"amenable" poems
Beastly is this monster state yet many damsels cannot avoid
Some may call it disturbingly conflicting and become annoyed
Where rationality coexists with irrationality in an unstable realm
Pretty monster states navigate this journey as captains at the helm
Pretty monster states, Pretty monster states
No need to disguise your fury or depressions
Pretty monster states, Pretty monster states
This is just part of your amazing expressions
Wonder is this monster state since the inception of Adam and Eve
Men can only hope to be compassionate, steadfast and never peeved
One moment, pretty monster states can be loving and best friends
Next moment, challenging one’s good nature and spirit to extreme ends
Pretty monster states, Pretty monster states
No need to disguise your fury or depressions
Pretty monster states, Pretty monster states
This is just part of your amazing expressions
Frightful is this monster state like a suspenseful thriller or mystery
Only those who are not faint of heart can sleuth this case history
Where a profound will of character serves to stabilize one’s constitution
Bringing the monster state to an uneventful but amenable restitution
Pretty monster states, Pretty monster states
No need to disguise your fury or depressions
Pretty monster states, Pretty monster states
This is just part of your amazing expressions.
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 10:44 AM UTC
1279
The Way to know the Bobolink
From every other Bird
Precisely as the Joy of him—
Obliged to be inferred.
Of impudent Habiliment
Attired to defy,
Impertinence subordinate
At times to Majesty.
Of Sentiments seditious
Amenable to Law—
As Heresies of Transport
Or Puck’s Apostacy.
Extrinsic to Attention
Too intimate with Joy—
He compliments existence
Until allured away
By Seasons or his Children—
Adult and urgent grown—
Or unforeseen aggrandizement
Or, happily, Renown—
By Contrast certifying
The Bird of Birds is gone—
How nullified the Meadow—
Her Sorcerer withdrawn!
6k
The still explosions on the rocks,
the lichens, grow
by spreading, gray, concentric shocks.
They have arranged
to meet the rings around the moon, although
within our memories they have not changed.
And since the heavens will attend
as long on us,
you've been, dear friend,
precipitate and pragmatical;
and look what happens. For Time is
nothing if not amenable.
The shooting stars in your black hair
in bright formation
are flocking where,
so straight, so soon?
--Come, let me wash it in this big tin basin,
battered and shiny like the moon.
4.2k
progressively irrelevant, i write.
each strike comes, reverberating chords
in chambers all my history reveals--
voices forge a living thought, steam quietly;
truth is spent confronting hidden dangers
that, when alight between the flicker awe
our fire-starting letters linger still
to question ashen marvels of, phoenixlike
enveloping that subtle being-as
annulled to meaninglessness tolled.
a bare encounter with the void leaves off,
no symbols rally convalescent winds
for shaping form amenable to time--
rather, my lostness leads to this, and dies.
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 8:31 PM UTC
weighted scales fallen from eyes that I do not own
other monsters come beneath and rise over them
we place napkins so lightly arising and weep
tea time, flowers, amenable, soothing
running to get a foothold, three steps before a leap
none will say goose goose gander to you or I
nobody wants games now in my rubble of storm
all is a heap of torn down things floating away
hold onto your hat, it's deep here, a gamble
there are footholds in a marsh inside my dream
pitons need sharpening, moon shines merciless
as we tumble into said ravine on one long string
lost, as begun
never to
rise
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 1:12 AM UTC
My response to you has always been focused.
This has gladly not been over looked by you.
I have become thoughtlessly biddable and amenable for you, especially in the morning light.
I am consenting, compelled yet not obliged ..........
You have discovered I am nothing but a girl from a circus.
I never tried to hide it. You weren't looking before.
Although I am a fan of amusements, fetes and even frolics, I do refrain from favoring all tricks.
My indulgence in foolery is a sport I plan to employ for a while yet.
Do I care for you to join me and see if I can defy your desire for extracurricular activities, as well as being your carer?
