinkle and sprout those purple-green veins
Like spiderwebs spun over kneecaps
Yes, since aging means ugly legs
I think I'll find a Peter
And a Neverland
And fight pirates in fabulous Lost Boy tights
That accentuate my ever-youthful gams
Feb 12, 2010
Feb 12, 2010 at 6:35 AM UTC
I am craving a love poem.
I want to accentuate your smile and the laughing lines that form at the sound of a cheesy joke.
I want to illustrate the traces your hands leave on me.
I want deep conversations and I want pointless banter that will keep us laughing until the sun lays it's golden rays onto your silhouette.
I want to record the sound of your oh-so-sweet voice in the dark.
I want your eyes locked onto mine in a big room of strangers and I want our next adventure marked on a calendar.
There are many things that I want, but it isn't this fictional character I have created.
I just want you.
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 7:18 PM UTC
To be a lucky strand,
Tangled, tethered to you
Cloaking such beauty,
To see the iris that glows
Behind tinted amber pools
Teeth that advise such clarity,
Wrapped in velvet creased lips
A protruding collar bone,
Embossing ethereal skin
With shoulders built
To harbor the weight of the world
Bronzed over flesh is spanning
Across fickle and cold bones
Constructing a case to hide
A sunken Aquarius heart
For as hollow as it is
To a lover's knock,
There is much to be
Uncovered and desired
Unspeakable curves will mold
To accentuate a searing lust
Justified by knowing what it means
To be held to you
Arms stretching to a locking embrace
Warm to touch
Every joint akin to the previous,
Dialing down to finger tips,
Breaking away in ten beautiful directions
And there lies a gateway to symmetry,
Almost unseen
Where the make of your mother's breath,
And the sum of your father's skill,
Entwine to beget a graceful badge
To where you constitute a conceivable home,
Should you so choose
A manger, suited to an heir
Here is where your dress flows
How many Michigan sunsets
Have broke light beneath the fabric
That adorns you
How many Chicago winds
Have flown that flag
Such comfort to be a cloth,
Draped in a silhouette
To an ornate fashion
The thousands of threads
Spun and stitched to adhere
A fixation of benevolent shape
It's astir to every notch
As you saunter past
With tenor and a managed confidence
Two feet with a steadfast passion
And misplaced direction
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 5:34 PM UTC
When tears seep out
it doesn't smear
the cosmetics I use
to cover and accentuate
as is expected of me
a little urn
tasteful walnut box
paw print on pottery
I admit, I shook it
to see if anything rattled about
but thankfully there was silence
Sometimes we lose
what we most want to keep
Every living thing
is precious
irreplaceable
I want to get a little black kitten
with some white on his chest
but it won't be my little black kitty
it won't be the one I found
on a road
next to the beach in Haifa
covered in tar and fleas
skin and bones and ear mites
and who became
a member of my family
my Shakour
Aug 7, 2012
Aug 7, 2012 at 9:09 PM UTC
Why do i always have to be told
Though indirectly,
but told,
so ******* sarcastically,
with those irritating grins and giggles
'' you know what? you should take part in the beauty contest "
When all i know is that
they have a good reason to
make me feel so on cloud nine for a minute
and down crashing on the ground
with a thud,when i sooner or later
will realise,
no, I've got scars, I've got marks, I've got bruises,
I've got frizzy hair,I've got a skinny bodytype
I've got ordinary clothes, I've got no good pair of heals,like you do.
I dont have the talents to put
makeup on..
duh.
You know it all too well.
i know it,too.
Still,you wanto say it on my face,so that it hits me harder
the time I see myself in the mirror wearing clothes
i feel will make me look alright,just alright.
and then i enter the classroom
seeing all of you guys to be staring at me,
saying,''pooh,you look awesome''
I know why,i know it.
And then as more chicks start to enter,
All I'd want would be to tear my outfit from the middle
throw it away,
rub off that kohl I tried to roughly apply
to kinda accentuate my tiny Asian eyes.
Because all of you guys
look so **** perfect.
so gorgeous.
so rich.
so what we say CLASSY
so IT.
When'll I be enough?
am i always gonna wear those nerdy glasses,
slick back my bangs from my forehead
that hides my scars ..
wear the oversized, boring sweaters,
and pants and shoes,and with books by my side .
Am i never going to be like y'all?
that others want to be like.
who look upto them.
when someone'll be like, ''i wanna be like her"
Can i never be that 'her' ?
can i never get a compliment?
