"adheres" poems
No legacy is as rich as honesty to leave behind
No asset is as great as honesty that enriches mind
No voice is as powerful as honesty,your heart to guide
No word is as meaningful as honesty to swell with pride.
One who adheres to principle and facts , is honest
One who loves for-what-than-who-you are , is honest
One who inspires to be fearless and upfront , is honest
One who dares to raise voice against injustice, is honest
In actions ,words and dealings -be clear and transparent
Corruption,bribery,flattery and nepotism-be always against
Greats endure pain to follow righteousness,however difficult
On life’s tight walk ,do not crave to strike rich without sweat.
Win over lies,deceit ,treachery with love,respect and fair play
Honesty is a jewel that shines-shines brighter,rest fades away
Honesty is a bitter pill to gulp,gulp you must to lead the way
Quality than Quantity of life matters most,at the end of the day.
A child should be taught to be honest at a very early age
Set an example by emoting honesty at every step and stage
Honesty instils compassion ,concern,credibility and courage
It is a virtue that differentiates between a devil and a sage.
Stakes may be high ,don’t ever compromise on values
A Right can never ever be Wrong ,however one views
Forever under HIS scanner,keep hands clean and heart true (HIS ...GOD)
Give best to the humanity the best will come back to you.
(C) Bhargavi Ravindra ...........B’lore
Dated : 09/05/2019
Oct 11, 2019
Oct 11, 2019 at 7:13 AM UTC
Translation From Catullus.
Equal to Jove that youth must be—
Greater than Jove he seems to me—
Who, free from Jealousy’s alarms,
Securely views thy matchless charms;
That cheek, which ever dimpling glows,
That mouth, from whence such music flows,
To him, alike, are always known,
Reserv’d for him, and him alone.
Ah! Lesbia! though ’tis death to me,
I cannot choose but look on thee;
But, at the sight, my senses fly,
I needs must gaze, but, gazing, die;
Whilst trembling with a thousand fears,
Parch’d to the throat my tongue adheres,
My pulse beats quick, my breath heaves short,
My limbs deny their slight support;
Cold dews my pallid face o’erspread,
With deadly languor droops my head,
My ears with tingling echoes ring,
And Life itself is on the wing;
My eyes refuse the cheering light,
Their orbs are veil’d in starless night:
Such pangs my nature sinks beneath,
And feels a temporary death.
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A Rock there is whose homely front
The passing traveller slights;
Yet there the glow-worms hang their lamps,
Like stars, at various heights;
And one coy Primrose to that Rock
The vernal breeze invites.
What hideous warfare hath been waged,
What kingdoms overthrown,
Since first I spied that Primrose-tuft
And marked it for my own;
A lasting link in Nature’s chain
From highest heaven let down!
The flowers, still faithful to the stems,
Their fellowship renew;
The stems are faithful to the root,
That worketh out of view;
And to the rock the root adheres
In every fibre true.
Close clings to earth the living rock,
Though threatening still to fall:
The earth is constant to her sphere;
And God upholds them all:
So blooms this lonely Plant, nor dreads
Her annual funeral.
* * * * * *
Here closed the meditative strain;
But air breathed soft that day,
The hoary mountain-heights were cheered,
The sunny vale looked gay;
And to the Primrose of the Rock
I gave this after-lay.
I sang-Let myriads of bright flowers,
Like Thee, in field and grove
Revive unenvied;—mightier far,
Than tremblings that reprove
Our vernal tendencies to hope,
Is God’s redeeming love;
That love which changed-for wan disease,
For sorrow that had bent
O’er hopeless dust, for withered age—
Their moral element,
And turned the thistles of a curse
To types beneficent.
Sin-blighted though we are, we too,
The reasoning Sons of Men,
From one oblivious winter called
Shall rise, and breathe again;
And in eternal summer lose
Our threescore years and ten.
To humbleness of heart descends
This prescience from on high,
The faith that elevates the just,
Before and when they die;
And makes each soul a separate heaven
A court for Deity.
