"admiringly" poems
You paint me in the
wrong colours and
hold your art up to my
face, claiming it's a mirror.
And you're deaf to
my silent protests; you
look admiringly at your work and
tell me "I know you"-
you don't.
We walk together down the
corridor and I don't know
what you're seeing but it sure as
hell isn't me. You smile,
smug like a cat,
thinking that you've got me.
(You haven't).
And you think you know
what makes me tick but you're
forever trying to wind me up
with the wrong key, and
wondering why sometimes
(when you look, when you really look)
the hour hand's pointing out thirteen.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 5:55 PM UTC
Driving thru lots of
Parked cars, many un-
Aligned...
Ask you?
Askew...
Wow. There oughta be
A law or two to keep
Those cars in lines.
(Let's get Google to
Drive our cars for us!
They'd behave better,
Until they became self-
Aware, that is)
Googo-
Pocalpyse
Navigating parking lots is
Gambling against heavily
Uneven odds, the House(s)
Eventually winning by de
Fault of small electronics
Merry Christmas! Used
To hear that from just about
Every mouth and furry pair
Of lips. Now, the ubiquitous
"Happy Holidays" or as Seinfeld
So brilliantly mocked,
"Festivus for the Restofus"
The mocking is now
Knocking on our
Cultural Door to
Heck
Driving past a Fitness
Planet: the misspeled
Word "Judgement"
And the irony poking
Me in the eye is that little
"E"
That SHOULD belong nestled
Snugly in the deep middle of
That word, but, strangly, isntt...
And I'm doing what that sign
Admiringly attempts to cajole:
I'm judging. I'm judgEing.
I do this, constantly, all
My waking minutes:
Not passing on judging, but
Holding 4 aces and 1 joker...
(Me)
Hands clenched in rage as
(Again)
I steer obliquely thru parking
Lots, doing the very same
Crime I accuse everyone else
Being guilty of...
I scream...
THERE IS NO 'e' IN
JUDGEMENT!
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 8:55 AM UTC
When will we.. stop admiringly
distantly..
stop posting afar,
its impossible to try and reach a star,
But I can certainly shout
to the star above
conversate with it show it love.
In my heart and mind
sparkly hype find..
share my thoughts all in the blind.
A traveler at heart is mine....
I quickly rhyme...
yet truthful a blessed find..
I'll leave and stray away..
keep my attention far at bay...
Good day...hope you like it..
my paper plane..
sent to a moonlit sky..
Registered.. S.A.M _shardays_Copy Righted notes.
Jun 16, 2023
Jun 16, 2023 at 5:30 PM UTC
I feel my pretty child well Simply because there is a child inside me ... I feel every moment of my childhood Simply because it's a real thing ... I am still connected with my childhood's days Greatly and wonderfully Simply because I do not want to forget them ... I remember all those wonderful games I enjoyed with my playmates over there ... My mind stores all my Childhood's greatly and admiringly ... I live in my childhood and My childhood lives in me ... It's difficult to forget my pretty child Simply because if someone does not have A pretty childhood(past),then One's present and future will not be As great as one's past ....
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 7:55 AM UTC
My Night with Art Garfunkel
some years back wrote a poem titled
My Night with Paul Simon,^
so it seems that in time,
this his companion’s piece would find me,
reaching its own due date, the timing right,
indeed, perceived, by the muses
that this one, the poet who cannot sing,
needs urgently another soft poet’s voice,
to come to me at night, and so it came to pass last night
a regaler, the teller of tales, both of us looking admiringly upon what was our youthful appearance that only we see in a vintage Murano mirror
the where the why, no matter, just two NYC boys
in their declining years reminiscing about growing up
in Queens, telling tales with no need for exaggeration,
too old for that, for old men lying is always sadder than sad and the truthful stories are not stories, but harmonies
the voices are worn soft, the worse for wear, and the velveteen
is two shaded where usage has reduced the weave, and sunlight has discolored but not discouraged the aging agents
we exchange verses, the swapping of our ****** fluids,
I do not share my prior pope paul adventure,
a separate but now equalized recording
he signs his new book for me,
full of reminisce and new verses
and I am thinking
Art for art’s sake, or art for Art’s sake
or both
wistful higher and higher notes that can longer be reached
of no consequence,
for the body is the work and the work is from the body
let’s take a selfie I ask, but a polite demurral hints of better a preference remembrance of things the way they were, in the past, but I snap a quick photo and it resides on a Facebook entry, unless the muses deleted it without telling me
(which they do quite frequently,
hoarding the best I made all for their elusives elfish selfish-selves)^^
Dec 5, 2017 10:20pm
<•>
^
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/387251/my-night-with-paul-simon/
June 2013
^^
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/747333/the-elusives/
June 2014
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 5:19 AM UTC
The planet it wobbles a lonely path
On the background of distant stars
So constant and locked into their relative places-
They did seem so very happy.
