"adhere" poems
Let the night in, for I'll be writin' the letters of light in the air.
Our bodies pulsate by the notes of gentle symphonies, and we adhere.
Two elements shakin' and mergin' into one.
We are makin' it and cravin' for more of this addictive fun.
The moonlight rays reach the shapes of the furniture, movin' along with the temperature, increasin' with each movement.
Like desert diamonds, we will reflect in the pearly sun.
You will be the meadow that I will prefer and the lover within my arms to cover. Until amusement, let my cries give you inducement.
From the color of sulfate, this night is glowin' with universal sparks.
We both have bewitchin' feels for each other.
I am tastin' honey on the curves of her skin, and we embark on the hill.
The darkness is sailin' on the waves of our unity.
We stomp on a bed full of cherries, and the night stays still.
She feeds me with her tempting body, and I see her lucid thrills.
I climb on her high balconies, and I am one with the moon,
drinkin' from the passion of her milky skin.
Our hearts entwined. I attune from the voice of the raccoon.
Her body is femininity incarnated into a guitar. I play on her strings, listenin' to the music from noon until dawn, bound to our emotional devotion. Our irresistible pleasure is bowing to our connection.
Nov 29, 2021
Nov 29, 2021 at 8:33 AM UTC
Let the night in, for I will write the letters of light in the air.
Our bodies pulsate by the notes of gentle symphonies, and we adhere.
Two elements shakin' and mergin' into one.
We are makin' and cravin' for more of this addictive fun.
The moonlight rays reach the shapes of the furniture, movin' along with the temperature, increasin' with each movement.
From the color of sulfate, this night is glowin' with universal sparks.
We both have bewitchin' feels for each other.
I am tastin' honey on the curves of her skin, and we embark on the hill.
The darkness is sailin' on the waves of our unity.
We stomp on a bed of cherries, and the night stands still.
She feeds me with her tempting body, and I see her lucidly.
I climb on her high balconies, and I am one with the moon,
drinkin' from the passion of her milky skin.
I attune from the voice of the raccoon.
Her body is femininity incarnated into a guitar.
I play on her strings, listenin' to the music from noon until dawn,
bound to our emotional devotion.
Nov 15, 2021
Nov 15, 2021 at 5:41 AM UTC
QUESTION.
Poverty!
Do you think that this should be a global urgency?
Selfworth as Commodity!
Do you think that this should be a human priority?
Try telling one billion children living in extreme poverty,
And the twenty two thousand that die each day that their not a priority,
Tell them we have more important matters to adhere,
That our top ten banking bosses earn an excess of two hundred million a year,
So what about our eight hundred and fity million that don’t have access to clean water,
Tell them they dont really have a voice and dont really matter,
Clean is not fourteen billion pounds of waste dumped this year into the sea,
Clean is not two hundred million gallons of crued oil lost into our oceans by BP.
I am Jimmy.
Mar 17, 2019
Mar 17, 2019 at 6:43 AM UTC
Karma?
I don't adhere to it
But I do believe
We reap what we sow
One cannot expect to have peace
When one has sown nothing but discord
Anymore than one can expect a golden crop of corn
When the planter has actually sown beans
And roots of bitterness will sure grow deep and destructive
When not thoroughly torn out of the ground
For a thriving garden must be rid of invading seedlings
Of anything that does not foster, but fights its growth
To reap an abundant harvest
Sometimes, it is starting all over from scratch
For we've all been guilty of poor gardening
Have failed as farmers to one degree or another
You wanted succulent peaches
But you got shriveled prunes
You wanted wheat
But you got weeds
To produce a healthy garden
The fruit of forgiveness must grow as freely
As wildflowers in a field
Row upon row of compassion and love
An orchard of plenty for the desperate in need
Is the most rewarding harvest to reap
It will quench the terrible thirst
And satisfy the yearning soul
Aug 26, 2012
Aug 26, 2012 at 7:39 PM UTC
Ah! You're already here
I've been waiting dear
This you have to hear
It's somethin' to adhere
It's tongues dried
and lungs fried
Not other way around
And I don't refund
So let's get down
to what you want
The tastes I own;
the ones you'll flaunt
Cracked bones
and hacked jaws
Charred toes
and bottled gore
From pickled hearts
to private parts
Just say the name,
I've got it all
Just take your time
and think it through
And when it's right
I'll come find you
It's been a while
Did you decide?