Is this a task a clown would pretend was a harmless challenge.
Perhaps not, perhaps so.
My roots are raw and loyal to the art of play.
I need you to know this and hold it.
A Spanish fly will not be able to satisfy my ears alone?
Sincerity can be a sharp business sometimes.
Obedience to attachment brings around a credulous familiarity thus a dependency
It could easily keep me awake to stare at many moons
It hasn't.
You have seen me stumble and look at you gingerly more than once now
You are not even delicate but you can be shrewd even when you struggle with expectation.
There is a soberness about your beauty I find pleasingly magnetic.
When you leave me alone without your mighty graze
I without question appreciate and yearn for your persuasions and rough tenderness.
Your actions maybe more savory in the afternoons
compared with your visits to my buoyant dreams but you do kindly hold open doors.
Sep 27, 2011
Sep 27, 2011 at 2:21 PM UTC
terror in portals of rapture
twin mirrors reflect possible dolor
untrusting, yet entwined
so amenable.
immediate submergence,
reverence of marred flesh
intelligible infatuation inevitable.
howbeit, efflorescence devotion
find a way through;
transude into pores
inebriated in their fumes.
reverie becomes eternal sleep.
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 3:39 AM UTC
Peace of mind,
Let it grind,
Huffing through my sentiments,
No words left behind
You said you're fathomless,
A riddle and meaningful,
High objections, genuine rejections
How come you make me stutter like a fool?
I want my poems to bit,
Vigorous and keen to have teeth,
So the venom in each letter shall sink in---
To your skin, may heap
You said you're logic
Then where's your common sense?
Clearly, you're imperceptive,
Because I know how you're tensed
Attempting to toss me a bullet of pressure,
Locating the verge of anxiety
You're none of the amenable people,
Who would understand and know its variety
Sugarcoated scars and deep comprehension
Thin head's blurry, that's why you have complications
No offense though---
Keep your mouth on line, you half presented amateur
Go ahead and be conceited like an apathetic's chimes
But honestly, at all, you don't even have a
Peace of mind
Nov 26, 2017
Nov 26, 2017 at 5:40 AM UTC
your lip jutting out is like a shard of broken glass
and I know you’d just stitch me back up if I tried but
I don’t think you’re very amenable to being kissed;
not now, anyway.
not here, you’d say.
all I've ever wanted was to put my mouth on you, baby,
taste the salt of your skin like natural protection against
your demons and mine
and all the others in between.
you think you've seen them all but believe me,
I'm older, I'm wiser, handsomer too but you don’t see me bragging about it
and I've seen what’s down there. I tried
to protect you for as long as I could but
we have seen the end of night
in the complete dark
together.
I almost miss that dark, the obscurity where you’d admit you didn't always have to be so **** conscious
and we slipped back to raw instinct and raw feeling
and I've still got the feel of your skin under my fingertips
and between my palms
and my hands have been covered with you for years, now.
I don’t dare to breathe on them lest the last of your DNA
slip through my fingers -
but it was probably too good for me, anyway.
your genes and your jeans fit you beautifully and I'm like a ****** hopped up on the memory of when
I raked my nails down your back and
though the lines have faded
I will always reopen those wounds.
I will never leave you more whole than I.
we have broken every rule and we have broken
each other, and I wonder why anyone
would settle for any less than this;
because an empty passengers seat is the loneliest place I've seen in the continental united states
and that’s counting the grand canyon, baby.
I have stood above that yawning tear in the ground and tossed my voice into it, practising idiocy and ventriloquism and other interchangeable words like that
and like a man carved from stone I stood there, watching, listening, waiting with a patience borne of desperation,
but after a few thousand lungfuls of broken glass there was no reply and I
left.
I pulled your favourite move and I
left,
alone.
so what do we have now? a car, the change in our pockets and each other?
it sounds romantic as **** but you've always been the poet here.
