"acclaimed" poems
He came to Jerusalem mounted on a donkey
People went out to meet him,
Waving the palm branches they bring
And hailed him as their king.
Yet, people don’t know the sorrow
The coming week would bring
Soon, Glad acclaimed will give away,
To jeers and mockery.
In God’s redemption plan,
He’d be condemn to a cross on cavalry
But he knew that he was a sacrificial lamb
To die for the sins of man in misery.
Today is the day when Jesus will passed
Give praise to son of God,
Shout the benediction of his name
From the sky and to the sod;
Hosanna to the Highest!
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 8:06 PM UTC
In the annals of New York City
An amazing hero is acclaimed,
Known as "The man in the red bandana"
Welles Remy Crowther was his name.
Born in Nineteen seventy seven,
This New Yorker, born and bred,
Could have escaped death's destruction,
But chose to rescue folks instead.
All his life he cared for people,
Loved his family, kept them dear,
But on that day of 9/11
His higher purpose became clear.
An Honor Student, Lacrosse player,
Former fire fighter, too,
When explosions rocked the building,
Welles knew what he must do.
Rescuing with calm authority,
Directing people toward the doors,
He found a woman so disabled
He carried her to the 61st floor.
In the end, before death took him,
Twelve people were brought out, saved.
No one knows where Welles is buried
In his 9/11 grave.
Later, when his mother told
Of the red bandana Welles had,
The survivors saw his picture,
And knew Welles was the brave lad.
Only 26 years old,
Welles Crowther manned up in strife,
That young man is New York's hero...
... for twelve gave HIS VERY LIFE.
Soul Survivor
Catherine Jarvis
(C) September 11, 2014
13th anniversary of 9/11
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 7:54 PM UTC
i am not a curated list of
the top songs,
the best songs,
critically-acclaimed songs,
picked with so much care
too much care
the others cease to matter
i am the songs
known and niched
borne out of an artist's dream
i exist so they could dance
in the kitchen at 3 am
i might not expand the world
in which i live
but i will persist
in careless dancers
dancers like me
the dancers after us
Dec 15, 2018
Dec 15, 2018 at 10:04 AM UTC
Ships, boats, seafaring vessels, and barks of yore
Showcased in acclaimed poetry
From Homer to Donne to Flores
Metaphors to represent sundry notions
Ships
Uncontrollably swirled in an unforgiving sea
An arc
persecuting the sinners ******
A shipwreck
on a desolate island, defining a lost soul
A speed boat
Perhaps, mans' innate desire to escape
Or searching for lands unknown
What marvels poets behold in ships?
If I scribed a verse about a yonder vessel
It would be a childish innuendo
About a ships mast
Or I'd make an astounding observation
Such as ships are big boats.
However, poets, true visionaries
Scope massive ships from
Microscopic aspects of daily life.
And I. . . I look at a powerful ship
And think I'm a little dingy.
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 6:23 PM UTC
The first pair of shoes you wore were black,
velcro straps sat atop your pair of dollies
to make it easier to put them on for the park.
They were meant to be smart, but you laughed
as you wore them against the ground so free
as dad slung the swings, smiling at his child.
Our mum told me I was a creative child:
I didn't like to wear anything black. Red
suited me in how I stood in puddles, free
in indifference to how brown my wellies
became. If I was asked why, I'd shout,
“I'm pretending we're all at the seaside.”
From there we made our way to beaches,
where the wind was crisp and the children
we could see around us acclaimed screams
of emphatic joy at how the sea was so blue
and big. We had to wear pairs of sandals
when we went, but being barefoot felt free.
All that time we had at being young and free
soon went with the summer ending in school,
the arrival of my freshly polished black boots
was identical to almost every other child's-
a lather of paint dripping over in mud yellows
proved who I was with a mother's groan,
and this wasn't the only time she wailed.
As we grew older and wanted to be free,
my sister started to experiment with pink
highlights in her hair as I visited clubs
with fake ID. We were adults with childish
personalities in how I wore my Docs
like a religion for feet, my sibling in high heels
that you could hear in Sunday morning claps.