Just ditch your pride
and speak your mind
So it's 'crispy skin'?
'kay, I'll let you in
Let's taste your kin
Yes, it's not a sin
Nov 22, 2020
Nov 22, 2020 at 12:28 PM UTC
But you're untouchable,
and though your eyes speak differently;
the invitation is imagined,
the closeness; mere proximity.
I had no instruction,
and no intention to adhere.
You prodded, pulled and pushed
my precautions aside,
passively dealing every blow.
But I couldn't even wound your pride;
You are untouchable.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 4:16 PM UTC
Come these never ending tales of war
has took its toll in all of us.
where freedom was compromised,
false judgement was thrown at us.
I adhere to correct them all
without burning bridges on opposite tail ends.
as people misunderstand with their small minds,
I Stand oppressive until this strong bark bends.
Let me free your harrased mind,
despite of these known inequalities.
Please Pardon me for my words,
we all want to end this in tranquility
we are intelligent just enough to know our selves,
our needs and wants just hidden inside our chests
knowing that all these months, I've scratched your back,
I hope you'll do the same in this wicked test.
You've all wore this masks, battle faced,
I am amused I became the villain.
this was never the same scenario
where I am lost and I've abstained.
I can never guide your rituals.
come as you are, friends?
you've all grown up and matured for this.
I have got no plans to ****** my belongings.
It is your choice. you got all of these.
I never wished to betray nor consider you all in the past.
but what I've felt it gives me sorrow.
to know that I am not part of your tomorrow.
Never wanting to compromise
but there's a feeling that I've been sacrificed.
I am raising the white flag.
but leaving all of you will be a throw of a dice
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 10:11 PM UTC
Have you considered being a *** worker?
You have a body.
I know you never sleep there,
spend less time breathing than associating with your own ribcage.
You're an actress
no script, just a character summary.
Limp, age 12, non-verbal marionette.
*Snaps her strings when forced to dance.
Clings to the ceiling tiles, like the shadows she hallucinates.
Let's the puppet fall numb under strangers.
Ragdoll to be used for kindling.*
When you play your part
You'll inherit enough money to afford a studio apartment
in Washington, or Las Vegas; anywhere with men paid large enough salary to afford your vacant body,
three phone plans,
a hotel room for you to stay awake in
Listening to dull thuds against your wrongfully warm corpse
Invited hoping the stinging could form tendons
adhere together like rubber bands
Snap you back into your skin.
You cling helpless to the ceiling tiles
Watch the ragdoll make mistakes.
*"Have you considered being a *** worker?"*
A homeless woman asked me,
*"Unoccupied bodies should start charging rent.
Let a man who can afford it pay for utilities.