Can i never hold the crown?
or that sachet ?
or the flowers?
or the teddies?
or the hamper?
NO?
i must rather abide with my
unlucky,
hopeless,
shady,
dusky, good-for-nothing
weird life?
Can i never make something out of it,
with my appearance appreciated?
even from people who matter,
from people who live with me
under the same roof?
can ,for once and for all,
i be made feel
enough............
?
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 10:13 AM UTC
I don't give two ***** about how I look.
Noticeably.
Face is like a spring bloom,
Except all the blooms are reddish, bursting, bleeding buds.
My head is everywhere rounded:
Pictures accentuate the impeccable sphere.
So what?
But I tell you,
When waiters give me kiddie menus without a second thought,
They better not ******* forget the crayons.
Nov 4, 2016
Nov 4, 2016 at 3:10 AM UTC
*The thing about love is that
It is strategically tragic,
Built to last, made to make you feel,
Feel good and alive, to feel enough,
Gracefully and sudden
Like a gentle kiss, the spreading
Of wings of the soul, the fall
Of listless stars, but
Just as lasting.
I do not know what else to feel
Upon seeing this ocean, except
To remember you with the same
Natural feeling, inexplicable,
Like the color blue catches on
With the bleach of white,
Aiming to accentuate, searching
For the old burn of red
In vain.
And beauty is felt more
Than it is seen. Eyes have
Seen more than they have rested,
And they have seen things best,
While they are closed.
More than sorrow, pain and suffering,
More than sure looped-goodbyes,
It is the serendipitous affection
That rules over all, overthrowing
The flowing madness of passing worlds,
Passing all the lovers by, mad enough,
And mad still, yet the fight
Is worth loving for.
Love is worth fighting with.
Life is worth it. Love
Is priceless, yet, I love you
A little less
Than love itself.
Love never grew, it just stays beside,
Just beside, them, us, blown
By the havoc of life, fate and time,
Drifting amongst the drifters
Surrounding us, dizzied,
Ever-tested, enduring all.*
© 2015 J.S.P.
Dec 26, 2015
Dec 26, 2015 at 12:44 AM UTC
She scrapes her scalp with the metal teeth
That promised to bring her beauty,
Then destroys
Each ringlet of pulchritude with burning tongues of fakery.
She slaps orange liquid on to her pale face,
Desperately disguising every perfect imperfection.
Darkening her sight and reddening her speech,
She puts up the barriers to prevent
Her emotions from revealing themselves.
Squeezing into pieces of bright cloth that accentuate her figure,
She smiles at her superficial curves.
Staring vainly into the mirror,
She grins.
Because she no longer resembles herself.
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 2:08 PM UTC
She's got a pair of cowboy boots
To accentuate that short sun dress
Got a shotgun in her pick up truck
And fishing poles in the back
Her skins kissed by the sun from hours out in it
Shes a northern belle
With a laugh like a rebel yell
She works hard and plays harder still
Twirls her long blonde hair around her finger playing cute
Wears a smile on her face
you know she's up to no good
Where's all my country girls
Kicking it with their fishing poles
Where's all my country girls
Knocking a beer back while its still cold
Where's all my country girls
Four wheelin it thru the mud
Where's all my country girls
Out lookin for some fun
She knows every tune
To ever country song
Knows how to skin a buck
And gut the fish she catches
Whistles Dixie
When that dinner bell rings
She's got camo lingerie
For those late nights out camping
Shes a northern belle
With a laugh like a rebel yell
She works hard and plays harder still
Twirls her long blonde hair around her finger playing cute
Wears a smile on her face
you know she's up to no good
Where's all my country girls
Kicking it with their fishing poles
Where's all my country girls
Knocking a beer back while its still cold
Where's all my country girls
Four wheelin it thru the mud
Where's all my country girls
Out lookin for some fun
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 7:46 AM UTC
her
curvature
enhanced a
perception;
a woman
yes,
an articulated vanilla
doll most certainly. this
can’t be what you want,
he said to himself.
you’re a child,
he thought.
but her figure moved like
he wanted,
tight on the chest, a slight bust
with hips to accentuate her
leanness.
her purple lips did not worry him,
but the lack of eye sockets
may have.
as his hand fell into his jeans
a managers hand snatched a phone.
he turned and left hurriedly
the same way he came in;
through women’s outerwear and
alone.