The arguments broke out: she wanted a child,
mother saying was too young, needed to free
herself from lazy culture and find a workplace.
I'd never seen both their faces so gushed red,
just like the red richness of those wellies
I had worn in the park. I pipe up and say,
“The best freedom is our time as children.”
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 3:09 PM UTC
We gone (live life up2)...(we gone live it up2)..(Live it up2)...we gone (live life up2)..We gone (live it up,2) We gone live life Yeah, we gone live life up, we gone live life Yeah, (we gone live it up2)..live it up..we gone (live life Yeah2)..(live it up2)..Aye, (we gone live life up*3)..nigga we gone live it up, Yeah ***** we gone (live it up3)..nigga (we gone live life up, Yeah2)..(we gone live it up3)..live life up,..Aye live life up,..Aye (live it up2)..
Everybody come through ***** lets turn up,lets burn up,Blaze (not just one*2)..blaze the whole pacc up **** we got alot (more coming*2)..to smoke no we don't ever run out, we living life Yeah..we live life up ***** we gone (live it up*2)..live life yeah..Uhh..
If you coming through, Yeah bring your crew with no drama, no guns allowed at all..What up Snoop Lion..,Uhh,if you coming through bring some bottles too, come through & let all the ******** burn up wit the marijuana, come through wit no violence, tonight we will be having no problems none at all dawg,we living it up man..,
***** We gone../live life up2../)2..
Tonight is gonna be so amazing,..Uhh,.
Only Real ****** invited to my crib, Yeah Only Real gangstas & down chicks, thats (bout it2), man, Aye we (living life up2)..we didn't usta live life at all dawg, we didn't have much fun, I was slaving for America till, I said **** a 9 to 5 bru, & became my own boss OFTR Yeah, just for that Imma (live it up..*3)..Yeah Imma live life now.., Yeah tonight I'm living it up, Yeah living it up,I'm living life how I want,..live it up, Yeah,live it up my *****
Let's jam..(Aye, we gone (live life up2) Yeah2)..
/we gone po up, Yeah we gone roll up, & post up my nig..Uhh, we gone (live it up2)..Yeah/2
Aye, (we gone (live life up3), Aye,Yeah2)..
/We gone (live it up4)..Yeah/3
Live life up my nig..
Whats good , bad lil mama bring yo **** *** over, Yeah come through & bring some of your friends over too, come hang chill & let loose wit a real gangsta Young Ston, Imma show you what's real Babygirl,make sure you bring some lingerie wit ya..Uhh, Imma teach you alot of new things boo, I can tell you ain't been wit a **** (Like me before*2)..Never before,.. Aye my life is a critically acclaimed motion picture & it ain't even been released yet **** having a Oscar nomination, ***** I'm still a winner, Aye don't ever compare me to somebody else , nobody man, unless it's a real one,
Yeah man we turning up, some even throwing up, some even on the floor pissy drunk **** my crib gonna look a mess in the morning but its all good along as everybody have fun.. (Yeah*2)..
We (living life up nigga2)..(live it up3)..Aye
***** we gone live life up2)..live it up..(nigga we living life up3)..we living life Yeah..(we living life up2), live it up, (yeah, we living life up3)..Uhh..
Ain't no drama, Ain't no problems we drinking, & we blazing marijuana, Ain't no drama, ain't no problems ***** we poing up & smoking that good marijuana,..Ain't no drama, Ain't no problems (we just drinking & blazing marijuana*2)..,Aye..
Ain't no drama, Ain't no problems my nigga(we just living it up2)..We just having fun,..(Yeah live it up3)..Live life ***** Yeah..Uhh Live life up..
Young Ston
(Ain't no drama, Ain't no problems..*2)
We living life Yeah..
(Ain't no drama, Ain't no problems..*2)
We living it up my nigga..Yeah.
(Live it up*2)..man, Uhh
ONLY FOR THE REAL ENTERTAINMENT
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 12:58 PM UTC
There’s a favorite culinary dish in town;
it’s known as the synapse shish kebab.
It’s high in protein as well as fat, and it comes
with a garlic-infused broccoli rabe,
available with a choice of couscous or rice.