You might be homeless
but you won't be wasted space".*
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 1:56 PM UTC
I think perhaps as a writer, we seek the adventure, the unknown, the destructive, not only to know we are alive but to know what it is to live. We live fast, we love without restraint, with impulsive desire. Are we the tortured, the wounded, the broken, abused. We have lived a thousand lives, loved a million times. We dream, we idealise, we fall in love unintentionally, we make mistakes, we endure deep suffering and we fall to the hands of lust within a heartbeat. We choose to show our ******* our ***** our hearts or our souls. We refuse to sell our mind, to which we must always remain held to. Our body is a vessel, one of productivity made victim to abuse. It's such neglect, despair, that leaves us enveloped in patterns of trauma and deeply embedded psyache. Once touched, our bodies remember as an elephants mind always will. We are tainted, scarred, stained by another's love, lust, cheating, lying, crying, kissing, losing, dreaming. We are the risk takers, the ones who dare step into the unknown and often don't adhere to rules and regulations of societal ideals. We crave love. We crave endless excitement. We crave the adrenalin rush of a new lover. We don't settle. Wanderlust writes us. Each journey shapes us, choosing a new direction, experimenting with style, fiction, autobiographical tones. Landscapes colour our pages, pollute the rooms with a myriad of paints, smoking out those who don't endure, slaves to the written word, a pledge to keep reading pages of paper, dusty from step ladder high book shelves. Finding joy in limited first editions, autographed and locked behind glass doors. Fairy tales whispered by Hans Christian Andersen - The Snow Queen in a pop up book laced with glitter and scintillation. Falling into stories, Alice's rabbit hole, lost to liquor saying drink me. The young ingénue, naïve and shy, her first role acting, embodying the spoken word through the masters written script.
© Sia Jane
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 6:56 PM UTC
I had always heard that festivals are symbols of joy,symbols of happiness.
but I think more than that it is feeling o f peace,prosperity,love,kindness it is the only time when everyone in our society have get together,follow rituals and the most interesting part is the broken relationships,friendships & every other relations get adhere together.
friends i always thought that festivals means only having holidays and enjoying it but today i came to know that every festival has its own story like Christmas for birth of lord Christ,
Diwali for returning of lord Rama and goddess Sita.
on the occassion of DEEPAVALI I wish everyone HAPPY DEEPAVALI and may this diwali bring prosperity,Elation,peace in your life!!!!
Oct 29, 2016
Oct 29, 2016 at 11:17 AM UTC
Sunday's newspapers
come on Saturday,
coupons spill out
torrentially.
weekend manna
from
publisher's hell.
makes my breathing heavy,
from studious inspection,
so many needs unmet.
I fall to pieces
every weekend,
securely knowing,
I'm lacking in
so many things,
feeling my
insecure neediness
keenly.
my Target is
feverishly simple,
solution oriented.
no can find any discounts for
new rhythms,
new rhymes,
life high fivers
to satisfy,
adhere,
and revere,
that would be my
Best Buy.
but I'm clipped,
the coupons, not.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 4:37 PM UTC
Life does not walk these streets.
It rolls by in tin foil fleets.
Love does not fill the air.
It gazes from windows with forlorn stares
Liberty is merely bought.
Dollar bills and silver change give amount to the thought.
Dreams are what happens when you sleep.
A lie.
There are lessons to learn and rules to abide.
I
will not adhere to the word of the day.
My path deserves to be walked,
my dreams are not fall
acy.
My love is louder than the trains and sirens that permeate this city.
I will show liberty to all who seek.
Life is beautiful.
Even if the earth is bleak.
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 5:09 PM UTC
The Annual POCU Fashion Show held by the campus organization “People of Color United,” was held in the Student Activities Center on Saturday, April 18. The fashion show is the final activity of the year held by POCU. Junior Martell Prayear and senior Miranda Jackson were the show’s hosts and announcers.
The fashion show is a competition where various designers, or teams of designers, are required to create outfits that adhere to a general theme, but also incorporate the designer’s unique, personal concepts. This year, the general theme for the fashion show was: Thrift Shop. Each designer, or group of designers, was required to utilize clothes purchased from the local Goodwill and maintain a $50 budget. Preparations for the event, Jackson said, were very short. “I was really surprised how well it turned out, because we started practicing for the show at four o’clock that day,” Jackson said. “They typically start practicing way a head of time.” Despite the delayed preparation, the fashion show was an overall success. The first designer to present at the fashion show was Victoria Webster.
