"agatha" poems - Hello Poetry

"agatha" poems

"I KNEW a real man once," says Agatha in the splendor of a shagbark hickory tree. Did a man touch his lips to Agatha? Did a man hold her in his arms? Did a man only look at her and pass by? Agatha, far past forty in a splendor of remembrance, says, "I knew a real man once."

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"I KNEW a real man once," says Agatha in the splendor of a shagbark hickory tree. Did a man touch his lips to Agatha? Did a man hold her in his arms? Did a man only look at her and pass by? Agatha, far past forty in a splendor of remembrance, says, "I knew a real man once."

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Trolling Amazon I found my inner Kurtz Harrison foreswore my bear totem: darkness Lady gal pal taught me soul-mating hurts Martha Muffins vinyl v. Kirby’s Agatha Harkness Saved my twins made them productive Mutating FF X to Avengers indie 80s on me take Man-starring all the boogie children say code this grandpa Gaiman Miller Moore Morrison invade Waid Wrightson Kaluta Jones Smith put bronze to paint McKean Sienkiewicz Mack Maleev mimic The Studio Now let’s gallery our portals strung from kid dimensions Makers engaging history NOW NEW 52 intervals starstruck Spread indie throughout known multiverse in craft crooks While nursing nannies coddle light corners scuttling roaches Bell & Schrödinger's cat transport trainspotting to a fine art

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Oct 5, 2014

Oct 5, 2014 at 12:03 AM UTC

Eureka a-ha Pop

Trolling Amazon I found my inner Kurtz Harrison foreswore my bear totem: darkness Lady gal pal taught me soul-mating hurts Martha Muffins vinyl v. Kirby’s Agatha Harkness Saved my twins made them productive Mutating FF X to Avengers indie 80s on me take Man-starring all the boogie children say code this grandpa Gaiman Miller Moore Morrison invade Waid Wrightson Kaluta Jones Smith put bronze to paint McKean Sienkiewicz Mack Maleev mimic The Studio Now let’s gallery our portals strung from kid dimensions Makers engaging history NOW NEW 52 intervals starstruck Spread indie throughout known multiverse in craft crooks While nursing nannies coddle light corners scuttling roaches Bell & Schrödinger's cat transport trainspotting to a fine art

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Oh, Prue she has a patient man, And Joan a gentle lover, And Agatha’s Arth’ is a hug-the-hearth,— But my true love’s a rover! Mig, her man’s as good as cheese And honest as a briar, Sue tells her love what he’s thinking of,— But my dear lad’s a liar! Oh, Sue and Prue and Agatha Are thick with Mig and Joan! They bite their threads and shake their heads And gnaw my name like a bone; And Prue says, “Mine’s a patient man, As never snaps me up,” And Agatha, “Arth’ is a hug-the-hearth, Could live content in a cup,” Sue’s man’s mind is like good jell— All one color, and clear— And Mig’s no call to think at all What’s to come next year, While Joan makes boast of a gentle lad, That’s troubled with that and this;— But they all would give the life they live For a look from the man I kiss! Cold he slants his eyes about, And few enough’s his choice,— Though he’d slip me clean for a nun, or a queen, Or a beggar with knots in her voice,— And Agatha will turn awake While her good man sleeps sound, And Mig and Sue and Joan and Prue Will hear the clock strike round, For Prue she has a patient man, As asks not when or why, And Mig and Sue have naught to do But peep who’s passing by, Joan is paired with a putterer That bastes and tastes and salts, And Agatha’s Arth’ is a hug-the-hearth,— But my true love is false!

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Edna St. Vincent Millay

She Is Overheard Singing

Oh, Prue she has a patient man, And Joan a gentle lover, And Agatha’s Arth’ is a hug-the-hearth,— But my true love’s a rover! Mig, her man’s as good as cheese And honest as a briar, Sue tells her love what he’s thinking of,— But my dear lad’s a liar! Oh, Sue and Prue and Agatha Are thick with Mig and Joan! They bite their threads and shake their heads And gnaw my name like a bone; And Prue says, “Mine’s a patient man, As never snaps me up,” And Agatha, “Arth’ is a hug-the-hearth, Could live content in a cup,” Sue’s man’s mind is like good jell— All one color, and clear— And Mig’s no call to think at all What’s to come next year, While Joan makes boast of a gentle lad, That’s troubled with that and this;— But they all would give the life they live For a look from the man I kiss! Cold he slants his eyes about, And few enough’s his choice,— Though he’d slip me clean for a nun, or a queen, Or a beggar with knots in her voice,— And Agatha will turn awake While her good man sleeps sound, And Mig and Sue and Joan and Prue Will hear the clock strike round, For Prue she has a patient man, As asks not when or why, And Mig and Sue have naught to do But peep who’s passing by, Joan is paired with a putterer That bastes and tastes and salts, And Agatha’s Arth’ is a hug-the-hearth,— But my true love is false!