The palate will most likely be enticed, just like
another common John who swears to us that he
again has done absolutely nothing wrong.
It pairs nicely with an eighties chenin blanc,
gray matter that’s grilled to sheer perfection,
smoked all day, and is guaranteed satisfaction,
seemingly like an old, rambling rolling stone.
The lights are on—but nobody’s buying homes.
An opera singer that is deaf to certain tones,
this is definitely not regal crumpets and tea—
“heart-healthy nutrition,” all our medics agree.
There’s a new critically acclaimed dish around;
it’s the slow-roasted synapse shish kebab,
moderately priced, and portions are family style—
passed-down secret recipes from west of the Nile,
and also numbers that won’t make your wallet sob
like a big, bad, dark, overly loaded cloud.
Give it a try, and then shout it out loud:
synapse shish kebab!
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 5:02 PM UTC
The circumambient wings of a seraph
Obstrepously monastic within
Dereliction contemning the
Mendaciously obsequious;
The bathos of ablution grittily
Jejune fulgerating the engrossed.
The chaldean lachrymatory
The ligature of the darklings rheum,
Volently acclaimed
The paladin necromancers
Circumfluous wintry orbs
Ardently accosting the chasm
Lasping tarnation fructifying
Acedias roborant,
Heavens ignoble lassitude
The boreal scope of causality-
Hells predacious moil.
ELEETE J MUIR..
Apr 9, 2012
Apr 9, 2012 at 2:24 PM UTC
Terry Pratchett died Thursday. He was a critically acclaimed British Fantasy Author, as well as an advocate for assisted suicide and Alzheimer's Disease. He himself was diagnosed with Alzheimer's in 2007, yet still continued to write, even after he was incapable of using a computer to write (he used a dictation machine afterwards). Before his death at the age of 66, he wrote the popular "Discworld" series consisting of four books, as well as one of my personal favorites, "The Wee Free Men." He was inspirational for me as a writer and he changed my view of writing. With his books, I found my writing style. There are no words to express my awe at his life and works, nor are there words to express my deep sadness in which I tell you that he has passed. May he rest in peace and reach a world even better than that of Discworld.
“There's always a story. It's all stories, really. The sun coming up every day is a story. Everything's got a story in it. Change the story, change the world.”
― Terry Pratchett, A Hat Full of Sky (Discworld, #32)
Well Mr. Pratchett, you've changed the story.
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 4:31 PM UTC
I won't loud my guts to say you don't mean what you say about loving me. Because,the peace of mind you bring,no one has ever brought a piece of the whole you gave on a platter of moments. But,sometimes I'm a girl and even though my auditory lobes hears it every moment that you love me as much as I do... I'm a visual learner,I need it acted out as much as you say it.
If your loving me were so loud,snitches wouldn't dare to form cocky talks,bitches would lay low when I walk with my head high. Dudes that acts like they know it all,won't point fingers at our love that its unrequited.
Now,
I'm not saying you should displease yourself to please me,
I'm not saying you should become someone else to earn me
I'm either not demanding too much
I just need you to show the world more visual actions,so that the world will stop thinking I'm an obsessed ***** trying to make the acclaimed unrequited love,reciprocal.