I'm just the guy who sits behind this frozen wheel and drives
because it’s easier than warming my hands
and when I tear your heart out the cold
numbs your chest so you can’t even feel it.
have you ever felt anything? have you felt me, baby?
has this whole ******* existence of mine been in vain?
because your lip jutting out is like a shard of broken glass and I've got
the oddest premonition that it can slice me to ribbons
if you would just move your head and look at me.
baby, please. look at me.
let me know I'm alive so I can die for you.
Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 7:03 PM UTC
We wish, we wished, we knew,
how the peace we make lingers,
magical thinking must not work,
but we were reared to really pray,
unceasingly, never failing to expect
to have, even as we uttered our amen,
peace enough to share,
by our own will
making our agreement amenable
in spirit,
and truth, as two parts
of all that ever may be, you and me,
in the way life happens where you and me live.
It is written, any judgement begun, where
ideas form words
to hold them in common, any truth
can be tested by its effect on a satisfied mind,
so when I say, spirit, you assume I speak of nothing
tangible in the natural, just something like a will
we let be today's good
in our local mind,
at the time,
to make us think,
before we use pre judged worths,
a dime, or a penny, today, ain't worth a wooden nickel,
-- I just remembered
when I was thirteen… Coke machines in Texas
sold bottled Cokes in six ounce bottles, for a Nickel,
and two empties garnered six cents, enough
for a soda pop and a piece of bubble gum.
That's how much things change in the space
of one measured neighborly Jubillee.
Whittling kindling is what honed knives are for,
I watched old men do it, and found it works,
look ahead to a winter fire easy to revive,
with shavings from summer whittle sessions,
making peace where none was when I woke up,
the whole world under old war rules running on,
but, while Jubilees are, done while considering,
just imagined, how debt erasure functions,
allows us freedom from
wrong reasons past.
We have all seen the size of Earth,
we all know our only neighbors are here.
We are a chosen planet, not a chosen people.
And on this planet, good people, make useful peace.
Sep 1, 2025
Sep 1, 2025 at 2:50 PM UTC
Quiet the noises
Shuffling in phrases
Numbing consensus
It's supposed to flow so freely
Grace is forsaken
Animated mutely
I have that smile
Someone has always seen me before
Looking worthless guile
Or maybe secret past pleasures
Just this moment in time
Not knowing forcing closures
It's better to be invisible
Being born infinite love
Always amenable
After all is said and done
The last chapter read
Laughter is the only fun
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 2:49 PM UTC
There’d been a factory here once,
Squat red brick structure
Suffused with too much noise and too little ventilation,
Built for the purpose of making typewriters,
Unwieldy, cacophonous clanking anachronisms
Whose time, like the town it occupied,
Had long since come and gone,
The only businesses on the sad little main drag
Being those shabby, tattered concerns
Which flower, improbable and cactus-like
At the intersection of the vagaries of memory
And the ascent of decay.
Nothing sits here now,
Simply an empty lot returning to Nature,
Although half-hearted attempts
To accelerate that process have not taken root,
As the soil, fouled by metal shavings, solvents,
And only God knows what else,
Has proved less than amenable
To anything save weedy shoots and scrubby boxwoods,
So it sits empty, impossible to build upon
(There is liability in every spike of crabgrass,
A potential lawsuit in every patch of clover)
And wholly impractical as parkland.
The firm which owned the site erected a fence
To keep whatever was in there in and everyone else out
(In their final addition of injury to insult,
The check they gave to the fencing company in payment
Bounced higher than a child’s rubber ball)
But a generation of winters and general inattention
Have left the chain-links a patchwork affair,
And though the “POSTED” signs remain
(Their original angry and officious red
Having faded to a benign maroon),
Enforcement of their edicts is spotty at best,
So we sit, unbothered and alone,
On an odd little mound at the back of the lot
As the dusk begins to take hold,
I, in an act of mad optimism, the peculiar positing
That there are good things yet to come,
Grab your hand, intertwining the fingers with mine.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 10:56 AM UTC
I most certainly did know Joe
He was my friend you know.
