"admirable" poems
I knew he was special,
over what you call sanity,
he is still admirable.
Among his rejection,
I guess I just had to make sure that
craving him secretly,
was all I could possibly do.
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 1:01 AM UTC
Can you believe the betrayal we face,
Every day, from the people we trust most;
The people whom we confide in, trusting
That they will stand by us when we need them?
Then they turn away, leaving us alone,
Heartbroken and teary-eyed, beaten down
By the weight of the world left upon us.
Without our closest friends, we are nothing;
The world can trample us with but one step,
Pressing down hard, until we suffocate,
Without anyone to lift the burdens.
Still, we must continue living, wearing
A smile, so that those friends who betrayed us
Will believe we are stronger than we are.
It will defeat those people, and prove that
We can rise above disloyalty, and
Live a better life without those who have
Broken our hearts into many pieces.
That strength is quite admirable, they say,
Though truly, we cry in the dark, alone,
So no one will hear how, really, we are
Weak and broken apart by broken trust.
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 3:03 PM UTC
You say, "Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels”
but I say surely something
must taste nicer than the burning acid
being forced back up your throat.
Why not hug people instead of
toilet bowls? At least they’ll hug back.
Except Mia is your only friend now.
And her cousin, Ana, of course.
And I understand that you never
wanted to die, but this is a thousand ton truck
hurtling towards the edge of a cliff and
Ana took the wheel a long time ago.
There is no strength in this: in you, in a
fear of calories. Even your bones creak
as your muscles sigh with exhaustion -
for this, is not a war you're winning.
This is a battle with only one contender
and I will not be the one to disarm you.
That's your job and it always has been. I know
you only wanted to be beautiful
like all those stars in the magazines
you saved under a file titled ‘thinspo’
but the only stars you ever saw were in
your eyes from the dizziness
and to tell you the truth, you are not pretty.
For there is nothing “pretty”
about the layer of fuzz your body grew
to protect itself from the big bad wolf
when really, the only growl was coming
from inside your stomach.
Or how your little sister is afraid to touch,
let alone hug you, in fear of snapping you in two.
For there is no glamour in having to
remove clumps of hair out of the plughole
at least six times whilst having a shower,
just to let the water run down.
Or that one time you "accidentally”
took too many laxatives. Messy.
There is nothing admirable about the way
you sat shivering on your bed
at night instead of kissing boys,
or dancing, or eating ice cream.
There is nothing to be marvelled at
in dying.
This, is not a life to be lived.
God, this isn't even a life.
This is being a slave to your own body,
a walking zombie, a ghost stuck
between two sides.
You are not alive.
But it was all still worth it, right?
Slowly killing yourself from the inside out.
A small price to pay for perfection,
a bargain for a broken mirror;
for a half-written book
with 97 blank pages,
a camera
that only captures in black and white,
a clock
with frozen hands.
And most importantly, for a peace of mind
you never received.
No refunds.
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 11:59 AM UTC
they say there is more to learn than not.
that children are the future.
shaping young minds is
most admirable.
working through ways
for a few hours
makes up for lifetimes without.
the gift of knowledge
makes all the difference.
it is not our place to
tell them how to be.
we can only show them
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 5:28 PM UTC
Through the wandering spectrum
Of cerulean dragonfly eyes
You fly without hesitation
Observing the vast and marvelous world
As if it were your own
As if it were your cut-out template,
With an admirable sense of wonder
And the fervent desire
Not only to know
But to contemplate
The luminescence of a fluttering firefly
How the brittle mechanisms of life
Apply
Through crystal-clear dragonfly wings
You carry your mind
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 4:13 PM UTC
The Jewish brothers in Defiance were definitely tough.
One wanted to **** many Germans, the other to save many Jews.
The German soldiers were expendable, unmarried, unremarkable.
Each little death was very little, a little spittle in a big wind.
Fast forward to my friend's son's bar mitzvah or daughter's
coming of age ceremony. Food is abundant, the music frenetic,
the rabbi paid. Gifts generous but not obvious.