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 8:27 PM UTC
Even a wayside **** can ignite
greater passion in the heart
than a well potted garden plant
at the centre of a tastefully landscaped plot
Even a child’s prank can be more hilarious
than all the cranky jokes of an acclaimed comedian
Even in the warble of a lonesome bird
there can be more flooding melody
than in the well tuned violin of a music maestro
There can be greater poetry in a simple ditty
than in all the lines of verse in a great epic
A tear drop may contain greater salinity
than all the waters of a great ocean
Perhaps a simple nod of head or a wink of the eye
communicates much more than a whole bunch of words
I don’t know why I love the dainty flowers of May
than perhaps the exotic lotus of the day
Don’t we love the homemade fare served with love
more than all the delectable cuisines of a posh restaurant
The small things of life thus,
prove much bigger than big things
Just as the joy of life is not always ruined by fatal errors
but by the recurrence of injurious little things,
Greatness is achieved not through momentous actions
but by the little things done in a great way
Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 6:40 AM UTC
my dream is to have my song of a hundred thousand people them knowing every lyric to every song I ever made my dream is to be in the studio every Friday every Saturday morning is that have the hottest beats every day my dream still have my song free style over by hundreds of rappers my dream is to have equity my dream is to get paid something I love to do my dream is to hide away instrumentals outside those four walls tis silence my dream expand the minds of the youth now to the next four generations my dream is to be a part of this culture remembered an acclaimed at some of the legends I see before me everyday my dream the city never acknowledges it is to be one of those that opens the door or walk through that door a pioneer if you will my dream is something has to be something if the world pursues to stop me if you know me is f****** I was told don't let no one stop your music so your headphones on put on your favorite song turn off all your lights and drift into your zone for my dream is a dream of anybody that's an artist simply that was work in the gallery and better my craft everyday love you music
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 1:35 PM UTC
I know I'm your second best.
I know I'm not the first person you will call
in a crisis
but I suppose second best is okay
I don't mind.
In another situation
second place is still acclaimed
like a runner up in a race
sometimes the second place prize is better than the winning.
At least I'm not your third best
fourth, fifth, sixth.
I know I will be there when the first person you would call
has put you to second place.
I will be there to fill their old space
because hey
what are second best friends for?
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 11:15 AM UTC
Awakened by whispers from a friend
On the other side of the earth.
He perhaps forgot how time
Lacks to treat us the same.
He was bouncing from
One classroom to the other,
I was in my bed
Sweat drenched in my dreams.
I tried to muffle his scream
But he yelled louder,
Bloodshot eyes, I spoke,
Careful not to wake my mother.
I asked and asked if he was alright,
I was afraid he was thinking up
The actions I almost followed.
I asked him again
If he was fine,
He replied with a "good morning",
I said "goodnight".
My head was thumping too hard
I knew the morning would begin
With my weekly dose of migraine.
He called me back,
I asked again if he was alright,
It's 3 **** clock in the morning,
I would sleep if he was fine.
He acclaimed that I lied,
"I was hurt so I was up
Or else I would never have taken his call"
He said. I sighed,
He couldn't hear.
I told I would be back in two hours,
I wished he would rest
Get his head straight.
He acclaimed that I lied,
I wasn't gonna sleep,
I was traumatized,
He asked again if I was fine,
I replied "relatively".
I wondered what I meant,
He didn't ask to clarify,
I declared I am going to sleep.
I lied.
I was up till past 4,
My alarm set to 5,
I would speak to him then I resolved,
He could do with not killing himself
For two hours I analysed.
I slept for minutes 45
I called but he was gone.
I tried to decipher my strange dreams.
It was about the dogs
Chasing me,
The fear I always have.
I try never to think of love,
In my dream I had no way out,
That was when he had called.
I reminisce now
Was he looking for me to save him,
Or did he save me?
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 12:44 PM UTC
Self-promotion arena supplying for
social gatherings and family space,
at times useful mirror and judge onto the lives
of the untrue, the corrupted, the vicious,
at most theatre for public sacrifice by the rule of the thumb
with mercy at the hands of the pleb.
Samnites, secutores and retiarii fighting to the death,
noxii and damnati hacked in the man-made
monument built for entertainment,
barbarian combats in the name of munus,
lethal games on the tilt of a double-edged sword
serving political agendas and commercial must,
their successes encouraging others.
Youths sold, batches addicted
to the screen of civilization
erected to conceal and divert the eye,
to the glittering murderous show
permeating the four cardinal directions while
confusing children's moral compass,
morphed into unactive witnesses,
blood-thirsty enablers, wishful executioners,
as loved ones helplessly watch
the self-destructions, the stabbing cuts,
and hear the roars of beasts feeding,
the shouts of be-headings acclaimed.