Webster’s fashion line was inspired by professional work attire. “I think it can be hard transitioning college wear into professional wear, on a budget,” Webster said of her outfits. Webster was able to find three models to wear the clothes, which she said was a combination of the model’s personal items, as well as those purchased through Goodwill. The second fashion line presented at the fashion show was designed by Iyana Lynch. For her personal theme, Lynch designed outfits that were inspired by the different seasons. The third designer to present that evening was Alyssa Nieset. Inspired by 90’s menswear, Nieset designed a line of androgynous outfits. The final clothing line presented was a team effort from: Jeanita Blue and Angel Powell.
Their theme was considered “90’s Reloaded,” and featured various throwbacks to 1990’s pop culture such as TLC and The Spice Girls. Blue said that most of the outfits in their fashion line were inspired by “eco-friendly fashion,” and were intended to decrease hesitation toward shopping at thrift stores. While the judges finalized the scores for each designer or team, the Urban Dance Association entertained the crowd with a quick performance. The judge’s scores resulted in a tie between Jeanita Blue & Angel Powell, and Iyana Lynch. Despite the general tie, Blue and Powell were awarded first place, while Lynch was granted second place. There was an off-campus reception held in Cleveland after the event. Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/purple-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/green-formal-dresses
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 10:36 PM UTC
We are told that
Nothing trumps Trump's
Misogyny but truth will out
When his sexist shtick is a
Gift that keeps giving for
His Republican rivals,
Whose
Lips are sealed, but by
Their deeds their hands are unclean.
We know that Bush did not beat about the bush
When he said of women on welfare that “They should
Be able to get their life Together and find a husband"
We know that Walker repealed Wisconsin's only
Equal pay law and supported anti-choice
Invasive intrusion of a woman's right
To choose. We know that Mike H
Has mused that he thinks women
Who cannot control their “Libido"
Should not “curse” and Jay Z is really
A **** seems to be exploiting Beyoncé.
We know that Rubio opposed re-authorizing the
Violence against Women Act, even though he knew
What it meant when he opposed the Paycheck Fairness
Act. We know Rand P was rightly Republican in similarly
Voting against the Paycheck Act, and in his college secret
Society promoted Anita B's views that oral *** was a sin.
Perhaps they all need to look in the mirror and adhere to
The Biblical adage that "He who is without sin should
Cast the first stone" But what is sin anyway?
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 3:09 PM UTC
Etymologically,
paradise
is inherited from the Latin
paradisus
and the Greek
paradeisos
and ultimately an ancient Iranian root --
pairi daêza.
In theory, paradise is a religious term. By that definition, paradise is a place in which existence is positive, harmonious and timeless. It is conceptually a counter-image of the miseries of human civilization; in paradise, there is only peace, prosperity, and happiness.
It’s absurd, though, how we provide ourselves with such a convenient idea, a carrot for all mankind to share in our relentless drive towards death. It’s absurd that we must rely on such nonsensical ideals to inspire us to adhere to literal, arbitrarily-dictated morals. “Thou shalt not do things we say you probably shouldn’t.
Except sometimes.”
“Actually, whenever, as long as you feel bad about it and spend a moment kneeling quietly and thinking something along the lines of ‘So, like, sorry -- my bad. It won’t happen again, unless it does.’”
The fundamental mistake here is attempting to delineate the existence of Man with an old book and relentless propaganda and childhood indoctrination and threats of post-mortem punishment, but more on topic -- why can’t one just live the right way without this kind of artificial motivation? It’s a juvenile concept that we’ve taken much too far. It marginalizes the human race -- “listen, Man, if you eat all your broccoli, then you can have dessert.” But what happens in this situation, when the dessert isn’t real?
What I mean to say is that maybe you should eat your broccoli because it’s healthy, and because, besides what society has attempted to instill in you, it might actually be tasty if you give it a chance.
Live for now. Care about people now. Because you don’t get anything afterwards; however cynical it may be, dessert is just a cold grave or a flame designed for whole incineration of your being. Paradise is now.
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 11:16 PM UTC
Think upon the present in the present moment, but think positively.
In all perspectives of life,
it’s important,
not only to have a positive attitude,
but more importantly to keep trending the positive way of thinking,
not only trending, but also to adhere and follow upon the same.