Wealth does not obviate death and we know it.
Here too we have natural leaders. Youth basketball coaches,
school principals and, again, interpreters of prayers. When
violence comes to the neighborhood they are who we'll first look to
for governance and guns. Unless have you read The Admirable
Crichton?
Boredom, boredom conflated with loneliness, may be a sign
of good luck. To live a good length or light year away from man's
bad breath, allergenic perfumes, sickening flatulence and shed hair.
But you are drawn back into the debate about perfection by your own
********
While teaching at the old city jail I have learned this: only meditation
upon the periodic table can save your soul. From itself.
Imagining the world without the self will make you whole.
What else is there to say. Do less until one thing's done well.
After the war the brothers started a small trucking company
in the Bronx. Grateful for such peace, the accounting
was relaxing. They thought back to how they met their wives, naked
before the bombs and bullets. How they lost and found themselves in
what happened.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 4:19 PM UTC
Though authors are a dreadful clan
To be avoided if you can,
I'd like to meet the Indian,
M. Anantanarayanan.
I picture him as short and tan.
We'd meet, perhaps, in Hindustan.
I'd say, with admirable elan ,
"Ah, Anantanarayanan --
I've heard of you. The Times once ran
A notice on your novel, an
Unusual tale of God and Man."
And Anantanarayanan
Would seat me on a lush divan
And read his name -- that sumptuous span
Of 'a's and 'n's more lovely than
"In Xanadu did Kubla Khan" --
Aloud to me all day. I plan
Henceforth to be an ardent fan
of Anantanarayanan --
M. Anantanarayanan.
7.9k
starry eyes with a bold stare
the universe isn't frightening to you
admirable because you are the one percent
the one percent who lives life to the fullest, one hundred percent
curls that your head weeps down
that resemble the salty ocean waves
skin as pale as a snow flake
with sun kissed spots on your crinkled button nose
translucent personality
angelic intentions
a golden silhouette of a heart on your wrist
a kiss that takes and gives air
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 7:58 AM UTC
I hear them calling, she said.
with her open mouth she joined the screaming crowd in her mind.
she wasn't alone now.
I can see them reaching out, she cried!
everyone appeared to be seeking her bursting mind.
she felt it all so deeply,
she was an ocean, flooding over everyone with her pain
they all wonder with danger seeping from their shut eyes.
she devoured them, with every closed lid,
with her broken mind
she pulled out her heart, to be alone
she stopped breathing.
how express, they whispered.
oh, she suffered beautifully they exclaimed.
how admirable.
it was easy for them to go about their day.
easy.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 6:37 PM UTC
I admire your each step,
I admire the mystery around you,
I admire each syllable of every poignant word you press to paper
and the words you do not.
I admire the love you proclaim to have for her,
and if I knew her,
I should think I'd admire her too.
I don't know you
nor shall I ever,
but I can still watch you walk the school halls
and wonder what makes you tick,
what your family does and doesn't do,
what you were like as a child
how you became like this
and how you are able to enchant the world with your writing-
making me eternally frustrated with my own-
ranking my words by whether or not you
like or comment or repost them-
which you don't,
thus I feel a failure.
You have a purpose with your words,
something to say
and you say it so strong
and with such beauty
and heartache
I crave the next time you post-
and I'll evermore continue to wonder
how you became so mighty.
Do you work on your poetry or is it natural?
is it because you read so much?
is it because you don't waste countless hours on the computer
or watch TV?
How did you become you
which is so admirable
and mysterious
and deep
and talented
and unique?