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The wait has been long Two weeks and counting As everyday passes You tell yourself to be patient And do your work calmly As though everything is all right As the minutes turn to hours Hours turn to days And days turn to weeks But still nothing happens No message from your bank No credit added to your account Same old excuses given Your resolve can no longer hold Your steely focus falters You make mistakes That you would not have made Even in your wildest dreams Every hurdle looks insurmountable The commute to office Suddenly seems like a marathon You lash out at strangers Over matters as mundane As your typing speed At home, you drown yourself In Agatha Christie's finest ****** mysteries Forgetting that you have to sleep Just reading and reading To escape from the mad world around you Till your eye muscles scream in protest You clench your fists Flex your muscles And sharpen your teeth As the devil awakens inside you Ready to pounce on your master And seek divine retribution For making you wait so long And denying you What is rightfully yours

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Jul 18, 2018

Jul 18, 2018 at 11:12 AM UTC

Ashwinkumar1989

The wait has been long

The wait has been long Two weeks and counting As everyday passes You tell yourself to be patient And do your work calmly As though everything is all right As the minutes turn to hours Hours turn to days And days turn to weeks But still nothing happens No message from your bank No credit added to your account Same old excuses given Your resolve can no longer hold Your steely focus falters You make mistakes That you would not have made Even in your wildest dreams Every hurdle looks insurmountable The commute to office Suddenly seems like a marathon You lash out at strangers Over matters as mundane As your typing speed At home, you drown yourself In Agatha Christie's finest ****** mysteries Forgetting that you have to sleep Just reading and reading To escape from the mad world around you Till your eye muscles scream in protest You clench your fists Flex your muscles And sharpen your teeth As the devil awakens inside you Ready to pounce on your master And seek divine retribution For making you wait so long And denying you What is rightfully yours

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6:45, this sounds a bit Agatha Christie as if the 45 is out to get me and the 6 being an innocent bystander had a gander anyway. Well whadaya know Cockney rhyming gets in on the show. Goosey, Goosey where's our Lucy did Desi get his bride? Okey choke me Arbroath smokies, I love a bit of fish I wish I wish and then I pop will wishing ever make me stop? Going down to Chinatown A west end luxury Peeking at a Peking duck Which will in turn, turn around to be a chicken.

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Jan 9, 2016

Jan 9, 2016 at 2:07 AM UTC

john-edward-smallshaw

6:45, this sounds a bit Agatha Christie as if the 45 is out to get me and the 6 being an innocent bystander had a gander anyway. Well whadaya know Cockney rhyming gets in on the show. Goosey, Goosey where's our Lucy did Desi get his bride? Okey choke me Arbroath smokies, I love a bit of fish I wish I wish and then I pop will wishing ever make me stop? Going down to Chinatown A west end luxury Peeking at a Peking duck Which will in turn, turn around to be a chicken.

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FEW POETIC REFLECTIONS ON OLD AGE Dear Poet Friends, after a long break, I have composed a few lines as a very senior citizen and a lover of poetry. If you like the same, kindly Re-post this poem for wider circulation. Thanks and best wishes, - Raj Nandy of New Delhi. It has been often been said that old age is that period of life, When all bad habits are given up on doctor’s advice, And yet you don’t feel all that good while you survive! Yet I do try to take some solace from Robert Browning’s poem ‘Rabbi Ben Ezra’ which says;- ‘’Grow old along with me! For the best is yet to be, The last of life, for which the first was made.’’ Despite my grey hairs and wrinkled face, With creaking joints and scattered aches and pains, ‘’Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing For every tatter in its mortal dress’’, In thanks giving to the Lord and sings his praise; As I recall WB Yeats’ ‘Sailing Byzantium’, - that lovely poem from my college days. As our biological clock continues to tick incessantly, Getting older becomes compulsory. But becoming Wiser in wrinkled years remains optional, A choice our free will has the opportunity to make! I recall what Agatha Christie had once said, That an archaeologist is the best husband a woman can get, For the older she gets, the more interested in her he becomes; With due respect to our women whose age is impolite not ask. Here I recall what the Pulitzer Prize winner Robert Frost had once said, That a diplomat is a man who always remembers a woman’s birthday and not her age. I recall the observation of Sartre the famous French philosopher who had said, That more sand that escapes from the hourglass of our life, The clearer we should see through it as a blessing of time! It is true that we live in deeds, not in years; in thoughts, not breaths; In feelings, not in figures on a dial, - as James Bailey had said. I finally conclude by quoting the first stanza from ‘Beautiful Old Age’ by DH Lawrence; ‘’It ought to be lovely to be old To be full of the peace that comes of experience And wrinkled ripe fulfilment.’’ -Raj Nandy of New Delhi.

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Dec 19, 2019

Dec 19, 2019 at 11:04 AM UTC

ON BLESSINGS OF OLD AGE !

