"advertise" poems
Mixing tea, let's say lavender with something as simple as milk
Must sound silly and weird at first glance, as both come with their
own tastes and flavors which seem to not match at all.
Even the most unmatching couple can find bliss, harmony and
perfection in their very relationship, however.
Such as for the tea;
The milk manages to soften, embrace, advertise the taste of lavender
while leaving a pleasant aftertaste which is alike a ghost poorly
detectable, but present nonetheless after all.
With some sugar to sweeten this experience, it becomes divine,
something I would never have thought of, of such an odd couple.
The image of the lavender becomes overdrawn by the milk,
Engaging in a pure, creamy, brief white which reflects light just
in a majestic sense.
This is a taste to become lost in whilst reading a book in the best
of lightings, together with someone who causes your heart to race
and just turn ablaze
~ Umi
Feb 6, 2018
Feb 6, 2018 at 2:25 PM UTC
288
I’m Nobody! Who are you?
Are you—Nobody—Too?
Then there’s a pair of us!
Don’t tell! they’d advertise—you know!
How dreary—to be—Somebody!
How public—like a Frog—
To tell one’s name—the livelong June—
To an admiring Bog!
18.4k
*Eyes..."the windows of the soul"
revealing all i am and are...
Layers of emotions
that show every battle scar.
With a phrase or harsh action
they may show such grief and pain.
Some often ignore the signs...
and just attack again.
They speak to you, succinctly
and can be an open book
If you would only take the time
to take a deeper look.
They soften when they fall in love
and sharpen to a lie
And tighten when duress is near
and narrow when they spy.
They widen when the wonders
of the world come into sight.
Then close when darkness falls
and just embrace the night.
They flinch when they are startled
and they smile when joy is near.
And lubricate themselves with tears
when losing someone dear.
If you should pay attention
to the billboard of the eyes.
They often tell the truth
and seldom falsely advertise.*
Jun 13, 2017
Jun 13, 2017 at 12:26 PM UTC
I stroke your skin like a leaf
and hold it up to the light,
allowing fingertips
to go slow from root to tip.
to sew the lining where two unlike materials meet.
to code this friction into tactile intuition...
And yet--
I am afraid.
With this and all acts of temptress divination.
I, I...am afraid.
I want to read our intersection.
I want
to see in your life-line.
myself.
First, I will find the highways of your pulse-
watch as they
give way to country roads.
Dissecting life-ways into bi-ways
where I can go slow from
root to tip.
rise
Feel the land
and fall.
from grass
to hallowed knoll-
Throw me dirt and blow out your windows.
Take me slow
down the side roads.
Next, I consult
the creases of your open fist.
Gone are the fine blue lines
-the tomographic
Heat, and its rhizomatic
beat.
Instead, you hold me in this underpass
[the clamminess and opposite-land of passion and speed]
where
[shadows cling and relationships keep].
You hold my hand.
To leave, and blast!
- to stay, I will need a map.
Hide me here long enough to find beauty
in the fine etched lines
that paint the walls in broad swoops of graffiti:
those cryptic tag-lines that advertise your witty, poetic celebrity.
from finger to wrist
arc
the to the thumb
the pulse that could run
on and on.
[our] distant reflection
-a mirage in the rising sun.
where
the earth line cuts off the air line
to fuse the heart- and the head
-line.
Jan 17, 2012
Jan 17, 2012 at 10:51 PM UTC
On his Screen the Three Milk Brothers display
Decision his only motive for Heart
But which the Upturned Hero gives away
That Love which Matters; And never Apart
Now see, where all this Comedy began
And Brothers the Trine Unity bepraise
This a Great Deed; No High-Chins in demand
That shows you are now but Human in base
Friend. If Fashion un-nominates you as one
Since Form the only thing they advertise
True Offer is Substance. Then I am done
And Motive the only Imposter precise.
Those Memories return. And now they Heal
That is Joy for you. That is Joy you Feel.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 2:50 AM UTC
You want a make out
Without a ring on it
You call it attractive
I call it infactuation
They call it seductive spirit
They just want the pudding
Bunch of irresponsibles
This kind goeth not away
But by fasting and prayer
A generation of sadomasochists
Bunch of nymphonaniacs
Do I look like a loose ball?