Sep 13, 2020
Sep 13, 2020 at 1:43 AM UTC
Characters of folly
With their agony and jolly
One who makes water
In the gutter
As bystanders shudder
One who wears a cape
Is he planning his escape
While the gentleman with the black beret
Morning walk to his frothy latte
People with sign in hand
What’s the message
Where they stand
Souls everywhere
Just the same
A powerful friendship
Could be acclaimed
Generous one
Did you find
One that lets you put your cares behind
One that talks to trees
Even in the breeze
That brings those pines to their knees
One who taunts honest and kind
While he croons those left behind
Those who seek out the good
Kindred spirits misunderstood
One who sees the light at the junction
With his guitar that’s multifunction
One who wrote look for the sunny side
Knowing the silver lining as she cried
Characters of folly
Will leave you chanting my golly
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 12:40 AM UTC
The peace of this small neighbourhood, is shattered as the door caves in
As masked marauders seek with guns, the criminals that hide within
But they find no deadly drug baron, Nor killer, or ****** animal
But a grey-haired lady, small and frail, in terror as she beholds them all
At gunpoint then her hands are tied, and her walking stick cast to the floor
As she is marched by mighty men, to the waiting van outside her door
Her heart skips wildly and her breath is tight, as she is bundled roughly inside
Her dignity and rights of law, are swept away and cruelly denied
And across the town there sits a girl, with kindly, smiling joyful eyes
A teen who spends her youthful zest, bringing hope and joy to other lives
But little does she know this day, that her future days are to dwell
Not in delight and dancing halls, but in a dark and lonely prison cell
And elsewhere stands a local hero, a man so honoured by decree
Acclaimed by peers and politicians, as a citizen of kindly deeds
Yet on this day, he is torn away, from his family who are left in tears
As this father and devoted husband, is imprisoned now for seven years
Who are these ones snatched by the state, and treated so unjustly
Held without cause or consideration, and despised so bitterly?
They obey all laws and pay their dues, and love their neighbours when they can
And share a hope of a future bright, even though their hope is banned
They are young and old, black and white, and gathered from diversity
They wage no wars, won't steal or lie, but treat all people with dignity
For their crime is not of violence, nor abuse, or fraud or robbery
But of being Christians and trying to show, Christ-like love to you and me
And what of those who terrorize them, the land where this grim drama is set
That mighty nation, so paranoid, that it considers them a threat
This pretender to the throne, bedecked in red and white and blue
Is a jealous king who hates the ones, who, to Christ their King are ever true
But as they languish in prison cells, awaiting justice from the King
The one whose commandments they obey, is smiling down and proud of them
For their hope is not in men of law, nor international decree
But their just and loving King, Christ Jesus, and in God- Jehovah's sovereignty
Dedicated to Jehovah's Witnesses imprisoned in Russia
Jun 26, 2021
Jun 26, 2021 at 7:26 AM UTC
A hatred fiend,
Playacting a votary
Of democracy and federalism
To a gluttonous end,
“Unless we grip
The rein of power
Driving a divisive wedge
Along religious and
Ethnic lines, also
Orchestrating terror
Every hour,
See to every evil
We shall
Till the wind of change
Blowing over the nation
Suffers reversal.”
“On the world-acclaimed
Change drive
We shall inflict
Every possible harm
So that flouted it runs
Out of charm!
Using a Facebook army
On par with Tsunami
We shall trigger
And foment conflicts
And make
This and that ethnic groups
Arch enemy.
Slaying toddlers,
Senior citizens
And women, with
The bun in the oven,
Shock we shall
Create often!”
"Also with
'We are victims' clamor
Seeking for a stalemate,
Global-pity a door
We intend to continue
A victor.
To deflect attention
From a government-junta
Crackdown
To neighboring country’s town
Firing rockets far
Dragging it into war
We shall internationalize
The fight
Conveying our diabolic move
Is right!
Though unheard of in history
We shall splice
In unholy marriage
With any enemy
Of the country.
Also from its back
The national defense force,
Guarding the boundary
And us
Its forehead
In the crosshair mark,
Revoltingly
We shall attack!
Though this makes us
Selfish, our ethnic
Groups we shall use
As a human shield
A daunting influence
On citizens-cherishing
Government to wield."////
Nov 17, 2020
Nov 17, 2020 at 8:07 AM UTC
The thought of it horrifies me,
Even more so than what death entails,
It forces me to sporadically awaken.