I knew him for a decade or so.
I always enjoyed the Joe Show.
Joe was rather different,
Sometimes even diffident.
He got in some predicaments,
But I was his instrument.
I called it the Joe Show because
Joe was sort of like Santa Claus.
When he came into a room
He would disspell all the gloom.
It was hard to outshine Joe;
The coolest guy you could know.
He was the best of friends, so
I should have told you, Joe don’t go
But I was clueless, I didn’t know.
All of the good times we once knew
All of the silliness we went through.
So many memories of me and you.
Who can predict what fate will do?
Joe made me feel special,
Like I was living in a serial.
He was usually amenable.
Sometimes ministerial.
Now I have no more time to go
I never told you I’d miss you so.
I just couldn’t because I didn’t know.
I never got to tell you, Joe don’t go.
Nov 2, 2016
Nov 2, 2016 at 5:12 AM UTC
I am so convenient.
You’ll find me where I’m needed,
To he and him and they,
A word forever heeded.
I am so amenable.
Always kind, accommodating.
My man, my friend, my father,
Always cooperating.
I’m sick of only sometimes,
But I won’t complain out loud.
My drug, my grace, my enemy
I’ll never make you proud.
I hope I’ll become difficult,
Say no with insolence.
To men, to you, to anyone,
I won’t be so convenient.
Apr 11, 2024
Apr 11, 2024 at 2:44 PM UTC
Software won't scrap the user,
and trash won't toss the consumer.
When first made amenable,
then loved 'til resentable,
it's pitiful to be the toomer.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 11:12 PM UTC
In seeing as dancers whirl eclectic,
and actors know parts better than
they know themselves (which, in either
case is barely tolerable at best),
I feel it is only fair to mention,
as long as you are here, beside me,
the cool breeze of my
fingers swirling portraits
on your inner thigh,
that should you ever
feel the need to break
from me a piece of
soul, and, cracking it open
(like crème bruele) dip
your tongue into the center
simply to see me cringe,
I would be amenable to it;
little sacrifice for your embrace.
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 11:55 AM UTC
Unsure of who to be, I became no one
I glittered bright as a white light
So bright I collapsed into the sky
And became a most amenable ghost.
As a ghost I travelled the world,
Watching its denizens in the privacy
Of my own thoughts.
The torture, the rapture, the pain
And the mercy. Lives were so complicated.
I became at once jealous
Of all the life these creatures lived
And also relieved, god so relieved
I would not have to toil and moan
And suffer through so many emotions.
It seemed, a gift almost,
To live entirely as a bright white light.
I was never tense, I was never lost
Everything made such clear sense to me.
I watched the creatures clawing,
Laughing, breathing hot breath on
One another, falling in loving,
Succumbing to horrible disease.
Their love and their loss and their
Whole twisted up, curled around lives
Were there for me to see.
I felt such compassion for
These wild creatures.
I felt their sorrow,
Smelled their tears,
Watched as they ambled
Across life’s rough field.
If only… if only there was
Something I could do
To help them.
To ease their suffering.
To silence their mind.
In a way, I loved those
Creatures as if they
Were my own.
All I could think of
Was to shine brightly
So bright and jubilant
That for a moment
They would stare up into me
Gazing at how pure the
White light is
And fall into me
Just as once
I fell
Into
The
Sky.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 1:47 AM UTC
No thank you,
I don't have time for an existential crisis
today. I recommend trying
tomorrow, perhaps
I may be more amenable, less
upright, more lonely,
less alive,
whatever you find convenient, I am
sure you will have it some
day, but for
now, goodbye.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 2:26 PM UTC
Aren't you getting drowsy?