FEW POETIC REFLECTIONS ON OLD AGE Dear Poet Friends, after a long break, I have composed a few lines as a very senior citizen and a lover of poetry. If you like the same, kindly Re-post this poem for wider circulation. Thanks and best wishes, - Raj Nandy of New Delhi. It has been often been said that old age is that period of life, When all bad habits are given up on doctor’s advice, And yet you don’t feel all that good while you survive! Yet I do try to take some solace from Robert Browning’s poem ‘Rabbi Ben Ezra’ which says;- ‘’Grow old along with me! For the best is yet to be, The last of life, for which the first was made.’’ Despite my grey hairs and wrinkled face, With creaking joints and scattered aches and pains, ‘’Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing For every tatter in its mortal dress’’, In thanks giving to the Lord and sings his praise; As I recall WB Yeats’ ‘Sailing Byzantium’, - that lovely poem from my college days. As our biological clock continues to tick incessantly, Getting older becomes compulsory. But becoming Wiser in wrinkled years remains optional, A choice our free will has the opportunity to make! I recall what Agatha Christie had once said, That an archaeologist is the best husband a woman can get, For the older she gets, the more interested in her he becomes; With due respect to our women whose age is impolite not ask. Here I recall what the Pulitzer Prize winner Robert Frost had once said, That a diplomat is a man who always remembers a woman’s birthday and not her age. I recall the observation of Sartre the famous French philosopher who had said, That more sand that escapes from the hourglass of our life, The clearer we should see through it as a blessing of time! It is true that we live in deeds, not in years; in thoughts, not breaths; In feelings, not in figures on a dial, - as James Bailey had said. I finally conclude by quoting the first stanza from ‘Beautiful Old Age’ by DH Lawrence; ‘’It ought to be lovely to be old To be full of the peace that comes of experience And wrinkled ripe fulfilment.’’ -Raj Nandy of New Delhi.

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and now you're singing karaoke... so ha ha and Kyoto. and this is the part where i tell you i love you? it sounds like it's the part where i **** your dog off and laugh; or maybe that's the part where i say i'm scooch-peppery-ish! tangy! mm hmm! solid gold worth's an advert! aha, Elvis just rolled up his sleeves! while Shoon can-can the worthy, sire nigh nigh the knighted made speeches at a royal funeral that made 20 kings abdicate, we all thought of Monaco and Senna... lipstick Helsinki... crisscross Albania and: Waterloo... when Napoleon sniffed glue... oh Waterloo! i too built Stockholm in a day, based on the pop culture of Europe casually so. but indeed Sean, the flowery basin of all that's Essex, Sussex and Kent, i.e. Scottish, show... i'm ashoored it'sh Shcandinavian cartoon or at least halfwit Belgian with the moustache, dumb-flicked Hercules Poirot... authored by a nagging Agatha Christensen.

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Jun 16, 2016

Jun 16, 2016 at 11:34 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

western conquest of communism

and now you're singing karaoke... so ha ha and Kyoto. and this is the part where i tell you i love you? it sounds like it's the part where i **** your dog off and laugh; or maybe that's the part where i say i'm scooch-peppery-ish! tangy! mm hmm! solid gold worth's an advert! aha, Elvis just rolled up his sleeves! while Shoon can-can the worthy, sire nigh nigh the knighted made speeches at a royal funeral that made 20 kings abdicate, we all thought of Monaco and Senna... lipstick Helsinki... crisscross Albania and: Waterloo... when Napoleon sniffed glue... oh Waterloo! i too built Stockholm in a day, based on the pop culture of Europe casually so. but indeed Sean, the flowery basin of all that's Essex, Sussex and Kent, i.e. Scottish, show... i'm ashoored it'sh Shcandinavian cartoon or at least halfwit Belgian with the moustache, dumb-flicked Hercules Poirot... authored by a nagging Agatha Christensen.

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If I was a witch I would split the Earth thousands of miles away into good and bad and **** the oppressed. If I was a witch I would see red rats gnawing week old carcasses and talk to house cats. If I was a witch I would ask a cat Can you help me summon the ****** or a demon engulfed in fire red as rats? If I was a witch the cat would answer Sure, would you prefer Lucifer or Volond? Perhaps ****** or Old Scratch? If I was a witch I would not care what a devil or demon spoke to me or how hot his igneous breathe was when he said I'll help you take Salem one farmer at a time. If I was a witch I would change my name from Tituba to Agatha and boil broth morning sunset to night sunrise.

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Oct 5, 2010

Oct 5, 2010 at 10:45 AM UTC

As a Woman in Salem

If I was a witch I would split the Earth thousands of miles away into good and bad and **** the oppressed. If I was a witch I would see red rats gnawing week old carcasses and talk to house cats. If I was a witch I would ask a cat Can you help me summon the ****** or a demon engulfed in fire red as rats? If I was a witch the cat would answer Sure, would you prefer Lucifer or Volond? Perhaps ****** or Old Scratch? If I was a witch I would not care what a devil or demon spoke to me or how hot his igneous breathe was when he said I'll help you take Salem one farmer at a time. If I was a witch I would change my name from Tituba to Agatha and boil broth morning sunset to night sunrise.