In one way or other, in someway make it a habit to think positively.
Give your best in the job that you have,
but in doing so never give up your positive thinking,
then if it means to reinitiate the thought process,
definitely do it,
however, always keep in mind,
think positively.
Sooner or later,
definitely at some point in time,
somewhere around the corner,
a moment in time will come when you will realize and understand the power of positive thinking.
Till then,
keep going,
don't give up in the job that you have,
but make sure that you follow positive thinking,
since it's a boon and helps in the long run.
So keeping aside short term gains and lure for the same make it a habit, follow the same,
think, but think positively.
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 3:07 AM UTC
my mist expires in your atmosphere
linen sheets adhere
around my throat, no fear
smell pheromones in the air
it's crystal clear, my dear
i am amiss without you near
self-controlled
white-knuckle hold
now conquered
cold and longing to spy a songbird
if only for a single moment
and nothing longer
i am somber but mighty fond of her
strong enough to say it still
and stronger now to do
smart enough to ponder it here
but dumb enough to squander it too
red hearts are lies
beating blood flows blue
it is true, did you hear?
i'm amiss without you near
i thought we were musketeers
turns out you're the puppeteer
pulling my strings, was as I feared
another way to ingratiate and endear
while I'm tied here waiting to hear a footstep
to take the next step
another level for this intimate project
but from this aspect with all due disrespect
you subject me to intense neglect
you're a ****** architect speaking scintillating dialects
only I can connect but I am a bad girl... so I guess I deserve it
my favorite show now that you mention
is when you are standing at attention
you brighten your eyes and your voice changes inflection
my indiscretion becomes your intention
but I digress, and bite through, throughout this blissful rendezvous
as we float like a feather into the bedroom together
past dawn until noon
it must be true
i am amiss without you
Jul 16, 2025
Jul 16, 2025 at 11:16 AM UTC
In seductions of ******
wisps of alarm, tongues fly
catching fire, their croaks
are red-headed matchsticks.
Intrepid hourly, the
blanketed white harassed
the appointed locum, the
cashmere buds of tobacco.
The open mouths adhere to
the King of Limbs, the
experimental corsages that
— bloom —
into existence.
There is a space between
all the noise where
my fetal poise can reside,
*forever holding,
holding on,*
forever holding,
holding on.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 5:39 AM UTC
This is my box,
home to contrived chaos.
I open and close it
many times a day.
Beside my box
are other boxes
bigger and smaller,
all of them surrounded
by an even bigger box.
And if you left this box
you'd see a field
of boxes
sprawling the land
further than eyes can see.
And how odd is it
--the mere idea--
that all these boxes
adhere to this sphere
we reside upon
like a collection
of living magnets.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 10:21 AM UTC
Strumming the untuned strings, he stares drunkenly into the setting sun of yesteryears songs, sung of lost dreams and the birthed ambitions of the dark, dark days to be.
Happily, he tears up in the fortunate tragedies, of the reclamation in his dreams, as he seethes out the damnation of his steeds, galloping gallantly through his being.
All seeing, in the finite fleeting when he sings, of strummed dreams to the rhythms of heart beats lost, embossed on the epitaphs of kings.
Sad songs of dreams once had.
Be glad for that, which does not **** you, only to bestow upon you, the gratitude of the weirding ways, in passionate display for us all to play nice.
Shake these dice and jump aboard this bus of wandering poetry, from the porches of poets singing to the sun.
From the morning Moet, to the afternoon beer run.
we sing of dreams
of better things
we blaspheme
and spin the scenes
of our murdered dreams
and just clean the guilt away
I am so awesome as to be devoid of fault.
I am a god that cracks the asphalt.
I am the angel signing the clause, of deserved harm.
I am the indentured servant sounding the alarm, with the charm of a Trojan horse, forced to adhere to the most righteous path.