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 11:25 PM UTC
The beginning and you knew from the start, your words formed like heaven sent art.
There's nothing I'd rather do than just be with you, kiss you, tell you I love you.
But I'm not stupid, I'm not blind, I can see it's all a lie.
Throughout the middle, it's a riddle and hard to understand but it's always been a man I wanted to hold my hand.
The truth is hidden inside and when it comes time,
A lie will fill in this rhyme.
This line will tell the whole truth, everything you don't even know about you.
Towards the end, it's a friend I need but I couldn't tell you where that might lead.
There's more to it, I filled that in too late, now I must accentuate, it must have been fate.
The ending will show the past and a future that don't exist, a heartbreak you knew I couldn't resist.
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 11:02 PM UTC
#
*Cloud-scraped and smoldering..
(Scepters have handles,
not every hand can fit)
Dream-scenes, on fleshscreens
by far, burn the brightest..
But;
Panty-lines in quartertimes
best accentuate--
Those wine-goblet, ****
(My head is spinning;
hellbent, on sinning..)*
. . . .
*Evil Impulse, brings me close
(you have a gift, my Love)
Rise above, Paul..
Rise above
Rise above
Rise above
Rise above
Rise above.*
#
Aug 8, 2023
Aug 8, 2023 at 5:24 PM UTC
THINK SATIN, not silk and make it sheer black.
RUN IT slowly through sensitive finger-tip skin.
Black satin shimmers.
FEEL IT creamily smooth like alchemized liquid.
Black satin scintillates.
HOLD IT cool against lips and breathe slowly in.
Black satin stimulates.
TRY IT sensuously folded for more sinuous cling.
Black satin slithers.
WEAR IT bravely, accentuate bedtime's nakedity.
Black satin satiates.
THINK SATIN, not silk and make it sheer black.
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 9:38 AM UTC
It wasn’t always this way
She was lovely once…
A beauty to make a brothers
Chest ache… And
Breath come short...
Before
Too many dreams deferred
Deadened a too free spirit
Too many pains
Damaged a too big heart
Too many losses and not enough gains
Too much liver killing corn whiskey
And soul stealing violent man
Made it now easy
For her to enfold herself
In the tragedy of the day
Anguished runny jaundiced eyes
Sunken under fake lashes that
Look too heavy for the job
Her late idea of beautification
Trying to work with what shes got
Only to accentuate the misery
In the much worn brown face where
Cheap foundation
Does a backwards slide
Into tale-telling lines that
Scream louder a narrative
Of brokenness
And she sits… alone
Always
On that stool
In a dark and dingy
Numbing place
Leaned on one elbow
Slightly to the left
Blond wig perched on her head
Like a church lady’s pillbox hat
Only this ain’t no church
And she ain’t no lady
Not no more…
But it wasn’t always this way
She was lovely once...
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 9:53 PM UTC
Is it my fault for digging the hole in which you crawl?
after you heard the girls whispering about your size
Who am I to say you are not beautiful at all?
You bought all that makeup to look like a doll
but he still walks past as tears flood your eyes
Is it my fault for digging the hole in which you crawl?
You read what was written on the bathroom stall
so you look towards me to confirm the lies
Who am I to say you are not beautiful at all?
You sit alone in lunch and walk alone in the halls
asking God as you look upon me to remove your disguise
Is it my fault for digging the hole in which you crawl?
It was in fact you who created your own fall
looking towards you to accentuate your flaws
Who am I to say you are not beautiful at all
In a way I helped you build your wall
though I can not mirror what your face implies
Is it my fault for building the hole in which you crawl
Who am I to say you are not beautiful at all
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 5:01 PM UTC
I am the "Lap Cat".
"Lap cat"???
Why am I
being called a "Lap Cat"? --
Then the "steak" *** roast)
came out.
Oh yea . . . !
We be likin' the "steak".
In fact,
I'd do most anything -
even be a "Lap Cat" -
to keep the "steak" comin'.
Unfortunately,
two other critters
with whom I share this humble abode,
have discovered
my secret passion
and,
doggone it,
demand
their share of the loot.
In case you're bad at math,
this leaves less for me.
I'll just
have to
puke up the Meow Mix
a little more often
to accentuate my point.
The battle
of the (animal vs human) minds
has begun;
don't underestimate
the devious methods
of . . .
the "Lap Cat".
by-
Fred
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 10:26 AM UTC