I know I don't have a right to ask these questions
and with what little I know about you
I certainly don't have the right to admire you
and I don't deserve to know your life story,
but I'd like to know anyways.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 4:55 AM UTC
Subdued and seduced by sounds so sultry
floating with fantastic phonetic finesse
vibrant voices vehicled via visages
the magical message making me a mess
each seconds surrenders me speechless
praying for the process of progress
kissing, caressing, conspire in concision
affection and adoration an admirable ambition
Subdued and seduced by sounds so sultry
floating with fantastic phonetic finesse
vibrant voices vehicled via visages
the magical message making me a mess
beautiful belles becoming begrime
rendered ready by my written rhyme
won with wonderfully whispered wit
foment flattery in a fanatic fit
Subdued and seduced by sounds so sultry
floating with fantastic phonetic finesse
vibrant voices vehicled via visages
the magical message making me a mess
Sep 11, 2010
Sep 11, 2010 at 5:39 PM UTC
While having a heart to heart one night,
My friend informs me that as a straight person, I will never understand what it's like to be closeted.
That there is a reason people understand the term "gay suicide" without context,
That love looked like moth wings that would flutter away or wither at touch,
That the secrets and shame are like locks on the door from the outside and you realize that there is no one out there with a key.
That same friend once asked me if I've ever thought about joining a nudist colony.
She said that the comfort I find in my own skin and my ability to separate naked bodies from beds was admirable.
I told her, there was a reason I never read her my poetry.
I told her, I don't wear make up at Wal-Mart.
That I turn off the lights but still let him love me.
I read to estranged ears.
That bareness was something I would never grow into.
"Darling!" I told her, "there are some things you just aren't meant to see."
I have been truth-or-dared to strip naked, and its not as easy as you might believe.
There is a little something that sits at the back of my mind I like to call "modesty."
Modesty can be defined as the quality or state of being unassuming or limited in the estimation of one's abilities.
"Darling," I wanted to tell her, "You have no idea what these hands are capable of."
There was a time I was proud of that.
They were small and feeble, but holding a blade firm they became strong.
They became what I needed.
My skin became less of a barrier and more of a costume. When I slipped it on, I became original.
I became identified, if only to myself.
The scabs were a serial number the First World girl who was a little too white,
a little too straight,
and a little too doubtful could call her own.
But I was a little too weak,
and a little too lonely
and had a little too much time on my hands to wrap around the knife.
They became my drug. I became a liar.
My skin became an apology for everything I thought you should blame me for.
There was a time I would have done anything to show you, but I have always been a performer.
No one ever asked to see the curtains close.
My friend told me that I would never understand what it's like to be closeted.
That secrets and shame are like locks on the door from the outside and you realize that there is no one out there with a key.
The tally of every moment I'm locked in is a timeline of my mistakes, visible on my own skin.
There are some things you just aren't meant to see.
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 1:28 PM UTC
Go to class, Grace.
Take your medication, Grace.
Learn to deal with your emotions, Grace.
Try to stay positive and it will all get better, Grace.
Why aren't you trying hard enough, Grace?
Why are you so quiet, Grace?
What's wrong, Grace?
I do everything. I call a psychiatrist, I take my medication, I try to hold myself together and be positive and strong and admirable. I do everything a little good girl should do. I don't listen to impulses, I stay quiet until I can't help but cry, I hold myself by threads until I can't hold on anymore.
Obviously I'm not trying hard enough. Obviously I'm being melodramatic. Obviously this is my fault.
Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 1:00 PM UTC
*In the forest stood tall admirable pine trees,
As we walked hand in hand with ease,
Upon a blanket of snowy and frozen grounds,
Hearing voices and beautiful sounds.
While the cold winds softly echoed through the night,
Bringing harmonious whispers, as we glared into the moonlight,
And the trees were beautifully dressed in white, on this Christmas Eve,
With clusters of long evergreen needle leaves.
The breeze murmured through the branches,
Gently waving making advances,
Saying "please take me home,"
"I am stuck in the cold" in a low tone.
Near lied an adorable reindeer,
Whispering words we barely could hear,
When we walked closer, it fearfully ran,
As fast as it can.
Joined by a polar bear,
Who sadly said "I am scared,"
And we quickly selected our tree,
Though it was quite difficult to see.
When we walked away and glanced behind,
The adorable creatures, followed appearing quite divine,
With laughter and smiles,
Softly saying "we hope to see you again," and their eyes looked as radiant as a child.*
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 2:52 AM UTC
Every single one of us has our own perception and definition of perfection and beauty.