I visualize myself taken away to a cold grotto,
Where I'm violated by strangers
And alienated, rather than uplifted,
For an unknown duration of time
I knew what might happen,
The consuming fervor,
My behavior will not be understood
Haven't I alienated myself all along?
Was it not I who voluntarily auditioned
For the infamous role of the outcast
As well as the acclaimed role of the golden child?
The critics may write their reviews of my performances
My petite hands peruse
Through the drawer's treasure,
The prescription pill bottle is
Considered as a future reference.
(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith
8/2/14
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 1:00 PM UTC
A frail old man wanders aimlessly along the boardwalk of a deserted beach
Hunched over like the the boughs of an oak tree weighed down by its branches
Things burden this man.
Heavy in weight on mind and body
Once swarming with tourists in a way similar to flies around a porch light this beach is now dank and dismal to the eye
The preconceptions of flashing lights and rowdy parties filling its strip just reside as a distant memory in the depth of the deep blue.
On which he gazes out to after taking a long wheezing breath into his shrivelled lungs.
He stands alone reminiscing about previous conquests from his long distant youth
Thinking about all his relationships with friends and loved ones
Perusing through his memory bank as of he were a granddad proudly giving a slideshow to his only grandchild
And as a tear slowly trickles down his weathered face he reconciles with himself that like seeing the last copy of an acclaimed novel being sold he definitely let the one get away.
As this fact dawns on him, knowing he shall always be alone
He takes a deliberate pace towards the steps leading to the sandy wasteland that used to be so glorious and golden.
Gradually picking up speed and stumbling over himself he makes the journey to the edge of the water
Fully aware of the desire that is overtaking his mind, body and soul
The sea begins to seep into his shoes then dampens the tip of his trousers
Now with the water up to his waist he is shivering and struggling to catch his breath
But onwards he walks becoming stronger as he battles the waves cascading against his body.
Is this really what it has come to,
but as the last strand of his silky grey hair disappears into the salty blue
He feels the weight of the past float away and he is at peace
The water has cleansed his soul, rinsed his mind
Deep in the depths of the sea shall his regrets remain forever.
And as his body floats to the surface his soul rises higher and higher up to the clouds
Reaching the end his eyes catch a glimpse through the pearly whiteness
Of a silhouette he recognises
It stands facing away seeming to exude beauty like a single rose in hand of a romantic gesture
When he steps through the gates
The silhouette senses his presence and turns
He knows in that moment, he has made it
He is in Heaven.
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 3:53 PM UTC
We’ve accomplished grace
In the eternal august night
To unchain a soul that is contrite
Her soft touch gave men a pleasurable fright
She made me endless dry nights
With a twist of the forthright sunrise.
I’m wondering
I’m wandering
In your vast spacious eyes
I’ll find exile in your fragrant dream
I’ll watch your promises steam
In the waning night
I felt the lunging freedom by the touch of your hand
To the glimmering dusk
We’ve failed to alternate
To the passing bliss
We reasserted
To your musky perfume
Angels tried to elaborate
Frozen words of wonder you maimed
A love hitherto acclaimed
Wintertime is upon us
Memorabilia
Worn dour faces
Grazed by memories
Wintertime is upon us
Lenient breaths
Defying the freezing weather
Like white cotton bursting into the air
Numbed fingertips
And cold lips
Winter was the season of you heart
Winter became the season of my life
Now loneliness is my last supper
The ice for my heart will scupper
I’m alone amidst the feral waves of sobbing
And my heart is drunk with its salt
The crescendo will exalt
Now I must repent
For the placid lament
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 5:49 PM UTC
I was a piece more or less,
Unfit in the puzzle of society,
Framed and judged,
Broken and scraped,
Torn to the base.
I stood to be the thinker,
With thoughts as the mate,
As the wife is too a husband,
I kept courting with anxiety,
Maybe sometimes with fear,
Or with shame that world-acclaimed,
As the flaws of being me.