Even if I wanted to play
"Shoe get size, 'mbok'"
Open your legs at your peril
When it's time to settle down
Men look beyond beauty
Character and intelligence tops the list
Even love is not enough
When he is ready to "ring it"
Don't say I didn't tell
When you advertise your wares
Frontally and from behind
You attract what you represent
Men don't like exposed wares
If you cover it very well
They will pay fire to posses it
Trust me, I speak from experience
Queens of the night
Their office opens at night
Adorned in skimpy gowns, no brassiere
Sometimes, with their nieces knickers
Exposing all exposables
You attract what you are
You get what you desire
Do you have a banging body
With seductive shape
All you get is a one night stand
No one wants to marry an empty barrel
Before you open your legs
Please, open your sense
Do you understand?
Before I drop my pen
Please repeat after me
Lord, Jesus, I come to you today
As my personal Lord and saviour
Deliver me from seductive spirit
That I might be made whole
Write my name in the book of life
Thank you for saving me. Amen!
Dec 13, 2019
Dec 13, 2019 at 1:07 PM UTC
The bus rumbles on,
it is an over crowded one -
not an unusual sight -
she stands in the space
reserved for women,
there's hardly any room
to breathe.
The broadcaster on radio
shows off her gift of the gab,
a popular film song follows;
a gush of wind
through the window
brings along smoke, dust
and other such components
of 'city-air'.
She looks out to see
impressive malls,
entrances to which, witness
beggars pursuing well dressed gentry,
in the hope of a penny or two;
billboards advertise
latest discount offers
appealing to her consumerist instincts;
constant honking of vehicles,
music blaring from an auto nearby -
these are common sounds
she is accustomed to.
The bus halts with a jolt,
she steps down,
tries to make her way,
through the crowd
avoiding hawkers lunging at her
from every side,
eager to make sales;
the smell of
pakodas fills the air,
autos carrying seven or eight passengers
limp away, surreptitiously,
at the sight of khaki clad men.
Out of the blue,
an elbow knocks into her chest,
she turns to look at the lout -
lecherous eyes mock at her impotent fury -
she mouths standard abuses,
walks away as if unruffled.
For this was not the first instance,
"Won't be the last either.",
she thinks at the back of her mind,
her heart chooses not to agree though.
She moves on,
pushing, shoving, cursing
her way through
'Battleground India'.
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 3:08 AM UTC
I would be Concerned when you clicked your face,
Dotted with Spots hungry Mosquitoes bore
But why must you advertise such sad grace,
Your Promising Suave many Girls adore?
I told you to care for yourself once again
And preserve your Form from such Allergy
Lucky they found it Cute, and cried out: "Ben!
Come play with us. We won't find it Funny."
Don't Worry. They're Serious. Try to Believe
How your Charm treats you Special as you are
Look! Your Windows open. Ready to Give
That One Direction to your Guiding Star.
And this from him: Your Dad's Loving Light shine
Becomes the Best of YOU; His Heart in thine.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 11:20 PM UTC
Step 1 get money Step 2 repeat the first never get high on your own supply that'll buy you a hearse it hurts to have to hit the corner till dawn feed death to my people but I've never been underneath a steeple I couldn't afford the time only church I know is where I lay these rhymes I'll split the Indonesia with the dude who had a seizure I believe ya but the gat don't, so to insure my profits your brains will splat don't take it personal I'm just trying to survive until the sunrise I'm not legal but the streets always advertise I advise you to stay away from my path the ballad of a Hustler cut up into halves
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 11:50 PM UTC
One of the most abused gifts of life,
Even toothpaste commercials use it to advertise,
Brings pleasure whilst leaving others in deep strife,
Its one thing that creates soul ties,
It deserves more than just physical feelings to be undergone,
Though,it seems in this area we have chosen to be ignorant and to harden our hearts like stone,
As long as we satisfy our momental desires..
And when the deed is done,our conscience fights itself then retires..
It retires from caring who the deed is done with later on..