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How weird I am here and you don’t know it. Sleeping they say, in a better place. George on my right has been gone for years, even the flowers all brown gave up God knows when. I wonder if you knew your neighbours before the batteries stopped. Did Edith know Agatha? Did Frank chat over the fence? Chris was seventy-two, moved here mid-nineties when I couldn’t yet hold a pen. Now just a name on a slab of stone. There’s a spot near a tree, no stone no dirt. I think ‘that’ll be fine, a place by myself.’ I shake my head. They’ll stick me somewhere else. These aisles go on and on, one giant Tesco, nobody at the tills. If you could speak, the stories I’d hear, the chapters spilling out like salt from a shaker. But you can’t talk and I can only walk past and wonder how you went.

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Nov 10, 2013

Nov 10, 2013 at 4:27 PM UTC

reece-aj-chambers

Going Underground

How weird I am here and you don’t know it. Sleeping they say, in a better place. George on my right has been gone for years, even the flowers all brown gave up God knows when. I wonder if you knew your neighbours before the batteries stopped. Did Edith know Agatha? Did Frank chat over the fence? Chris was seventy-two, moved here mid-nineties when I couldn’t yet hold a pen. Now just a name on a slab of stone. There’s a spot near a tree, no stone no dirt. I think ‘that’ll be fine, a place by myself.’ I shake my head. They’ll stick me somewhere else. These aisles go on and on, one giant Tesco, nobody at the tills. If you could speak, the stories I’d hear, the chapters spilling out like salt from a shaker. But you can’t talk and I can only walk past and wonder how you went.

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Many a times, when I am alone I just find myself thinking of the fun Collecting pouring water, drenching in the rain Sailing my paper boats in the small drain Catching frogs from puddles of water, in matchboxes And throwing them on young and old with giggles and smiles Smearing the silver, golden color on my friends Of the butterflies that we picked in the sunny garden Feasting on dollops of homemade icecreams and chuskies (ice lollies) Listening to stories of kings n demons by granny How could I forget that fight with parents To stay awake all night during summer or winter break To watch uncountable movies on the rented video player Or to read Agatha Christie, Enid Blyton in just one sitting There was a different story all the time for each of my tantrums and fantasies alike And a unique reason for enjoying every season Oh! How I wish I could have a time machine To take me back to my childhood innocence I really miss being a little kid O my Lord! With no stress, worries or care in the world...!!! © Neeloo 'NeelPari'

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Sep 26, 2018

Sep 26, 2018 at 9:54 AM UTC

neeloo-neelpari

Many a times, when I am alone I just find myself thinking of the fun Collecting pouring water, drenching in the rain Sailing my paper boats in the small drain Catching frogs from puddles of water, in matchboxes And throwing them on young and old with giggles and smiles Smearing the silver, golden color on my friends Of the butterflies that we picked in the sunny garden Feasting on dollops of homemade icecreams and chuskies (ice lollies) Listening to stories of kings n demons by granny How could I forget that fight with parents To stay awake all night during summer or winter break To watch uncountable movies on the rented video player Or to read Agatha Christie, Enid Blyton in just one sitting There was a different story all the time for each of my tantrums and fantasies alike And a unique reason for enjoying every season Oh! How I wish I could have a time machine To take me back to my childhood innocence I really miss being a little kid O my Lord! With no stress, worries or care in the world...!!! © Neeloo 'NeelPari'

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i guess you can only become a poet after having read the brothers karamazov, bolesław prus’ lalka, don quixote, the critique of pure reason kierkegaards’s either / or, russell’s the history of western philosophy... i can’t think of any other way... otherwise you’ll be in the itchy fingers pile of ‘she said, with expressionless mutation how good it was to burn the bridges of madison county and start a cannibalistic ***** colony.’ (wait a minute darwin, why aren’t any eskimos blonde? it’s north enough for them to be bleached scandinavian.)

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Oct 11, 2015

Oct 11, 2015 at 1:35 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

poets tend to read more than agatha cristie

i guess you can only become a poet after having read the brothers karamazov, bolesław prus’ lalka, don quixote, the critique of pure reason kierkegaards’s either / or, russell’s the history of western philosophy... i can’t think of any other way... otherwise you’ll be in the itchy fingers pile of ‘she said, with expressionless mutation how good it was to burn the bridges of madison county and start a cannibalistic ***** colony.’ (wait a minute darwin, why aren’t any eskimos blonde? it’s north enough for them to be bleached scandinavian.)