The first
The last
Laugh of inevitability
Honing in on the ability to capture the longevity of dream warriors, in the lock of predators, in the employ of a senator, from the center of the heart, to impart on you the fear from thieves caught in the plight of those fraught with the graces of an exterminator, exterminating the pro-creators of your world. Soldiers unraveled in the lavished gavels of real criminals drowning in their own subliminal theories of the self imposed heresies of intention.
Free will
A fragile blessing
I cracked, all so long ago, as i gently bestow my belligerence upon your innocence and **** it all away.
I'm the ******* son
Strumming for the only one.
Once.
Before the lore of the storm.
Born of the swoon of a gun.
More than one.
Once.
As the day faded into night, his strumming turned plucking, as he slightly eased from reprise to silence, in the whisper of nights words, easing him into the blur, of sleep.
Sep 9, 2012
Sep 9, 2012 at 3:46 PM UTC
A valiant woodsman of God’s green earth,
An ever gentle soul,
Treads nobly through the forest’s edge,
To conquer hill and knoll.
Morning chill, punctuates warm breathe,
Condensing on cold steel,
A rising sun greets a friend of old,
With beckoning appeal.
The singing birds, call quick to arms,
Warning to those that hear,
The woodsman’s made his presence known,
To this they must adhere.
The ageless warrior nestles down,
A clearing by a brook,
From iron sights, he takes a bead,
A short but lasting look.
Ten points in all, the target grunts,
And directs a gazing eye,
A trigger’s squeezed a slight indent,
The woodsman breathes a sigh.
A crack of thunder, a flash of light,
The beast is crashing down,
The woodsman offers praise to God,
The forest makes no sound.
A resounding victory born this day,
Upon much hallowed earth,
And from majestic creature lost,
Does spawn a sacred birth.
The woodsman leaves, more quiet than came,
In humbleness and awe,
To tell a tale of conquest sought,
To share of what he saw.
Oct 22, 2010
Oct 22, 2010 at 11:20 PM UTC
My father was not good to his body when he was younger.
The smoking and drinking and snorting and fighting and drinking and crashes and drinking were not good for him.
My father was not good to his body when he was younger.
One summer, when he was 16, everyday he would take a bottle of wine from his mother's liquor cabinet, buy a pack of cigarettes at the corner store, meet up with his friend Mario, who also stole a bottle of wine, and together they would ride down to the river and smoke and drink and swim. Everyday, for a full 1970's summer they did this.
And now he tells me, that at the time they were having fun and they were not worried about money or addictions or the future.
They were just having fun.
My father was not good to his body when he was younger.
One day, in the dead of fall 1981, he and his friends Mario, Mark, ****** and John all got together at Mark's apartment on the corner of 51st and Diablo boulevard. They hit the town, drank, snuck into movie theatres, harassed girls and had a good time. They returned to Mark's apartment at 2 am and thought it a good idea to steal Mark's mom's new car. They decided to go to Reno.
Driving, as my dad put it, well above the speed limit on Highway 49, they collided head on with a big rig. There were no fatalities but my dad broke his shoulder and suffered a minor concussion. Mark's mom chose to not press charges nor did the driver of the big rig. The next day my father was back at work, refusing to adhere to the doctor's orders of taking it easy and wearing a soft cast, entrapping his left arm against his chest, climbing under cars, changing oil, and repairing engines.
My father was not good to his body when he was younger.
One cold winter's day, in December of '82, my father's ever faithful companion, Mario, picked my father and his dog, Wimpy, up and they drove over to a small burger joint named Big A's. My father ordered two bacon cheeseburgers and a large rootbeer. Mario got the same, only with a single bacon cheeseburger. My father father gave his second bacon cheeseburger to his pitbull Wimpy.
My father was better to his dog than he was to his own body.
Now, my father coughs himself to sleep every night, and has chronic bronchitis. His liver and kidneys are shot and he plans to not live passed sixty. He will be turning fifty in two weeks.
My father was not good to his body when he was younger.