It leaves its solemn red footprint
On the pitch black night
The astronomer's eye is caught by a passer-by.
Embarrassed at his distraction he turns back to his telescope
And cannot see the faded mark it left behind
Only the endless void
And he raps his knuckles on the railing wondering what he had been looking for.
And there is a glint of gold in the evening sky and blue smoke from a chimney-top
And the sharp-dressed men and women in their black jackets
Are too focused on the sidewalk
Cracked, Beige-gray,
It was recently cleaned for their viewing pleasure
And it leads them to their cubicles and coffee-shops.
And then their houses where they burn away the night in small silent hearths
And awake again the next morning with each minute planned ahead
Only to find out the schedule they had followed-
and adhered to the entire day-
Was not written for them
or for anyone
but just as another man's joke meant for nobody else to see
The toil she felt in the armchair constructed,
such a constant lock in place
that she collapsed
and they looked admiringly as she had worn herself out working hard at her job all day-
And I looked at the map scrawled at my feet in a different man's handwriting
"I'm lost," I said after a pause.
"I do feel rather lost"
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 12:51 AM UTC
You, a prepossessing rhapsody
beguiling in a sincere
bursting my day with melody
though you are in a silence
It's such a pleasure to hold
you, within an utter buoyancy
with you, I am literally told
not to rely on certainty
You, a vivid exquisite
I admiringly adore
with such a solemnity.
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 9:09 AM UTC
I summoned the devil
in all the coaxing dulcet tones of a lover
to make a little trade.
He appeared to reply
in something sounding suspiciously like amusement
that contrary to popular belief,
he did not buy souls.
Why, he wondered
would he bother with such trivial humanities?
so I plucked from my chest
the thing in question
that he might know
there are not so many stars in the sky
as neurons firing in my mind.
and I showed him exquisite pain
and deliriously beautiful sadness
anger so searing I shook to contain it
All the things a devil delights in
cannot be felt so deeply as by a soul
that has tasted misery again and again
and lived to wish to tell the tale.
He moaned in half-ecstasy
tones thick with desire
to name my price.
I asked only for peace at last
How cruel!
he cried, not un-admiringly
To make one long for something so desperately
and name a price they cannot pay.
For peace, he said
Can only be found through one's own demons
It comes from acceptance
of one's self entirely; not absence.
So I left,
having wrung good advice
from the devil himself.
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 10:11 PM UTC
Once upon a millenium
I scrawled in awkward letters
Straining for an undiscovered profundity
Not so different
From an upright creature
Some ages past
Who stroked upon
An empty page
With what he thought
Were poignant truths
And monumental metaphors
Like uprights love to leave
So as to titillate
Their future discoverers
While stretching unabashedly
To be a candidate
Future philosophers will doff
With certain validation
For unique truisms.....
I am recorded here
Wow, I said admiringly
To myself
In my true language
Hey, dat's sump'm
Eat ya heart out, Aris
Nov 10, 2010
Nov 10, 2010 at 6:39 AM UTC
My heart,
Is a jigsaw puzzle composed of
Pieces of souvenirs from wherever
Life has taken me
Sunny mounts of happiness,
Dark troughs of gloom,
Blind alleys of secret memories
Punched out remains
Of the parts that I gifted to
Those special few
Uneven buds added on
To the surface, because some gave me
Pieces of their hearts too
Marks of where it was trodden on,
Scars that show its
Brave, healed face
With pins of guilt and remorse
Studding it in memory of how
It also became the cause of others' pain
That's my heart. Not so pretty,
Not perfect, not pure,
Yet it sits in my chest, beating away
Patiently, as if entirely sure
That any moment, its wait will end
Of someone who'll admiringly
Imbibe all of its stories,
Ease away all the tense knots,
View in awe all its glories
And let its inadequacies depart,
Completing them with closeness-
Smoothening their unevenness-
By merging with them,
Heart to heart
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 6:23 AM UTC
He has a smile that
Mesmerizes,
Carefully hiding
The circles that form
Beneath his eyes.