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 8:55 AM UTC
July 2000
Almost a ballerina but
She weighs three hundred pounds
And this world just won't accept
A ballerina that's soft and round
And she doesn't eat as much as
All the skinny girls would like to think
But then she doesn't bring it up in
Someone else's kitchen sink
Oh and this world is unfair
And this world is so unkind
Well if not in its deeds
Than at least in her mind
She's become the perfect victim
Because she never tries
So instead of a happy ending
Her dreams are pushed aside
Almost a heartbeat away from
The man she'd love to love
And if there were a heaven
She'd fit him like a glove
But he doesn't notice her beauty
So ample and so rare
So she figures if your not a rake
Then he don't even care
Oh and this world is unfair
And this world is so unkind
Well if not in its deeds
Than at least in her mind
She's become the perfect victim
Because she never tries
So instead of a happy ending
Her dreams are left behind
Almost a million miles from
The woman she'd like to be
And if she could only lose some weight
She knows she'd be happy
But she reads the signs that advertise
Be a new and thinner me
And she wonders if beauty is skin deep
Or is it just skinny
*(or is it something you feel inside
That some people just can't see)*
Jun 29, 2012
Jun 29, 2012 at 6:39 PM UTC
Anyway, it'd be cheaper if products didn't advertise
But, instead, they waste all that good money
to cloud our vision and stuff our ears
Just to inform in the Information Age, you think
But, really, it's to mold
Look at the Billions spent on psychologists
Don't be confused
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 5:03 PM UTC
You chose the Stage, a Water's Board extend
Which by it's Nature was meant for Sight's View
Yet this Binary Journal I resent
Your Box-Turtled yet Begraced Attitude
Of Purpose made, decide to Advertise
Should keep your Values so firm and intact
Easily submit, to Pressured Teen's size
And forsook Important Treasures extract
If you cannot keep the Job, then resign
Rather than waste Good and Honest Support
With Hooks on the way, hanging Love's design
Wrinkle her Face to your White-Washed Rapport.
I care not your ears waxed; Still this Scroll writes
To Care and Consider; Though this Praise bites.
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 1:23 AM UTC
you are a fool, Sophia. As I look up at these city lights, every neon sign seems to advertise you; they all remind me of what I'm missing out on. I pass strangers and hear them whispering your tender mercies: "so?" "fee" "ahhh..." I may be being quite forward so early on in our correspondences, but the theory that you are a scrap of paper that someone would allow to slip through their fingers is ridiculous to me. I say that because even after only meeting you once, by such a fortunate and faithful chance, I wanted to write screenplays, novellas, and entire manuscripts only based on how beautiful your name sounds when I say it. I will be absorbed in everything you admit me to learn about you. I only hope for your amusement when you discover my own scorched trails. I'm stupefied by your compliments, and I will catch every drop of your defrosting heart on my tongue. I felt so stupid but I beamed in pride seeing I could make you blush as pink as the roses on the bush behind you... such a delicate, feminine, sensitive color; white blossoming into red, purity blooming into passion. How I wish I could be the one to awaken a passion in you. I'm terribly sorry if I'm smothering, but you've an expert pen dipped in ink of naivety... in meeting you I crossed the border between respectable me and questionable sanity: the Sophia Line (your kiss would be turpentine, **** anything I used to be to become anything, everything you need from me). Ah... fee so... you've given me a lot to live up to. xo. Josephine.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 3:56 PM UTC
I've been going right on, page by page,
since we last kissed, two long dolls in a cage,
two hunger-mongers throwing a myth in and out,
double-crossing out lives with doubt,
leaving us separate now, fogy with rage.
But then I've told my readers what I think
and scrubbed out the remainder with my shrink,
have placed my bones in a jar as if possessed,
have pasted a black wing over my left breast,
have washed the white out of the moon at my sink,
have eaten The Cross, have digested its lore,
indeed, have loved that eggless man once more,
have placed my own head in the kettle because
in the end death won't settle for my hypochondrias,
because this errand we're on goes to one store.
That shopkeeper may put up barricades,
and he may advertise cognac and razor blades,
he may let you dally at Nice or the Tuileries,
he may let the state of our bowels have ascendancy,
he may let such as we flaunt our escapades,
swallow down our portion of whisky and dex,
salvage the day with some soup or some ***
juggle our teabags as we inch down the hall,
let the blood out of our fires with phenobarbital,
lick the headlines for Starkweathers and Specks,
let us be folk of the literary set,
let us deceive with words the critics regret,
let us dog down the streets for each invitation,
typing out our lives like a Singer sewing sublimation,
letting our delicate bottoms settle and yet
they were spanked alive by some doctor of folly,
given a horn or a dish to get by with, by golly,
exploding with blood in this errand called life,
dumb with snow and elbows, rubber man, a mother wife,
tongues to waggle out of the words, mistletoe and holly,
tables to place our stones on, decades of disguises,
wntil the shopkeeper plants his boot in our eyes,
and unties our bone and is finished with the case,
and turns to the next customer, forgetting our face
or how we knelt at the yellow bulb with sighs
like moth wings for a short while in a small place.
2k
The next time you want to ban
brown skin from your white land ,
consider the crimson floods spilt
on burnt clay from red flesh.
You want brownfolk in this country
like we wanted pox in our quilts.
As our history is ripped to tattered patches
and replaced by a white silken sheet.
But this is the land of the free
and this is the home of the brave.
And when I say brave
I don't mean that caricature
drawn on the front of a baseball jersey,
with buck teeth,
a bird feather
and a tomahawk motion.