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 12:04 AM UTC
Twenty million years you have existed
Ancient are your ways, carried out for days
Even in birth sixteen to eighteen months consisted
You stand alone in bravery of age
Predators won't cross, footing would be lost
Your power is of one to be amazed
Teaching us that solitary timing
Benefits us too, reminding how you
Spend your days so patiently on dining
The earth is your bed and has been always
Suiting you well, this your story to tell
Free from what man has made building hallways
We learn from you to push through and go on
Leading us through, what is infinite truth
Your soul abounding to bestow upon
Grunting and bellowing your presence known
Boundary protected, patrolled, directed
No one will be found threatening your home
Stand up in for what you truly believe
Too many to fight, find rest day and night
Pull those close to you who will not deceive
We are timeworn and primal like fossils
Daring to care and completely aware
Protection of our love is colossal
Be with us when we must move in a way
That makes us feel scared, feelings should be spared
No panic, no anxiety dismay
Wisdom to move past life's ever obstacles
Our size matters not, for with you we've brought
A strength that to beat is impossible
Remind us to pray to all good things endowed
Spirit gives blessing, heart is confessing
Creating what our free will has allowed
Be with us mighty one when mistaking
May we never forget, we too have yet
A legacy like yours in the making
Though we may not understand why we're here
Holy Spirit's hand, reaches and expands
Guidance walks us on the path to adhere
Brilliant light shines, helping us to get past
The hurt and the pain, learning we sustain
Achieving a great wing span long at last
tHE tERRY tREE
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 5:41 PM UTC
A capricious young mind
alive with reveries of vistas and granite hues,
enthralling nocturnes
and his touch in the night air.
Disparate and removed
you contemplated the stars,
a life lived with arms outstretched
beckoning the notional.
Beneath the ceaseless sky
you yearned for his warmth,
to feel your ashen flesh adhere to his every fissure
raising your arms to his celestial vantage
you beckoned, once more.
From the dimming light,
above the distant horizon he rose -
like the smoke of an ardent fire that resided within,
ascending through your being,
coming to rest upon your weary head,
he suffused each lissom filament with a fragrance,
eternal.
©Thomas Gabriel
Dec 2, 2011
Dec 2, 2011 at 10:41 PM UTC
When Charlie was a young'un with a crayon and some paper
He would scribble til the paper ripped and the crayon turned to vapour
His mother would console him and she'd offer her advice
But just to drive the message home, she'd loudly sing it twice
Follow the lines, my boy, just follow the bleedin' lines
Just pick a side and stay there, always follow the lines
If you're not a fool then fake it
If you show your spine they'll break it
Follow the lines, follow the lines, follow the lines
So when Charlie went to high school, how he tried to walk in stride
But the boredom of geometry provoked his naughty side
His professor would chastise him with a ruler and a cane
And, as an aid to memory, he sang him twice again
Follow the lines, young Charlie, you follow the blasted lines
Give it a try, you'll soon see, never cross over the lines
Don't be smart or play the joker
Aim for mainly mediocre
Follow the lines, follow the lines, follow the lines
When assembling a wardrobe with his Allen key and spanner
He threw himself into his task in an overzealous manner
So when he called his father to report a broken bone
His old man tutted ruefully and sang right down the phone
Follow the lines now Charlie, just follow the ******* lines
Don't improvise or gamble, why didn't you follow the lines
Dodge unnecessary ructions
And adhere to the instructions
Follow the lines, follow the lines, follow the lines
So in time, he raised a family, the lines etched in his head
One day he heard a buzzing from his aging garden shed
As he listened at the planking, how his face was drawn and long
For between the buzz and rustle, squeaked a tiny little song
Follow the lines, buzz-buzz, just follow the buzz-ing lines
Follow the bee before you, just buzz and follow the lines
Find the flowers when it's sunny
Fetch the nectar, make the honey
Follow the lines, follow the lines, follow the lines
Buzz buzz
**
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 10:09 AM UTC