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Refuge from reality
Neverland's necessity
Chasing the whims of Shadow
Crowing at the moon's sad glow
Freedom from monotony
A childhood philosophy
Perseveres in light of fears
Long adheres in spite of years
Flee the world of decision
Distance mistake's incision
A brash heart's circumcision
Nulls care of peer's derision.
"You gotta let go and crow!"
Mar 23, 2010
Mar 23, 2010 at 7:34 PM UTC
72 hours in
I'm giving serious thought to
drinking the Listerine.
The ***** is it's citrus flavored.
I can't even rinse with that toxic concoction, let alone swallow it,
but I'm running out of options.
I finished my other MacGyvers--
the Nyquil was first to go,
followed by a Dimetapp chaser
(the cherry,
not a refreshing grape-flavored one)
and a shot of Wal-fed
that induced indigestion.
My kingdom for a belt of whiskey--
maybe a snifter of ***
You know you're bottoming out
when you wax nostalgic
for drunken days
when soiling yourself was justifiable
due to your general state of disarray.
I'm the **** that adheres to the bottom of the barrel—
******* in the shower with my shoes on,
pants removed as a cautionary measure.
Not that life can get worse;
nothing trumps waking up miserable,
sore,
jobless,
alone,
queasy,
woozy and
drooling uncontrollably
and lacking ***** to blame it on.
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 11:51 PM UTC
MY
gender has a big *** problem
we think with our *****
because our brains are in our *******
a nicely curved rear
a subtly protruding chest
imagination always adheres
and the hands do the rest
in our teens we’re rabbits
in our 20’s we’re wolves
by 30 we’re lions
and 40, owls
psychologically volatile
emotionally detached
physically competent
spiritually mismatched
understand, we’re arrogant ********
when we’re trying to save face
we are also capable of shame and regret
not every jack holds an ace
the exterior is tough
showing only what ruses the eyes
true that a man can bluff
but even crocodiles cry
the next time a **** tries to be one
fret not, you can still have fun
start by questioning his masculinity
and move on to “you have a tiny….”
yes that’s right,
go ahead spite ME.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 5:49 PM UTC
I'm extremely disorganized
I don't know what belongs where
Take my eyes for example
I can't find a place to rest them
I tried setting them on you
But everyone agreed that **** wasn't working
They explained that an organized man
Adheres to categories
And you and I
Are not of a kind
I attempted to argue that you organized me
My heart
My mind
You folded me neatly
When you beat me
You always made sure to set me aside when you were done with me
You'd place me in a bin
Or release me to the wind
Yet there was a burdensome fault in my littered logic
They explained that an organized man
Is clean
I must use eyes that are sanitized
To see how we're not categorized
And avoid your matador eyes
Because things will get messy
When the bull in your fists
Sees the roses in my heart
My humanity starts to part
And my wishes I begin to opine
For the nature of a bovine
So I wouldn't misplace my eyes
And be what I'm classified
But that nature eludes me
As do most things
On account of me being disorganized and all
But I'm a quick learner order burner page turner
I may not know what belongs where
But I know I belong neither here nor there
Making my eyes not belong anywhere
This is what develops my entropy stare
Jun 9, 2017
Jun 9, 2017 at 11:20 PM UTC
Souls, once one in the sun,
Now reach for fallen stars.
Ludic, hopeless fingers—
G r a s p i n g
For a sole thread of truth.
Don’t fly too close, little firefly.
For it’s flame shall render
All your desires and dreams
To spurned puddles of wax.
D r i p p i n g
In these wrinkled hands
Formed for puppets
A silhouette on the sphere
As the Earth only knows,
The darkness it adheres.
May 25, 2021
May 25, 2021 at 1:38 PM UTC
Majestic leaves, trees, and flowers surrounding
Each deep breath feels empowering
Daoism adheres to “all is one” and “one is all”
Instantly… all chalkboard writing vanishes, nothing else befalls
The road to the energy center unveils
Air flows through the lungs, everything else pales
Time itself seems to slow to a halt
Instinct dominates the other senses in a sudden assault
Opening a gateway to a serene dimension
Nourishing the soul, meditation stretches the tension
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 10:27 PM UTC
At the stroke of five o’ clock
The crew begins to trickle in the door for
Josie’s Slumber Party.