I mean the brave souls
that took a last stand
against the Custers
and the Mayflowers
and colonial white powers.
I mean the Sitting Bulls and Geronimos
who’s histories are rewritten
in Old Spaghetti Westerns.
Where John Wayne is always the hero,
and our people aren’t even cast
to play our own roles.
Hollywood won't stoop to blackface
but red face is PC.
Perfect Aryan models advertise American Apparel,
one authentic-looking headdress
and fifty-dollar native design
crop top tank tops
are like spoils to the victor.
It's enough to make one sick.
This is America,
where they steal your culture
and sell it back to you
at ten times the price.
Those faux hide moccasins,
**** on old tradition,
turn centuries old struggle
into a fashion faux-pas.
I once had a conversation with a girl
whose skin was made of privilege.
She said, ”I thought Native Americans
wanted to live on reservations..?”
Let that resonate. Repeat.
as if we were getting a room
at the Four Seasons.
It was called the trail of tears
not the trail of whimsical wonder.
But in this white washed world
invasion is called settling
genocide is industry
and poverty is tax-free.
Our heritage is endangered,
our veins are booze-diluted
but at least we have those scholarships
which, I suppose, we’ll use
to cram our brains
with a history
that never belonged to us.
Perhaps, all of those centuries ago,
we should have thought to build a wall,
you know, to keep the immigrants out.
We could have stood at the border
with picket signs of self-deluded righteousness
lungs filled with hate
for a different colored human
shouting, "Go home, Alien,
your dreams are illegal here!"
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 9:42 AM UTC
It is not attention that I want
Nor attention that I crave
Disdain and pain are not to blame
For the way that I behave
I pantomime the life I want
I advertise the life I own
When inside my deep dark chamber
I find comfort being alone
By myself I still feel joyful
Reading, drinking coffee, or tea
The absence of friends, the feeling of loneliness
Had simply, never occurred to me
Instead I look forward to these solitary rituals
They come with no surprise
I admit I never foresaw
These tendencies becoming my demise
For I grow attached and bound
To my special time on my own
That it is not until I am in the company of friends
That I truly feel alone
A habit turned addiction is to blame for my disease
My loved ones on ground level as I swing from a trapeze
My loved ones all together
My trapeze floating in midair
They laugh and feel at rest
As I hang, alone, up there.
Jun 1, 2010
Jun 1, 2010 at 10:09 PM UTC
1288
Lain in Nature—so suffice us
The enchantless Pod
When we advertise existence
For the missing Seed—
Maddest Heart that God created
Cannot move a sod
Pasted by the simple summer
On the Longed for Dead
1.7k
advertising has changed so much
in capitalism,
it's a form of existentialism,
while the french philosophers
abstracted in coffee shops
english existentialism took to
constantly advertising people,
they're not cheese grins and tampons
and toilet product quickies...
they're literally full time adverts,
they do that thing called blogging in video...
it's a strange existentialism,
it's a plagiarism of c.c.t.v.,
the new medium of advertising requires
constant consumer surveillance with those clowns
getting gifts from companies, talking about
getting them and pushing them on...
advertisement literally became a movie picture
akin to Hollywood... the internet age
gave us advertisement actors who
advertise with so much existential angst they
have to encompass each and every day
as wroth advertising - and confuse people
with mundane issues akin to dentistry
and take-away menus that they're not doing...
what they're actually doing;
*a friend in need is a friend indeed,
a friend with **** is better,
a friend with ******* and all the rest
a friend who's dressed in leather...*
(placebo's pure morning).
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 7:54 PM UTC
Call it any name.
They still supply the same thing.
It's just the description of the rules that changed.
The Mistress.
The Other Woman.
The Prostitue.
They get paid in similar ways.
For the gifts that they exchange.
Comfort women.
An old trade that many doubt will go anywhere.
Men seeks them out.
Even if they don't advertise.
Men are pursuers of lust.
And the comfort women are the prize.
Money attracts.
Women gives back.
Men are fools.
And the comfort women are the tools.
We can arrest them.
We can expose them.
But at the end of the day.
They relaxed a man somewhere along the way.
Be it the businessman.
Be it the husband.
Or another woman's lover.
The comfort women knows all about them.
Some write books deleteing the names.
Just to protect the good name of the high powerful.
Who hides truth in many ways?
Soldiers been there.
Cowboys went too.
And I hate to say it.
Their biggest distractors the ministers too.
The one that suppose to put moral values in you.
Which proves many aren't better then us.
Yes, comfort women.
Doing the same thing that women in marriages does.