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I never lied to my ex girlfriends. They were the cross and I was jesus christ. They were like wine, red church wine. Now to them im like a satil loaf of bread. They turned me into sour wine not viseversa. I never snuck out to get drunk at the bar. They were always asleep when I came home. They were hopelessly in love witm me. Now im watching the final temptation of christ all alone. Please forgive me : Agatha, Linda, Zoey, Jesika & tina. Betty, cindy, linda & edna. Angie, sandra & pam & stormy & Bethany Most of all forgive me for what I dont remember. I didnt make up anything when I was around the guys. my exgirlfriends knew Half of it wasnt true. But Bill, Tyler, Donald, George, greg, Tim, and frank. All know the other half wasnt fake.

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Oct 18, 2013

Oct 18, 2013 at 6:24 AM UTC

I never lied to my Girlfriends

I never lied to my ex girlfriends. They were the cross and I was jesus christ. They were like wine, red church wine. Now to them im like a satil loaf of bread. They turned me into sour wine not viseversa. I never snuck out to get drunk at the bar. They were always asleep when I came home. They were hopelessly in love witm me. Now im watching the final temptation of christ all alone. Please forgive me : Agatha, Linda, Zoey, Jesika & tina. Betty, cindy, linda & edna. Angie, sandra & pam & stormy & Bethany Most of all forgive me for what I dont remember. I didnt make up anything when I was around the guys. my exgirlfriends knew Half of it wasnt true. But Bill, Tyler, Donald, George, greg, Tim, and frank. All know the other half wasnt fake.

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Ten years to the day Waves crashed like gongs And the sirens played In the froth singing their songs Nightingale lady Nothing is ever ok The pressing of power takes me away And there is no way I can stay A breath of fresh air takes her To a place of sin and cater Cold blooded wind weaves through her hair Holding five cards, she shows a pair Now take my hand And show no fear in your face For the lace that I have given you Is not dark purple, but burgundy blue These windows are fogged up No one around here knows my name Across the yard, the rivers are boiling As lover's intertwined clash in coiling Take your time with your hasty prayers Keep your head down to avoid their stares My shoes are shined and my watch is whined Through the fog, the sun shines through the pines Emptying courage from my flask I see no face that I can ask The time, the place, the hour to meet A lover who said I was hers to keep Agatha parsley trees burnt by ember All eyes fall on the coming month of September Wishes fall from the sky like rain As the cackling **** spins his golden cane

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Jan 12, 2014

Jan 12, 2014 at 10:00 PM UTC

Sun Through the Palm Trees

Ten years to the day Waves crashed like gongs And the sirens played In the froth singing their songs Nightingale lady Nothing is ever ok The pressing of power takes me away And there is no way I can stay A breath of fresh air takes her To a place of sin and cater Cold blooded wind weaves through her hair Holding five cards, she shows a pair Now take my hand And show no fear in your face For the lace that I have given you Is not dark purple, but burgundy blue These windows are fogged up No one around here knows my name Across the yard, the rivers are boiling As lover's intertwined clash in coiling Take your time with your hasty prayers Keep your head down to avoid their stares My shoes are shined and my watch is whined Through the fog, the sun shines through the pines Emptying courage from my flask I see no face that I can ask The time, the place, the hour to meet A lover who said I was hers to keep Agatha parsley trees burnt by ember All eyes fall on the coming month of September Wishes fall from the sky like rain As the cackling **** spins his golden cane

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Agatha Christie audiobook drifts out across the dark room all she can think of is of the one o' clock shipping news, a swaying, seasick tune calling to far off boats & sailors adrift alone somewhere thinking of their homes a cold beer, she thinks will do she would be writing but no words come she draws the duvet cover closer round her shoulders her lover's ghost watches her silently

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Sep 4, 2015

Sep 4, 2015 at 11:33 PM UTC

dreams-of-sepia

Agatha Christie audiobook drifts out across the dark room all she can think of is of the one o' clock shipping news, a swaying, seasick tune calling to far off boats & sailors adrift alone somewhere thinking of their homes a cold beer, she thinks will do she would be writing but no words come she draws the duvet cover closer round her shoulders her lover's ghost watches her silently

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kuşların senfonik tweet’lerini banlıyor çirkin martı vaazları ve çatlak sürahiden sızan su gibi kafam bi milyon bugün koca götlü martha ile kocası solucan fred balkonda çiçeklere spa bakımı yaparken akşamdan kalan jack daniels’ın son nefesini yudumluyorum akşama parti var lacivert smo çok mu havalı olur bilemiyorum tırt mı kaçar blue jean gömlek beyaz nike nazar geliyo hep ona hiç gitmediğim halde peşimi bırakmıyor yaşlı bunak dişi ceylanların skimoske beni yakalayamaz ki bakışlarını meşgule veriyorum eleği duvarda hızlı bir uncu olarak çünkü son romanımla meşgulüm eften, püften çatı çığlığımda agatha sürmenaj geçiriyor parmakladığım her bir tuşta sahi ben de, merak ediyorum katil kim? akışına bıraktım hikayeyi oradan oraya sürüklüyor robotron adlı haspa akşama sarkıyor gün vantuzlamak için kestane yanığı batım dudakları ve artık uçan tenekemi almalıyım rot balanstan belki birlikte intihar ederiz kim bilir..