Hand cut finger sandwiches adorn
The chestnut coffee table already brimming
With nail polishes and eyeshadows
In hues of peacock blue and bubblegum pink
And temptress scarlet red. The girls
Romp around the room like ballerinas
Dressed in everything from soccer shorts to
Mama’s high heels. Two sizes too big.
Practically ladies as they gloss their lips but
Girlish giggles and squeals reveal their
Youth: Age ten; age eleven; age twelve.
And in the middle of this fine affair
Polished nails are used to pick at teeth;
Makeup adheres to bangs, braids and ponytails.
Bare hands brush through the knotted hair of
Any and All. Beauty – of course – is collective, yet
Dignified.
As if to call the girls over, lure them in so painfully slow,
The sprinklers awaken on the front lawn and spill forth
Waterfalls of childhood memories. Running barefoot
during the searing summer dusk. The girls are under
The Spell. Feather boa and lipstick at hand, they make
A mad dash for the lawn. The squeals are louder, more
Vibrant than before. With grass stains on their gowns
and water re-tangling their freshly styled hair, these
Ladies could not be any more proper.
Jul 11, 2011
Jul 11, 2011 at 3:37 PM UTC
for mine own Yocum
<>
a strange parting shot,
that we are are the refuse
upon this island Earth,
the very last item on some being's
weekly grocery list,
a list composed 'illions of years ago,
of things that could be worthy of
"creating"
this thought sticks to my soul,
like a rosé pink colored
NYC street'd, well chewed,
gum piece
adheres to my sole
the musical companion to this ecrivez,
a sinfonia for strings politely begs to differ,
while a hard covered book
dances me over to Texas,
Dudamel conducts Barber,
all making the question of
man as an afterthought
in a divine master plan for a planet,
seems almost recklessly absurdly nonsensical
then
my cell buzzes me back to this
******** hell earth
seven more cops shot, three dead
down in the bayou of Baton Rouge,
on a sabbath Sunday morning
rouge red now assumes,
takes on a different
notation colorations,
to my bleeding eyes,
delivering importations
of headaches confusion rampage,
red rage
the amplification of the worst of we,
afterthought creatures surely,
why "create a destroyer,"
an absurd contradictory term,
so we are gift wrapped
beneath the misleading approbation -
human
there is no nobility in our savagery,
or dare I sneer and say,
in our humanity
you cannot seal a wound with music
you cannot revive the dead with a poem ear-whispered
sitting beneath the tree shade
of my privileged place,
my surrounding world is
bay blue and grass green,
my vision myopic,
I am a self-centered,
microscopic collection of red cells
conceding to you Sargeant,
this designer of the human form,
who wrought it from
soiled earth and excess rib bone,
had a peculiar sense of humor,
a comedian full of
malice aforethought,
for are we not
the final joke,
for someone's bemusement
we must have come last,
because you always
want to leave them
laughing
Jul 17, 2016
Jul 17, 2016 at 6:36 PM UTC
the blue-black night danced over our bodies, the moonlight waltzed in through your car windows. i tremble to the rhythm of your breath as you learn my legs with urgent fingers. as your skin adheres to mine, i feel the wanting electric coursing in currents through the rush of my blood. we are a tangle of killer chemistry & searching mouths. so you bite my bottom lip & that is so ******* rad. our clothes are nothing but pretext. there is no stopping the way you puzzle piece me together. your every touch is an absolution & i want it all. the wind shakes free the dying leaves & we sing each other lullabies with fiery kisses.
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 7:41 PM UTC
Standing in front of the mirror,
I always try to look sober,
When precisely I'm losing my consciousness,
Only the mirror knows.
I feel my surrounding falling apart,
When I start looking into my eyes.
I saw a child, as the tears start rolling down!
A smile she gave and shattered my dreadful memories.
She is the one who adheres to my thoughts,
Looking back to myself makes me frightened more.