My definition of perfection and beauty is simplistic, but at the same time is insanely intricate and alluring.
My definition of perfection and beauty is her: her riveting smile, her luscious brown hair, the glint of her admirable brown eyes, so perplexing and captivating.
She is different, not quite like all the other girls.
Something about her makes her stand out.
Could it be her inspiring and enchanting positive attitude?
Or could it be her constant yet elegant and exceptional charismatic display of intellect and wisdom?
Whatever it is, it’s entrancing and spectacular, constantly forcing me to crack a genuine and stimulating smile, even when I may not be feeling the greatest.
The feeling she makes me feel when she’s present is indescribable through words; it’s a feeling that can only be truly understood through enduring it.
There is only one word to truly describe how I feel whenever I talk to her, and that is bliss.
I may be naïve to believe that I am deeply in love with her, but that intense smile and sense of self-worth I feel when I talk to her tells me otherwise.
She gives off similar vibes, leading me to believe that she may feel the same way about me as I do her.
When she displays affection towards me, my face turns slightly red and inevitably, I smile like an idiot.
When I talk with her, everything feels at ease, and I don’t ever have a single worry on my mind.
Every single one of us has our own description of perfection and beauty.
My definition of perfection and beauty is her, and she’s the perfection and beauty that I need.
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 11:42 PM UTC
Did you know?
You're holding out for her
And while your determination is admirable
It's not unique
there's not enough of these girls to go around to all you boys
Only some will win the lottery
And others will have to give up
Get a real girl
Get a real life
I'm a real girl
I'm so real it hurts
When you fail I'll be around
But it might be too late
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 6:50 PM UTC
Inspiration
Woke up early morning in a fairy dream,
She swam **** in a cool water stream
an adorable, elegant, celestial beauty
in her teens, She is looking naughty
Liking her innocence and perfection
I remoulded her into verses in an inspiration.
Sweet, seductive, natural, and desirable
She is tempting, shy and so admirable
She has natural tastes, novel talents
Everything seems to be right for moments
And one of her must-liking is a pool
Where she can enjoy the tides of cool
Williamsji Maveli
Visit my web sites
www.williamsji.com
www.williamsgeorge.com
www.williamsmaveli.com
www.mavelinadu.com
www.moonmakers.com
www.thefilmmagazine.com
www.kallettumkara.net
Jul 9, 2012
Jul 9, 2012 at 8:36 PM UTC
How can I say I like you again?
It has been two and a half years since
I liked you, back mid 2012.
Many knew I used to like you
but frankly speaking, I still do.
I really do, but it seems that
I got no hope for you to like me back.
Furthermore, you might say that
I liked many girls as you said once
but I'm willing them unlike them away
if I truly will and especially God wills.
You're the one whose character
is corny but very admirable
sweet as a fruit beer, if you're a beer.
I admire your overall beauty -
both internally and externally -
but I would ask this once more:
how can I say I like you again?
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 6:41 AM UTC
I have stomach aches
Caused from the hole deep within me
Where the butterflies ate away at the flesh that I was
You see butterflies are nasty little things
They like to come when you want…to come.
For that special someone
But I have butterflies for people that don’t know I do.
So I tried to fill the hole with honey
With vanilla
With anything that I could get my sticky fingers on.
The only thing my fingers got on was me
And then they got me off
Because I have this hole
This deep burning hole that gives me stomach aches
That I want to fill with peaches
With kiwi
With pomegranates
Sometimes the stomach aches come in the night
When I lay there in my peach colored sheets
Pulling at an old band tee shirt until it comes off
And I become a writhing mess in the witching hours
But sometimes my stomach aches for the boy that wears sweaters
It twist and turn and the hole will scream from my abdomen
“Give me”
I want to kiss his lips
I want to stain his sheets with my ***
But then the ache goes away
I’ll get an ache for the arrogant and snarky boy
When he sits there with long, admirable fingers
I want him to dig them into me
And sometimes my stomach aches for me
It aches for the day that I can completely satisfy myself
In every aspect a human ever could
Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 11:15 PM UTC
Why do we distort beauty?