We should act better.
Except, we be only fooling ourselves.
Cause the athletes used money to attract the women they have.
No play.
If you can't pay.
We can hide behind lies.
It's just the truth says so much more.
Comfort women.
If they did it by their own accord.
Then we shouldn't judge them too harsh.
For, to the man they was comfort women of joy.
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 9:44 AM UTC
Tell me about your open ended hate for me;
scream it, write it, spell it out, think it.
Destroy my name and my image,
burn a hole in your mind and heart where I lay.
Tell me how i ruined your life,
spit in my face, hit me.
throw my favourite book in the fire,
burn all the photos we took together.
Show me what a monster I am,
make me hate me as much as you do.
Tattoo it on your forehead to show the world,
hey, why don't you just advertise it on tv?
I will stand and take it,
with pride and acceptance with one condition;
Just please;
don’t forget my name,
don’t forget that you once cared,
what that love felt like.
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 12:37 PM UTC
Have you ever had the urge to
**** someone. Perhaps that awkward ex-wife or the bullying supervisor
or maybe you just want to speed up a long awaited inheritance. If you
have any of the before mentioned reasons or one of many more, then this
book is for you. Some of the things you will read may sound a bit on the
obvious side but this publication is designed at the total beginner so
please work with us on this.
Chapter one.... Who to **** and how to Prepare.
Chapter two.... Choosing a method that is right for you.
Chapter three... Tools needed for the job and how to acquire them.
Chapter four.... How to build a great and believable aliby.
Chapter five.... Building a portfolio: for those who would like to make the step up to mass ******
Through
these and many other brilliantly described chapters you will get in
depth and easy to understand instructions. All from a varied range of
killers from all over the globe. Here is a little taster as to what you
can expect.
After you have chosen your first victim the first
thing you will need to do is develop a pattern. You will need to watch
them for this but please do note that you will need to consider some
things.
1. You do not want to advertise the fact that you
are stalking your potential candidate, so keeping at a safe distance is
to be advised. Do not be obvious in your choice of dress and always mark
any area with CCTV, not forgetting that a lot of stores these days have
these.
2. The location is important, you need to be somewhere
where you will not be interrupted, you don't want Joe public stepping in
and ruining your first project.
3. When you have completed
your first ****** these tips will instruct you on the practical side of:
Dismemberring, Disposal and Concealing the body.
4. Making the perfect escape from the scene.
Don't delay get your copy now, only $5.99
Order within 10 days and get Absolutely Free. The Dummy's Guide to Tax Dodging.
Order Online at www.sillybugger.com
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 6:16 PM UTC
I can see through your eyes
Dark pigment
Surrounded by a colorless horizon
Lids and lashes act as curtains
But as you become surprised they rise
...
Your eyes are wide
The reflection I get makes me think that I'm in the picture
But reality tell me that everyone else sees themselves within you
I can see through your eyes , but I can't tell who you're looking forward to
Contenders
Applicants
Aspirants
Do we all make your eyes sparkle or is that just the only thing that divorces me from the other prospects?
The other prospects keep looking just as I do, so I know that it is something that they want
...Your eyes
Your eyes become my shining gold when your cheeks elevate and suppress , leaving wrinkles right next
Your upside down rainbow, I mean ... your smile
So kaleidoscopic and polychromatic
Dynamic and emphatic
What creature wouldn't be attracted?
...
Umm
Whatever natural specimen with a good sight that can see through your eyes.
Someone with similar vision, but nonidentical decisions to I
I know your smile is moody
Your heart is choosy
And your eyes are gluey
And yet I dissociate myself from your gallery
Believing some day that you'll just shut your eyes and become blind to all the other guys
How do I disregard the signs that I'm instructed while seeing through your eyes
The signs that show me how you flourish off of all the concentration that you get
I'm posing inside of a picture that I know is framed by faces that do not have placement
Your art steadily draws attention
so as soon as you get glimpses
You start your bidding
Your craft is so worthy but so inexpensive
As if you put your body up for sale and mark down the price, only to stay top seller to the cheap consumers
How do you allow to have a allowance upon yourself; moreover, place yourself on clearance
The real question is why do I window shop knowing that the quality of the product is so unreliable
I don't think I really wanna see, what I really see when looking through your eyes
Wishing you weren't so prideful about your high demand of men
If yu weren't so disdainful maybe you'll blink more often and try to
Shun from keeping eye contact with me
Instead you proudly advertise yourself as the best deal yet
I hate that I can see through your eyes
Because I hate to witness a beautiful woman with such a bargaining mind
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 6:03 PM UTC