I stood there many times,
Neither to be oriented,
Nor to be included,
Just to be accepted with love,
As a poison is to nectar,
I was the toxin to them
I was discarded and treated,
To purify the viciousness,
An be a part of the deprived fellowship.
I can't stand anymore there,
With the crime of resistance,
To not oblige with the rules,
As a cage is to the bird,
Statutes were the prison,
To my solivagant soul .
Shredded with the conclusions
I was qualified as an outcast,
Neither a human,
Nor a living being
All it was a prolonged-term
As a slave is to the master,
I was chained to the phrase.
To be always smashed,
Under the debts of acceptance.
Jan 15, 2021
Jan 15, 2021 at 3:43 AM UTC
Heinous, immoral, sinful swine!
To what I am demanded to oblige,
This unravelled given flesh, falsely acclaimed.
By who, are we to bestow such honorarium upon specimens?
We, this, it... YES it! For no other alias be deft to pure ****
If it be for me, I'd not be so haste to shift to utter, cosmic vile!
And alas tis that which I am, and as all my fellow ethological, fleshy hominids.
I do not care for it.
And seek the purity of it, but such use may be eternally latent.
God!
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 11:38 PM UTC
This crazy conundrum has been conspicuously contrived quite cordially. Of course, one could concede this cordially contrived conundrum could carelessly conflate the countless quandaries causing quintessential quantities to question the conspicuously questionable conspiracy. Conversely, carelessly questioning conspicuously contrived conspiracies as cordially quantitative quandaries could create considerably confusing claims countering the critically acclaimed crazy conundrum so callously clarified as to continue to count as cordial. Consequently, with careless acquiescence, I must confess that the conceptually contrived conspiracy, so inconspicuously inconsistent, conflated considerably contrary quandaries quite questionably and continues to confuse the crazy quite cordially. To conclude, the crazed conspicuous conundrum confuses the cordially questionable quantities of conceptually countless claims clearly clarified as conflated quandaries continuously contradicting a considerable count of conspiracies.
11/2/16 11:59 p
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 11:21 PM UTC
She deserves recognition
For her work as a technician
Who's expertise is ball bustin
Who majors in ********
Excelling in the field of advance
Hot air production
A profession heckler who
Composes an orchestra conductin
A firework show eruptin
With colorful rants red, and purples
She's acclaimed for rhetorical
Questions that repeats in circles
An elite linguistics scholar
Who's sarcasm is an accomplishment
Very talented...no gifted at making
An insult sound like a compliment
And Her stamina to do so
Is like an Olympian who's pleased
Only when her track and field
Meet of slander makes ur ears bleed
A masters degree in belittling
A graduated philosopher for the bitter
Must be a psychologist the way
She attacks my sanity to litter
Insecurities, and doubts and I
Heard she has a phd in hypnosis
Until u start to believe her ********
And this psychosomatic is ur psychosis
A world class magician who's
Tricks leave u perplexed in thought
A novelist who narrates to taunt
Controlling all characters and plot
She wrote the book on torturing
A man and emasculating him so
He may never move forward and
She was in the military I'm told
Historically known for her
intellectual Warfare
Manipulating soilders and utilizing
The grounds to ambush u there
A social tyrant who's brilliant
Political ties help her achieve
Her plan like constituents are
Biased so they're all after me
A paralegal who's unfair and lethal
And to her it's titalation
Unfair is her terms but like a
Perm ull get burned in litagation
A degree in early childhood
Education so she acts like a rebel
Perfecting being childish and
Unaffected by ur feelings on levels
Only a schoolyard bully could
Match, she's my jailhouse warden
Who's power is focused on me
Relentlessly constructing like a foreman
With Her future blueprints to
See what the hell she builds for me
Will look like, and she's also a director
In the *********** industry
So she tells in great detail
Just how I'll be ******
She must have been taught by
Peter pan how to never grow up
Trained as medic who specializes
In one area over them all
Nudering human males
So surgically she removes my *****
After she breaks them and
So I am the constant fool
This exceptional jack of trades
Makes me wish that I stayed in school
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 7:54 PM UTC