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May 23, 2019

May 23, 2019 at 3:38 AM UTC

kuşların senfonik tweet’lerini banlıyor çirkin martı vaazları ve çatlak sürahiden sızan su gibi kafam bi milyon bugün koca götlü martha ile kocası solucan fred balkonda çiçeklere spa bakımı yaparken akşamdan kalan jack daniels’ın son nefesini yudumluyorum akşama parti var lacivert smo çok mu havalı olur bilemiyorum tırt mı kaçar blue jean gömlek beyaz nike nazar geliyo hep ona hiç gitmediğim halde peşimi bırakmıyor yaşlı bunak dişi ceylanların skimoske beni yakalayamaz ki bakışlarını meşgule veriyorum eleği duvarda hızlı bir uncu olarak çünkü son romanımla meşgulüm eften, püften çatı çığlığımda agatha sürmenaj geçiriyor parmakladığım her bir tuşta sahi ben de, merak ediyorum katil kim? akışına bıraktım hikayeyi oradan oraya sürüklüyor robotron adlı haspa akşama sarkıyor gün vantuzlamak için kestane yanığı batım dudakları ve artık uçan tenekemi almalıyım rot balanstan belki birlikte intihar ederiz kim bilir..

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What if I love you, Ms. V? It will make me shine like the Sun Never again, will I be alone My heart will beat at the speed of an aeroplane Like a top, will my brain spin Like a flower, will my face bloom And from ear to ear, will I beam! What if I love you, Ms. V? Talk for hours and hours, we can About any topic under the Sun Be it Harris Jayaraj music Or Indian or international politics Or chicken vs mutton Or travelling in trains And can I go on and on Trust me, never will I get bored Of course, neither will you get bored I will make sure of that No matter what!! What if I love you, Ms. V? A shoulder for you to cry on, will I be With anything and everything, can you trust me I keep secrets As well as Hercule Poirot connects the dots In any Agatha Christie ****** mystery And never will I be in a hurry So, you can take your own sweet time to open up Or for that matter, can you yap and yap And I won't mind a bit After all, every single relationship requires a lot of effort!! What If I love you, Ms. V? For you, am I ready to change anything To ensure you keep smiling Just not my character or nature, of course To do anything for you, am I not averse Just not anything unethical or immoral, of course I will be there for you on your best days And of course on your worst days After all, love doesn't come without its share of pain And as we all know, there is no gain without pain!! What if I love you, Ms. V? Definitely, will it change my life If you are to become my wife But yes, not so soon of course To deciding anything in a hurry, am I averse I will give you all the time and space you need It's part of love, will I add!! What if I love you, Ms. V? Well, I hope you will love me back If yes, then will my life be free from anything and everything dark I will be one of the happiest people in the world Even all the gold in the world Cannot give me THAT feeling Because, to me do YOU mean EVERYTHING If no, then thank you for giving me the opportunity To write this piece of poetry!!

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Sep 24, 2024

Sep 24, 2024 at 7:24 AM UTC

Ashwinkumar1989

What If I Love You, Ms. V?

What if I love you, Ms. V? It will make me shine like the Sun Never again, will I be alone My heart will beat at the speed of an aeroplane Like a top, will my brain spin Like a flower, will my face bloom And from ear to ear, will I beam! What if I love you, Ms. V? Talk for hours and hours, we can About any topic under the Sun Be it Harris Jayaraj music Or Indian or international politics Or chicken vs mutton Or travelling in trains And can I go on and on Trust me, never will I get bored Of course, neither will you get bored I will make sure of that No matter what!! What if I love you, Ms. V? A shoulder for you to cry on, will I be With anything and everything, can you trust me I keep secrets As well as Hercule Poirot connects the dots In any Agatha Christie ****** mystery And never will I be in a hurry So, you can take your own sweet time to open up Or for that matter, can you yap and yap And I won't mind a bit After all, every single relationship requires a lot of effort!! What If I love you, Ms. V? For you, am I ready to change anything To ensure you keep smiling Just not my character or nature, of course To do anything for you, am I not averse Just not anything unethical or immoral, of course I will be there for you on your best days And of course on your worst days After all, love doesn't come without its share of pain And as we all know, there is no gain without pain!! What if I love you, Ms. V? Definitely, will it change my life If you are to become my wife But yes, not so soon of course To deciding anything in a hurry, am I averse I will give you all the time and space you need It's part of love, will I add!! What if I love you, Ms. V? Well, I hope you will love me back If yes, then will my life be free from anything and everything dark I will be one of the happiest people in the world Even all the gold in the world Cannot give me THAT feeling Because, to me do YOU mean EVERYTHING If no, then thank you for giving me the opportunity To write this piece of poetry!!