He laughs like he
Doesn't feel hollow inside
But the sound never seems
To come out quite right
He lives
Like the silver moon,
In a midnight starlit sky.
Faces stare admiringly
Yet he always wonders why.
He only sees the shadows
Swimming before his face,
Never the light that he emits,
With unassuming grace.
He longs for
Constellations
But I am just one fleck
Of light amidst the darkness
That wraps around his neck
I feel his aching heart contract,
Encased in ice and stone
Oh, that I could be the warmth
That he has seldom known.
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 2:53 AM UTC
I dream of you, gazing admiringly in my direction.
I dream of you, hoping I will forever awake in your arms.
I dream of you, smiling softly in your sleep.
I dream of you and I, because in my dreams we live, in our own beautiful eternity...
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 10:46 PM UTC
Hair pony-tailed, tight up against my head
Almost as snug as us, supine in my bed
I am long past drifted
Dreams in and out sifted
Covers covered, pretenses shed
A chill brushed over me, sleepily
Eyes flutter open and admiringly
I gaze at you curled up next to me
Heart filled so full, busting at its seam
You are peacefully breathing, this is no dream
Blankets shuffled to your side
Undesiring to wake you, I quietly confide
"Baby, I'm a little bit cold"
Your eyes pop right open and you promptly fold
Me up in the blankets, you hold me so tight
I wish this is how I could spend every night
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 10:22 PM UTC
the type of love where i catch you staring at me. longingly. admiringly. the type of love i can feel, not only hear.
the type of love where i look over at you. my eyes become fixated. locked. my heart becomes warm. full. the type of love where i look at you. and i love you. i simply. i love you.
you meet my glance. with no words. you love me back. you love me back. you don’t even need to say.
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 6:33 PM UTC
As pleasant chatter echoed from within the coffee shop
I lurched backward at the kick of a scorching cappuccino to my lips,
Clumsily sloshing a few spiteful drops onto the beechwood table.
Reaching sheepishly towards the nearest napkin,
My gaze fell inadvertently in the direction of a
Comely young woman sitting alone at a nearby table,
And I immediately became possessed by her presence.
My hands reached for my backpack in animation,
Fiddling with the zipper and unearthing a spiral notebook,
Flipping anxiously to a blank page on which to draw.
It became apparent that I discovered a muse.
With her hair hanging loosely in caramel curls,
The girl stared at her novel in placid fixation,
Delicately perusing each word in hopes of
Absorbing each ambiguous connotation.
My pencil scampered fervently while she flipped a page,
Dipped her little finger into her petite cup,
Mingling the whipped cream and murky coffee,
And sampled her caffeine creation with a succinct sip.
Though I toiled with haste in fear that her attentive eyes might
Wander and spot me in my mad state of artistic enchantment,
I captured every angle and curvature of my subject in my notebook,
Once finished, I could not help but be in awe of the masterpiece I’d created.
After a hearty slurp of my now tamed cappuccino,
I held my drawing up to compare it to my muse,
But to my astonishment, she had disappeared.
Dainty fingers tapped friskily on my shoulder.
“Well done,” the girl quipped, analyzing my work admiringly,
Then snatching the notebook from my quivering hands
And replacing it with a crumpled napkin on which she
Had scribbled down the digits of a telephone number.
“See you this evening. Don’t be late!”
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 4:55 PM UTC
HER LIPS SPOKE OF
WISDOME FED BY SCIENCE BOOKS
AND HISTORY TEXT AND
PHILOSOPHY OF ASSUMPTIONS
CARRYING A STRICKING EYE
FOR STUDENTS THAT
WON'T SIT STILL
SHE CLAIMS SHE LIKE'S IT QUIET
DURING FREE TIME OF READING
BUT I'M STARING DOWN
AT TEEN MAGAZINS
CAUSE MICHAEL JACKSON
MAKES ME SHREEK IN MY SEAT
AND I SAY NOTHING NOR
READ NOTHING BUT
STARE
ADMIRINGLY AT HIS
PUZZLING FEATURES
THEN HER VOICE RISES OVER
MY HEAD LIKE FLYING BULLETS
MISSING MY BRAIN AND EYE SOCKETS
BUT SHE PLUNGED INTO MY EARS
LIKE THUNDER BULT AND LIGHTNING
AND MY SEAT WENT HOT
WHEN SHE STARED DOWN AT ME
HER WORDS CUDDLED UP
AGAINTS MY IGNORANCE
AS I FIGHT OFF THE BALANCE
SHE NEVER
OBTAINED TO
MAINTAINE
MY ATTENTION
ONLY FEAR
MY HEART POUNDING
!!!STARTLED!!!