I'm standing in front of the mirror,
Just wiping the tears slipped from the shore.
Sep 24, 2020
Sep 24, 2020 at 3:50 PM UTC
Do you know, what's it like?
To run, until the tendons,
in your legs,
crimp,
like accordion bellows,
held, in the grip,
of a vice?
...Do you know, what it's like?
When they smell the fear, from within...
which adheres, to your skin,
as it turns, to fright?
...Do you know, what it's like?
Not even seconds, to hide?
With the asbestos walls, exploding...
your lungs, go off, like a bomb,
and thrumming
But the headlights,
they just keep on coming?
...Do you know, what it's like?
But you can't stop running, oh, hell no,
Though the acid,
drips,
down the back,
of your throat.
And the panic,
sticks,
to your soul,
like Velcro...
But you try...
...Do you know, what it's like?
And do you even want,
or need, to survive it?
When your fatigue,
only gets them excited?
When the kick and blur,
of your legs,
and curves,
only registers,
as enticement?
Do you know, what it's like?
Here comes the headlights
around the bend,
again,
and it's do,
or die.
Do you think you could fight?
You can't look, at the trunk,
or you'll end up inside, it.
It's fight,
or you're ******
but what if they... have,
a gun,
or a knife?
...Do you know...what it's like...?
Sep 4, 2025
Sep 4, 2025 at 7:49 AM UTC
I.
i'm clingy.
you can't manage to love someone that always happens to stick onto you like fresh fallen snow on the bottom of your snowboots or pounding water that adheres to your skin in a shower. no one wants someone who they can't shake off and get away from a little. but with me, i will try my hardest not to let that happen. because i can't even fathom the thought of you walking out that door and never coming back.
II.
my brain is like spaghetti.
my thoughts are always messy and all over the place. it's extremely challenging to sort everything out so i don't even try anymore. everything just jumbles and mixes together and you can't really differentiate one strand from another. and my grandmother always told me that guys don't like messy girls.
III.
sometimes i'm just a really sad poem with feet.
i get into moods. moods where i think everything is wrong and that i'm useless. no one likes girls like that. boys like confidence, right?
IV.
i'll try to make a home out of you.
and you can't make homes out of people. but i don't think that'll ever get through my thick skull.
V.
you don't know how to love me.
no one does. no one has quite been able to figure it out.
and i think you're okay with that.
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 3:14 PM UTC
“”Hope” is a thing with feathers...”
Only, I don’t think it is.
See, feathers mean it’s a flighty thing
And belie its true belligerence.
Hope may yet have feathers,
But forget not the claws.
Hope is a thing with brambles;
Hope has a tendency to stick in crops.
This little burr adheres to the underside,
Never noted unless poked.
It clings tightly in the smallest gap
And can’t be ignored once evoked.
Now, I grant you, Hope may seem rather rare,
But lay on your stomach at night; you’ll find that it’s there.
Aug 29, 2021
Aug 29, 2021 at 11:39 AM UTC
When I fingered the thin skin on my left, vein-bulging limb
Where the forearm adheres to the costly little hand
I realized in all my intense ardor for pain
That there in my penitence, self-pity, self-loathe
I am a narcissist.
Laden with self-obsessed sorrow
There is a selfishness in being a dreary,
To feel for oneself,
When others care too much
An aggregation of sympathizing sobs and tears
Too much for an egoist
Who would rather wallow alone
In the orange-tinted hue of twilight turned nightfall
A ray of the luster in all subtle shades,
Can I summon the force to recall
Why I hate myself
Is it not that all despise me for a purpose?
And those who are inept at reasonable loathe
Are marooned in deep shame
That they had degraded themselves for what?
For a felon? Such as myself?
Deep in such sorrow,
Deep in my self-loathe
I have encountered the truth of all fruitless self-regard
I am a narcissist, egoist, one who self-loathes
Who slashes and severs and cannot speak love
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 5:33 PM UTC
He was the meanest kid on the playground
If the kid he picked on was half of his size.