Beauty can be power, but it can also be a burden
I never understood, but now I do
When we are not bestowed with it,
We cage it by any and all means possible
We mock those who lack it and hate those who have it
Green monsters rise in us
We blur the pure with cold blacks and angry reds
We blame them while we try to be them
I suppose jealousy is a fickle thing
In the stories of old, they say one is blessed with beauty
To gain the admirable attention of others,
How it must feel to be dotted on
But then comes the curse
Of having too much attention
Of getting the wrong attention
Of being objectified and not respected
Of being catcalled in the streets and attempting to ignore crass comments and rude remarks.
Like the attention
Don't like the attention
To be called beautiful is such a nice thing
Until it's not.
Apr 8, 2022
Apr 8, 2022 at 12:32 AM UTC
*"Constantly criticizing,
annoying agitation,
ignorant imbecile..."*
I hate thinking this way but you give me no choice.
If I don't speak with love, then what is my voice?
I try to motivate and inspire, but you cause friction.
My thoughts and actions are becoming a contradiction.
**"Considerate carer,
admirable artist,
intelligent idol.**"
I love that I say this to you, because it makes you think.
Yet I wonder, "Will any of this message actually sink?"
Maybe its because my poor conviction and dry emotion.
No... it has to be more serious... its my lack of devotion.
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 10:51 PM UTC
T ough resourceful,
I ntelligent and admirable
F ound face first in the pages of books
F reeing herself from the cages of the world.
A spired writer with pent emotions
N egligence of vent
Y onder is her ability to write for fear it may
come to light
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 5:50 AM UTC
You are blue
Your companionship has long since gone away
Your words come slowly if ever
Your interjections have no meaning
Your passion is a doused flame
Your decisions are unfair
You are bronze
Your shine is lackluster
Your potential is untapped
Your enthusiasm is misdirected
You are rust
Your intellect is a-waste
Your trust is broken
Your mind is now clouded
You are brown
Your ear is unsharpened
You coughs are unnatural
Your friendship is valued even yet
You are orange
Your ethic is admirable
Your company is comical
Your life is my soaps
You are yellow
Your face is but fair
Your skin has blemishes
Your actions not so demure – but yet
You are red
Your actions are fuel for my fire
Your intentions are good but the crafted hands left wanting
You are Violet
Your pain was great
Your color is of love
Your solid perseverance is for me
You are White
Your brilliance outshines mine
Your patience burns as fast as light
Your opinion flares as bright as magnesium
Black is not found
Deep down I have looked
But came back wanting
Is that naïve?
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 5:59 PM UTC
The experience of a black woman is one that can not be imitated
Although it is not always enough or even always reciprocated
Her heart is full of love, almost bursting out of her chest
And even when it gets tough, the black woman always tries her best
She longs for an equal who shares her level of intellect
Someone to listen to all her problems and attempt to put them in retrospect
The black woman often fears sharing any of her thoughts
For fear of being labeled the angry black woman, which she’s heard lots
Some black men refuse to date a black woman because of her attitude
But thank you to those strong black men that show them so much gratitude
Sometimes the black woman confidently wears her hair natural
The time she takes to detangle each curl is truly admirable
Other times she doubts her beauty as she is surrounded by Eurocentric guidelines
Men gawk at the beauty of those with straight long hair as she stands on the sidelines
Sometimes the black woman adores all of her god given features
But when she sees the women men covet she feels like an ugly creature
The black woman comes in all different sizes, shapes, and color
And instead of black women competing with one another
They must stand together and see the beauty in being black
So that they can truly understand that beauty is not something that they lack
My sisters, all of my black sisters, thank you for making me feel so human
Because no one understands the experience of black woman like a black woman.
Jan 10, 2018
Jan 10, 2018 at 4:10 PM UTC