AT HER
RATTLE SNAKE INTENSIONS
AND HER VENOMOUSE WORDS
FELL UPON MY
LOW IQ
SHAMED AT MY ABILITY
TO LEARN EVER SO SMALL
AND SHE COULDN'T MANAGE
TO STAND UP AGAINTS
MY DIFFICULT APPLE
BITTEN BY SO MANY
BITTEN AT THE BIRTH
AND EATEN BY THE BEAST
OF STUDENTS WHO
STAND EGO HIGH AGAINTS ME
TURNING HEADS AT ME
WITH A GLARE IN THEIR EYE
THAT ONLY HORROR MOVIES COULD DEPICT
SHE DECIDED TO
FAVOR
THE WIDTH
THE DISTANCE
AND
THE RISK
OF HAVING ME
HER STUDENT... AT ALL...
AND TELLS ME
"YOU WILL NEVER WIN,
BUT I WILL"
??????????
WHY MRS. ANDERSON...
WHAT EVER DID YOU MEAN BY THAT
23 YRS AGO I WANNA KNOW????????
BUT I COULDN'T CONCENTRATE
OR PAY YOU THE FAME
BECAUSE YOU STAND UP THERE
LIKE SOME PRESIDENT OFFERING
NO LESS THAN A TOOL
I CAN'T GET TO A HIGHER LEVEL
LIKE THE OTHER KIDS
FEELING LIKE A ROBOT
STANDING IN LINE TO EAT
STANDING IN LINE TO PLAY
RAISE MY HAND LIKE A CONVICT
TO GO TO THE BATHROOM
AS IF THIS WERE THE MALICHA OR
A **** OR NOZI OR HOW EVER YOU SPELL
THE **** NAME
CAUSE IT AIN'T ENGLISH
YOUR RING TONE PHONIC VOICE
RINGS IN MY EAR TO THIS DAY
AND YOUR PIERCING DULL BLUE EYES
IS ALL I NEVER WANT MY CHILD
TO HAVE AFTER ME
A TEACHER WHO THINKS
SHE IS THERE JUST TO BEAT DOWN
A CHILD
IN THIER MINDS.
© S.T. Rebel of Eden
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 11:12 PM UTC
The strands tangle and twist
As if my finger,
Is the center of a tiny universe
Of interlocking twining twirling black
With a simple twist and snap
Are ripped,
Star crossed lovers
Every Romeo to his Juliet
Are rip, rip, ri-torn apart
The hair from the hair tie
Yet,
Like tentacles clinging on
A stubborn slug, repulsive
Yet in an obscure manner
Admiringly persistent
It continues to hold on
Like a lizard regrows it’s tail
Impossible,
To truly chop off
So too does the hair insist
Upon an adamant refusal to separate
As if hair and tie are one
Interlocked
In a ferocious battle... Or,
Perhaps, a passionate embrace?
Are they one?
Whether it be so or not
I decide not to bother
Why, should I take up the mantle
Of the evil stepmother, wicked witch, cruel king...
You name it
To separate the two, lovers or competitors
They maybe
Why insist,
Upon what will never
Come true,
At least,
In the case of any proper Disney fairy tale
Is what I tell myself,
throwing down the hair tie
In favor of writing poetry about it
Feb 10, 2019
Feb 10, 2019 at 12:30 AM UTC
Lisa, a fellow freshman who lives in our neighbor suite, is a breathtaking beauty from New York - the kind of beauty that toppled ancient Greek empires - a sun-like beacon to the male *** Anna (one of my four suitemates) gasped and said, “The gods walk among us.” The first time we saw her at orientation.
If Lisa lays in one of the hammocks in the quad to study - in minutes there’ll be 10 guys doing athletic male things like throwing footballs and foot juggling fobs - anything olympian and roughly physical to show off and draw her interest.
Late one afternoon, Anna and I were studying and watching such a scene from a second floor patio garden. Sunny, (another of my suitemates) just returning from class, took in the scene. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.
“Are you smelling roses?” Anna observed.
“Better than roses,” Sunny said. Looking down at the preening guys. “They’re gorgeous,” she sighed, “Why can’t I have just ONE?”