He abused his playmates if they were weak
Had freckles or wore glasses on their eyes.
He was not a handsome lad in any way.
It was almost like he took it out on the world
That none of the guys wanted to play with him
And he seldom got lucky with the girls.
There was the slightest hint of intelligence
But it was always of the devious kind.
Nobody ever thought this kid would turn out
To be the type to make fortunes with his mind.
Taking little kids lunch money from them
Was why he even went to school each day.
If he looked a bit older and wasn’t lazy
He might just have hid out and run away.
He didn’t play ball or do any kind of work
And his mom waited on him hand and foot.
You could tell when he reached legal age
He’d find a woman who would follow suit
And treat him like a six foot baby brat
As if he was a gift to the whole world.
Of course he was in luck there because
It’s easy to hook up with that kind of girl.
At work he will call all the women sweetie
And soundly slap his cohorts on their backs.
He’ll always remember his boss’s birthday
It pays to keep the important things on track.
If he can block a promotions of co-workers
Who are not Caucasian and Christian,
He will stick to his hidebound beliefs
And stick to ideas of The Dominion.
And if this reprobate ever has children
They will grow up to be just like him;
They’ll subject siblings and playmates
To their own temperament and whim.
Because bullying is passed by parents
From their parents to their own children.
And bullying adheres to no rules about
Morality, propriety, intelligence or wisdom.
Jan 8, 2017
Jan 8, 2017 at 9:28 PM UTC
annie has cut out herself.
(annie has cut a shape for herself out of a sheet of plywood)
annie shelters herself.
(annie is blocking her thoughts out by making use of her skinny forearms)
annie has lost her hands.
(annie is not simply an amputee, she’s also in a deep coma)
annie identifies herself with the ceiling.
(annie is out of the world of the living things)
annie doesn’t feel the rain.
(annie doesn’t feel anything anymore)
annie is under a scrap of cloth.
(annie only sees blots of dripping paint)
annie ended up in a gap.
(annie ended)
annie has stopped counting.
(annie has changed the order of the numbers, randomly)
annie has stopped subsisting.
(annie now needs a thinking subject, to think of herself)
annie doesn’t constitute a movement.
(annie moves by gracious permission of the force of inertia)
annie only perceives the force of gravity.
(annie adheres to the pavement)
annie can’t remember her latest smart thought.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 11:04 PM UTC
1503
More than the Grave is closed to me—
The Grave and that Eternity
To which the Grave adheres—
I cling to nowhere till I fall—
The Crash of nothing, yet of all—
How similar appears—
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Portrayal of a pageantry adheres
Rejuvenation scares the skin off the bones of our own
Watch it burn, save none, save none at all.
Retract, relive.
Your eyes seek no help in man.
Give, love.
You hold no prophecy.
Everyday sinking down to man
Seeking a new way to justify your intentions
We are not here for a good purpose.
**** it off.
Feel the fire through your veins,
make it hurt. love it
Forgive yourself,
you are hell.
No other way to say what we do
Frozen. Fractured.
No help has been sent,
you are on your own.
You asked for your own fate.
This is what you will become.
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 3:22 PM UTC
Through all his days
And through all his years
He caused so much pain
And forced so many tears
So no one sheds them for him
Not even his peers
And no one stands with him
As he faces his fears
What was once his mark on the world
Rubs off and smears
He stands alone
In these unknown frontiers
He tells her he loves her
And he knows she hears
But instead of relieving him
She lets him lay on the spears
While he’s crushed by the burden
Of these planetary spheres
With the flame of love
His flesh just sears
While holding up the world
His skin adheres
For all his deeds
His karma arrears
Him and his mind
Love’s racketeers
Him and his mind
The game’s pioneers
His heart and his mind
Now mutineers
As they betray him
He looks up and sneers
She ends his punishment
Because she interferes
She says I love you too
And everything clears
From his shoulders
The world disappears
Scars are left
As souvenirs
They’re reminders
In case who he was
Suddenly reappears
Jun 12, 2010
Jun 12, 2010 at 2:10 AM UTC