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It's always cold Or is it just me Even God could not hold This flood in my sea Now what colors will I bleed? Indigo Away from me into the cruel Humbling breeze I don't bundle I just freeze They crawl at me sometimes Agatha comes to me but I'm fine I don't believe In those things Anymore Moving through the avenue Sirens guide the way Burning hands in freezing rains Turns the stains away Indigo Indigo Away Lazily the thunder purrs As i run away Wonder how my color shows When the whole world is gray Indigo Indigo Away

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Jul 24, 2019

Jul 24, 2019 at 2:18 AM UTC

Indigo Away (Agatha)

It's always cold Or is it just me Even God could not hold This flood in my sea Now what colors will I bleed? Indigo Away from me into the cruel Humbling breeze I don't bundle I just freeze They crawl at me sometimes Agatha comes to me but I'm fine I don't believe In those things Anymore Moving through the avenue Sirens guide the way Burning hands in freezing rains Turns the stains away Indigo Indigo Away Lazily the thunder purrs As i run away Wonder how my color shows When the whole world is gray Indigo Indigo Away

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Friend, let me tell you You can never trust a human If you give them a nugget of wisdom They will only bare their teeth to consume it And rip it to shreds No matter how beautiful They'll then take slaves to gather up the pieces And put them in tastefully colored packages Designed by scientists Hoping to sell themselves back to you -at a profit. It doesn't matter if it's poison These jokers will horde it If we imagine love as a baby Then the humans had a late-term abortion Everything is so self-serving And insanely distorted The only thing that matters Is what they think they are worth -in the markets I'm so sick of this You ******* numb-nut, half-wits You're just too ******* selfish I'm done with the nice guy ******** I'm disappearing like Elvis Am I alive or dead? I can be both, it's no Agatha Christie mystery I've never been happier to introduce you -to disappearing me.

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May 4, 2014

May 4, 2014 at 3:18 AM UTC

ishmyre-of-the-inferiors

Never Trust A Human.

Friend, let me tell you You can never trust a human If you give them a nugget of wisdom They will only bare their teeth to consume it And rip it to shreds No matter how beautiful They'll then take slaves to gather up the pieces And put them in tastefully colored packages Designed by scientists Hoping to sell themselves back to you -at a profit. It doesn't matter if it's poison These jokers will horde it If we imagine love as a baby Then the humans had a late-term abortion Everything is so self-serving And insanely distorted The only thing that matters Is what they think they are worth -in the markets I'm so sick of this You ******* numb-nut, half-wits You're just too ******* selfish I'm done with the nice guy ******** I'm disappearing like Elvis Am I alive or dead? I can be both, it's no Agatha Christie mystery I've never been happier to introduce you -to disappearing me.

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She reads Agatha Christie Taking breaks To imagine what the weather is like in France She opens the window to feel the storm I imagine her glasses fog up And when she blinks Her lashes clean them like windshield wipers She’s cynical about love And foreign to the touch She shuts out all the lust That's range. Porcelain to dust When she is overcome It’s with a demon From a console Raging to life like a tantrum If I could have her any way I’d take her covered in fake blood In the foyer of a haunted house Mounted in a ripped up blouse Her lips matching the color Of the dye in her hair Dip my romantic in her cynicism Keep the window open to let the city listen.

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Oct 6, 2016

Oct 6, 2016 at 11:59 PM UTC

She reads Agatha Christie Taking breaks To imagine what the weather is like in France She opens the window to feel the storm I imagine her glasses fog up And when she blinks Her lashes clean them like windshield wipers She’s cynical about love And foreign to the touch She shuts out all the lust That's range. Porcelain to dust When she is overcome It’s with a demon From a console Raging to life like a tantrum If I could have her any way I’d take her covered in fake blood In the foyer of a haunted house Mounted in a ripped up blouse Her lips matching the color Of the dye in her hair Dip my romantic in her cynicism Keep the window open to let the city listen.

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At times you need someone Go and talk to your love one A friend or someone more than as friend That could help you just by staying at your side Hugs you tight and listens to your rages As every worries of yours dissolves into the air

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Jul 19, 2015

Jul 19, 2015 at 3:46 AM UTC

At times you need someone Go and talk to your love one A friend or someone more than as friend That could help you just by staying at your side Hugs you tight and listens to your rages As every worries of yours dissolves into the air

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Wendell! Wendell. Fetch a blanket for me please No Wendell, the good one, that we got from the church We've got visitors coming and I want to look my best So you sit down quickly, don't lean and don't lurch. Wendell and Agatha were a husband and wife She was a little blunt now he sharp like a knife They'd married and settled on the farm with its strife To Wendell it seemed like the whole of his life. They'd married in an old church afore records were kept At least, Wendell thought that when he was being inept But out in the fields were the flowers where he wept And he'd dream of their beauty even as he slept. He took Aggie out there on warm Summer days Where they stayed and relaxed till the sunset brought haze Then he'd drive her back home sometimes catching her gaze And in it saw beauty just like in the old days. Illness took so much of his Aggie away There lives changed dramatically in every way Her lovely dark hair had turned instantly grey And now there was harshness in things that she'd say. But Wendell loved Aggie with all of his might He just took her bad moods as part of her plight And not the great woman who he'd loved at first sight Who'd always stood by him when they'd needed to fight. So Wendell took his Agatha to the flowers each day Where they sat for awhile admiring the display And if a sad tear tried to run down his face He'd not let her see it, he'd wipe it away. ©Joe Wilson - Wendell in love...2014

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Sep 13, 2014

Sep 13, 2014 at 12:08 PM UTC

Wendell in love...