“They’re already entranced.” Anna said, peering over her sunglasses.
“Awwww!” Sunny purred, “Look at the pretty one in the orange shorts.”
“Too late, I said, “she’s already culled him out from the herd.”
It was true, Lisa was slowly leading him away from the pack, spellbound.
“She’ll probably eat him.” I said.
“How does she DO that?” Anna asked admiringly.
“I don’t think she even tries - it’s probably pheromonal.” Sunny said ruefully.
Our envy isn’t raw enough to curdle into dislike - we agree that she doesn’t seem to TRY to be the center of attention - we just wonder where she finds the time for it all.
Oct 13, 2021
Oct 13, 2021 at 8:18 AM UTC
the type of love where i catch you staring at me. longingly. admiringly. the type of love i can feel, not only hear.
the type of love where i look over at you. my eyes become fixated. locked. my heart becomes warm. full. the type of love where i look at you. and i love you. i simply. i love you.
you meet my glance. with no words. you love me back. you love me back. you don’t even need to say.
Nov 23, 2016
Nov 23, 2016 at 3:22 AM UTC
Yiska wants to slit wrists
to shove handfuls of pills
down her throat
leap from the ledge
of the ward window
bang her head
against the door frame
until her head bleeds
I am not shocked
I have an underlining
admiration
of her dedication
to death of some sort
don't suppose
you have a razor blade?
she asks
no they don't allow
those in here
I say
we have to use
the well used
electric one
she walks across
from window to the door
of the locked ward
I walk beside her
I'd mouth pills
if I could get any
she says
locked up
I add
she pauses
I could try hang myself
from the pipe in the bog
like you did
she says
but all cords or belts
are now confiscated
once in here
and the nurses watch you
like hawks
some look like hawks
she says
I notice her anxiety
it sits in her
like a possession
like a demon
has taken over her
don't the pills
they give work?
no
she says walking again
twice you tried that
she says
hanging in bogs
what is the thing
about bog hanging?
I don't know
the solitude of the place
no one there with you
I was just lucky
that old boy noticed
and called the nurse
lucky?
Yiska says
well that time
else I wouldn't be here
talking to you
or the second time attempt
she says
we stop by the window
and stare out
at the snow on the fields
and trees
kind of pure isn't it
I say
unlike me
she mutters
it's cold out there
fancy getting out
and lying in a ditch
and wait to die of cold
she shivers
her pale blue nightgown
moves
her unslippered feet
look innocent
as children
there's always ECT
I say
she looks at me
didn't work
just a fecking headache
afterwards
she says
me too
I say
she peers at the snow
I read somewhere
of German soldiers
freezing to death
in Russia during WW2
some standing up solid
she says
almost admiringly
but I’m locked in here
not out there
she puts her forehead
on the window pane
I can smell her perfume
musky but out of place
and a haunted look
on her young pale face.
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 2:23 AM UTC
A friend made me remember a serious fact
That I'm usually bringing up the suffering of the past
I really needed this advice to wake me up
After I suffocated myself and ******* me up
I was hating myself for no reason
I actually did to me such betrayal and treason
The happiness left me since years ago
Stupid me I thought I just need to grow
But after time my dreams began to blow
Hearing an advice, such as take it slow
I couldn't bear my curiosity to know
What fate and destiny may show
I realized the truth at a late time
After I lost many dear people and my life's prime
I was living every day the same way trying to achieve fame
Hoping to hear people call admiringly my silly name
But I'm glad I'm still at the mercy of my god
Since I can reconcile with myself and make my family proud
Even if the critics of people become very loud
I will be patient and work my way even in a huge crowd
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 7:54 AM UTC
Lizzy, my dearest love story
My first love full of endless symphony
You and I shared a unique chemistry
A jewelry that spaerkled beautifully
You were, loving you was my sweetest melody
Your smile melted every sorrow uniquely
Admiringly, even through adversity
Your love brought sufficiency
My dearest mummy
Sadly, the illness grew alarmingly
And the future became seemingly
Thinner and vanished with an obituary
It's been five years since you passed on
At first it was hard to move on
But with God I managed to stand strong
With a woman of my own
Who's been there all along
I've never felt alone
Except when I visit my former home
Lizzy, I miss thee
Truthfully, I love you endlessly
And I miss you dearly
Yours truly
Your son Chris, you're missed daily
Feb 8, 2019
Feb 8, 2019 at 1:59 AM UTC