From that rubber feeling being smudged inside
With the white lies, you're trying to hide
And answers that you cannot find
Human Pacifier
You feed them hope, you feed them glory
You feed them joy, even their exigency
You give your lasts and your entirety
Did they do the same?
Of course, they detect
That you're holding unto a Placebo Effect
Knows you're stoic and benevolent
So they keep sending amenable threats
Someday, it will trigger you
Your aspired esteem and prisoned wounds
Where you realize you need to fulfill "you",
Erase the 'shoulds' and do 'coulds'
It's not your fault being so tolerant
It's meant to happen though it's not meant to stay
It's not your duty to be the second hand
Just to be used and strayed
Recognize your worth
You must know when to leave the table
When you feel like being disabled,
Guard your heart and guard your castle
Because prevention is better than cure
Apr 30, 2019
Apr 30, 2019 at 7:16 AM UTC
How did you die? Were you ever alive?
Questions asked by a torpid fool
executing the sterile interrogation.
Capricious witnesses laugh in pain
as I sit, strapped by leather bands
to a frigid porcelain bench.
This is the bloodthirsty courtroom of innocence
translated into cadaverous endings.
What can a fool gain through conviction?
Perhaps the eradication of necrosis.
The fool views the substance as trivial nonsense.
His purpose is to convict me, the wraith,
the amenable child, the abject wretch.
A conviction that will never arrive,
led by a foolish prosecution that cannot rest,
as long as I, benighted and unredeemed,
lack power to loosen the fearsome leather bands.
Kerry Ann Herrmann
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 8:08 PM UTC
A magic twist of events
can only start
if action is taking
one with great light
one with great color
and one with an open mind
A blooming new opportunity
can be taken
by someone of no quirk
or someone of imagination
An adventure awaits
for someone who is willing to go
A story is ready to be written
if that person is willing to write it
The rollercoaster may not be enjoyable for all
it wont wait for you
and you may be force to ride
so you must make the best of it
and keep
an open mind
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 8:14 PM UTC
without asking for tangible receipts
but to pollinate greensward vis a vis
as pay forward recompense
many good samaritan instances
came my way of late, yet
hive heal stymied, how
unexpected gratuitous deeds didst whet,
a voluntary yen of mine
to pay back or forward
countless instances
to balance out scale reciprocation
doth weigh within mine conscious
and/or subconscious
giving back status unmet,
thus...this ambling, bumbling, fumbling,
et cetera sensate **** Sapien able Juan
Tim steady state Cane, tis ready and set
analogous to the tricks Seine (seen)
by a rheas ease pond dint
surveyed monkey smart pet
whom calculated thine net
total asper positive fortunate events this chap
and or loved ones within mine family met
since years gone by to the present moment let
me experience minimal anxiety
finds euphoric sensation within me (as if jet
ting into stratosphere,
and a counter force get
tin overpowering akin
to a creditable conscientious debt
begging to be honored as a non boastful bet
among the better angels of thyself
whom regulate acceptable, affordable, airing...
agreeable, amenable, un arguable heartfelt
good fella expressing deserved certifiable
bona fied ardent
action demonstrating appreciation
for innumerable, humbling deeds
done divinely deposing
dada's depredatory, depredation, depression
sans crucial life line feeds,
as genuine deep seated acknowledgement
as proof emotional, financial,
and spiritual bountiful personal necessity
receiving such psychic receipts heeds!
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 4:24 PM UTC
How’s this MOMENT like
Bad b!tches is on my fate,
Happiness avoided far apart
And the expectation lies far.
These dam* world,
Who amenable for this!
No one, to see himself instead...
Why we still barely hanging on,
This sh!t worse thought
Let the rush of your sea-shore,
Stumble to that MOMENT
Is the only thing you step up.
Lit up your moon of heaven
Let it possess the time
Until it possessed...
To show the world who am i.