Wendell! Wendell. Fetch a blanket for me please No Wendell, the good one, that we got from the church We've got visitors coming and I want to look my best So you sit down quickly, don't lean and don't lurch. Wendell and Agatha were a husband and wife She was a little blunt now he sharp like a knife They'd married and settled on the farm with its strife To Wendell it seemed like the whole of his life. They'd married in an old church afore records were kept At least, Wendell thought that when he was being inept But out in the fields were the flowers where he wept And he'd dream of their beauty even as he slept. He took Aggie out there on warm Summer days Where they stayed and relaxed till the sunset brought haze Then he'd drive her back home sometimes catching her gaze And in it saw beauty just like in the old days. Illness took so much of his Aggie away There lives changed dramatically in every way Her lovely dark hair had turned instantly grey And now there was harshness in things that she'd say. But Wendell loved Aggie with all of his might He just took her bad moods as part of her plight And not the great woman who he'd loved at first sight Who'd always stood by him when they'd needed to fight. So Wendell took his Agatha to the flowers each day Where they sat for awhile admiring the display And if a sad tear tried to run down his face He'd not let her see it, he'd wipe it away. ©Joe Wilson - Wendell in love...2014

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how (w)horrific to be marina wholly in and (w)holily out the dragon’s mouth. marina warns what swallowing connotes. isn’t this why agatha offers her ******* like a double portion? how did they swallow being swallowed? and how did they convince the dragon to declare them undevourable without their qualities of flesh?

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Aug 3, 2019

Aug 3, 2019 at 2:30 PM UTC

wasn't i a dish?

how (w)horrific to be marina wholly in and (w)holily out the dragon’s mouth. marina warns what swallowing connotes. isn’t this why agatha offers her ******* like a double portion? how did they swallow being swallowed? and how did they convince the dragon to declare them undevourable without their qualities of flesh?

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One would opt for Scooby Doo and Agatha Christy The other for cheesy romance Asian dramas and light novels One would rather be building the sets The other, on the stage One cares nothing at all for other’s thoughts The other cares too much One wants to be a police woman The other simply cannot choose It shouldn’t be possible Yet it is And perhaps, it is their extreme differences that bring them together That keeps them from clashing Or, Maybe something in their respective personalities finds solace in the other Whatever the case They are best friends

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Sep 8, 2018

Sep 8, 2018 at 9:32 PM UTC

CynicalStrawberry

One would opt for Scooby Doo and Agatha Christy The other for cheesy romance Asian dramas and light novels One would rather be building the sets The other, on the stage One cares nothing at all for other’s thoughts The other cares too much One wants to be a police woman The other simply cannot choose It shouldn’t be possible Yet it is And perhaps, it is their extreme differences that bring them together That keeps them from clashing Or, Maybe something in their respective personalities finds solace in the other Whatever the case They are best friends

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Today as the tomorrow sighs sawdust on the gleam Yester-year, goodbye carols goodbye all your broad eyed smiles and tally ** to Mary or Agatha or Caroline with a C i hardly remember her name! something with a blue and fake smile and something about her hair, my memory is in despair! Or to you, or to the gulls or to the sawdust from your house I have broken thee from the roots of the pavement a dollar for each window a shilling for the roadside engravings A dime for your penny-less worries And to cremate the red of the fire my un-tied shoelaces are barely of importance to the world! I don't need to buy your monday blues or to match the sunlight to the starch Tell Gary, Harry, or any other bloke to put the chandelier during christmas or summer and carry the sawdust in your heart if you are generous for a diamond studded disintegrated cloak.

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Jun 26, 2017

Jun 26, 2017 at 5:08 AM UTC

Today as the tomorrow sighs sawdust on the gleam Yester-year, goodbye carols goodbye all your broad eyed smiles and tally ** to Mary or Agatha or Caroline with a C i hardly remember her name! something with a blue and fake smile and something about her hair, my memory is in despair! Or to you, or to the gulls or to the sawdust from your house I have broken thee from the roots of the pavement a dollar for each window a shilling for the roadside engravings A dime for your penny-less worries And to cremate the red of the fire my un-tied shoelaces are barely of importance to the world! I don't need to buy your monday blues or to match the sunlight to the starch Tell Gary, Harry, or any other bloke to put the chandelier during christmas or summer and carry the sawdust in your heart if you are generous for a diamond studded disintegrated cloak.

Continue reading...