By:-PawanTube
Jun 9, 2019
Jun 9, 2019 at 2:59 PM UTC
Solomon thought he was doing well
His assets just grew and grew,
He had no moral imperative
While ripping off me and you,
He’d made a fortune in stocks and shares
And a little insider trading,
Had married, divorced, with a bit to spare
For his extra-marital mating.
He wasn’t exactly a murderer
Though he’d peddled horse and hash,
If someone died he would say they lied,
He needed the extra cash.
He was at his prime and was feeling fine
At the age of forty-two,
When an evil bloke with a scythe and cloak
Said, ‘I’ve been looking for you!’
The sudden shock was a heart attack
The pain caught him by surprise,
He thought he might buy him off, but saw
The implacable, staring eyes.
The guy said, ‘I’m just the messenger,
You’re going away, it’s sad!
You’ll have to leave it behind, you know
But you can’t complain, you’re bad!’
He found himself on an open road
That was either up, or down,
He thought, with the wisdom of Solomon
He'd try the high end of town,
But a clerk with wings at a Pearly Gate
Said, ‘First you must come by me,’
Pulled out a plate that was headed ‘Fate!’
‘I have to check your CV!’
He read, and mumbled and held him there,
And whispered under his breath,
‘This can’t be right, you shouldn’t be here,
You suffered an early death!
You haven’t had time to mend your ways
But the rules are more than clear,
You’ve not enough points on the ‘Goody’ side
So you won’t be welcome here!’
He pointed to way, way down on the road
Where there shimmered a reddish glow,
‘They might be more than amenable
To letting you in, you know.’
So Solomon turned, his heart in his throat
And he made the long trek down,
To a surly goat in a pigskin coat
Who greeted him with a frown.
He tried to enter but, ‘Not so fast!’
The goat had stood in his way,
‘I have to check your CV you know,
Before you get in today.’
He read and mumbled and held him there
And whispered under his breath,
‘There’s not enough evil here to spare
With you guys from a premature death.’
‘It’s sad,’ he said, ‘but you can’t come in,’
He said in a voice so gruff,
‘You’re bad, I see, but your history?
You’re simply not bad enough!
I have to be able to justify
That you’ve earned more than you can handle,
It’s a serious thing, for eternity,
To make you a Roman Candle.’
So Solomon found himself out in the cold
On a long and deserted highway,
With all of the others rejected there
Who’d said they would do things ‘My way!’
If only they’d thought before they died
What they’d need for a clear admission,
The goat would have welcomed them all inside
As a lawyer, or politician!
David Lewis Paget
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 11:45 PM UTC
*Rock climbing comes easy to
Anyone who has tried to scale
The face of the H. Building one
Meter at a time.
At dusk, and the electricity is
Out, rain falls lightly behind
You, the single pane of glass
Not quite in reach.
An illusory trance protects one
Hand at a time as it shakes its
Way upward, followed with luck
By one foot.
Wishes aren’t horses or fishes,
And even prayer cannot create
Steel steps or a decent length of
Climbing cord.
Gazing upwards or down is a
Dizzying event, twin spires or
The water towers on a collection
Of rooftops below.
The task was to gain entrance
To the building from which he
Had been banished, although
Dangerous it was.
To grasp and grab and place
And displace, to pull up and
Put down, to gain a quarter
Meter in the process.
Barely a stone’s throw from
His right hand was the edge
Of a windowsill, slippery but
Amenable to a lunge.
Losing a toehold would be
A disaster, so the skid free
Soles on his shoes would ensure
Victory.
A windless, now dry façade
Provided just the surface for
His hand to seize the sill.
Itself a jagged prize.
Here is a case, he thought,
Of mind over mortar, of the
Proof positive that man can
Do without scaffolding.
Even the banished can climb
To heights armed with secret
Weapons and ready to meet
A ☺ at the summit.*
© Lewis Bosworth, 12/2016
Dec 26, 2016
Dec 26, 2016 at 8:46 PM UTC