"appealed" poems
Bodies moved and liquor spilled
Hands got up and all felt good
Music created a flow and rhythm became nourishment
Five senses became three
Lovers were formed and lovers were lost
Tears fell and mixed with the liquor
Injuries occurred
Enemies were made...
Bodies still moved and liquor spilled
Hearts were broken and hearts were delighted
Curves appealed to the eyes and grasps occurred
Smiles became kisses and
Kisses became conductors of emotions and desires
*** resulted and smiles occurred...
Bodies moved and liquor spilled
They all went home and memories were erased
-Conscious
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 1:39 PM UTC
You were wailing like a wounded puppy
Your voice was craving for love and sympathy
It appealed to my dormant magnanimity
And thus for you I opened my heart’s door
Least did I know you were an ugly *****
I stood beside you at your one call
Your tantrums, your malice I bore ‘em all.
To make you smile daily became my life’s goal
But you were so thankless it shook me to the core
I should have known earlier, you were an ugly *****
Though my knowledge about love was low
Yet at times I wondered if you really know
so much definitions of it and the metaphors bestowed
then why did your breakup happen once before
perhaps because he too knew, you were an ugly *****
What I thought was your love with glee
Was actually an act of backstabbing me.
You betrayed in the first chance given to thee
Now I shall give you chances no more
Because now I know that you are an ugly *****
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 12:19 PM UTC
Gunboats ahoy there’s pirates about
Speeding from Somali’s shore,
A fast flimsy boat and some black skinny men
With grenade launchers, cannon and more.
They’re coming to capture the tankers
They’re coming to capture the crew
They’re coming to take you hostage
Because fat cats will pay cash for you.
It’s happening more every day now
Ships are held to ransom for gold,
This contagion is out of hand now
The Somalian pirates are becoming so bold.
Hard men in the west prepare crackdowns
Gunboats sail for the Gulf as we speak,
With instructions to shoot to **** now
And make eradication of pirates complete!
But you ask, why is this happening?
Why does a man, a pirate become?
What instigates this crazy morphosis
From fisherman to pirate with gun?
Somalia has no Government to speak of,
It collapsed and went long ago.
No law or army in place here,
Life is dangerous, chaotic and low.
Some fat cats made use of the vacuum
They ditched toxic waste in the sea
They irradiated the coastline region
Making this a poisoned place to be.
The coast folk were dying in thousands
Sick mothers lost babies and kids
Black illness spread madly in villages
Then blind panic and pain hit the skids.
Some fat cats made use of the vacuum
They trawled the coastline clean
Somalia’s fishermen were destitute
The catch went from vast to lean.
The villagers were starving and hopeless
And what was pain became death.
The leaders appealed for salvation
But those with the means, had turned deaf.
Who would take this problem on now?
Who would make these ******** pay?
Most turned around and shunned them,
The world had turned and looked away.
So hit transgressors where they’re vulnerable.
Strike in sea lanes where it’s free.
Hit them near the Horn of Africa.
Attack with blades of piracy.
Hooray for the small man’s justice.
Hooray for his skinny, black shanks,
Please God help their quest for deliverance
For the West has arrived with their tanks.
Now I ask you, in all fairness
To stand back and view the scene,
Where the richest and most powerful
are doing something that's obscene
For not only are they poisoning
The most vulnerable race on earth
But compounding it with genocide,
And I add, for what it's worth,
The West, in righteous arrogance,
are crushing poorest fellow man
In his struggle for survival
Against their mammoth, global hand.
Marshalg
@theGate
Mangere Bridge
25 April 2009
Jan 19, 2010
Jan 19, 2010 at 7:33 PM UTC
clinton rebukes israel over east jerusalem homes obama nasa plans catastrophic say moon astronauts alaska wolves **** woman's teacher out jogging ireland frees 3 cartoonist plot suspects sarkozy and brown attack u.s. over protectionism pope benedict's former diocese rehoused abuser priest chile puts quake damage at $30bn winnie denies interview criticizing nelson mandela climate change makes birds shrink in north america dr rowan williams is honored for work on russia weymouth ridgeway skeletons scandinavian vikings live bangladesh v england michael schumacher pledges to raise game in bahrain can the u.s. vice-president broker middle east peace? sarkozy's party faces socialist drubbing remote indian state set for development new york dust victims split on 9/11 deal german tells of childhood abuse by catholic priest a step closer to the american dream? lehman: how $50bn was buried in london ba strike union announces dates in march china's oil demand increase astonishing says iea china warns google to comply with censorship laws net clash for web police projects hsbc admits huge swiss bank data theft phil spector ****** conviction appealed sir david jason to voice cbbc animation climate change 'makes birds shrink' in north america thalidomide effect mystery solved blood pressure fluctuations warning sign for stroke winnie denies interview criticizing nelson mandela mogadishu residents told to leave somali capital same-sex couples marry in mexico city by mistake i clicked on wrong button and lost everything
Mar 12, 2010
Mar 12, 2010 at 6:59 PM UTC
His wan smile folded at the creases. His crescent eyes closing from the gathering wrinkles. I studied his smile as he nodded his head in acceptance. We couldn’t understand each other’s languages but communication existed in many forms. His teeth were yellow and he smelled of fish, typical for a fisherman. His black hair was salted with white. The man tried a first to get me to understand him “Konnichiwa,” he said confidently. After seeing my confusion he did a little wave then stood smiling. What was it that had appealed to me so much about visiting a foreign country, where I wouldn’t be able to grasp anything? The whole time I was with my husband, Peter, I secretly imagined myself doing just this. Peter’s voice would drone on and on and I realized I was a loner. I realized I didn’t want love, at least in the way I had always received it. I convinced myself of this, all through the divorce. But now, gazing into the kind eyes of the fisherman, my past thoughts melted. I didn’t want anything except to be myself. Something I couldn’t do or felt I couldn’t do for the longest time. Now here I was gazing into the kind warm eyes of the old fisherman, breathing in the smoky ocean, in a completely different environment yet more myself than ever before.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 3:58 PM UTC
She was crying.
So he approached
to lessen the anguish,
her life has notched
He exchanged her tears
with his cozy smile;
to calm down her nerves
at least for a while.
The language of tears
has always appealed him;
as to the insects,
the sundew's gleam.
Innate was this nature of his
to weep for the poor,
for the women, for the children
and for the downtrodden, to be sure.
But with hollow chauvinism
then, the men ruled the society.
And accounted weeping as a sin
resulting from inferiority.
They disliked the boy
and his uncommon ways
to heal the sufferer,
to their utter dismay.
They called the boy
and asked him to change
his beliefs and ideology
or to be ready to estrange.
The boy couldn't understand
how his actions have been
outrageous in their view
and thus sentenced as a sin.
He stood against them
and let the proposal decline.
He advocated his logic
to those ****** swine.
But their ears were concealed
to even the rumbling thunder.
Intoxicated by masculinity
they committed blunder.
The men enraged
and reached for their knives.
They shouted, they cursed
and skinned him alive.
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 3:50 PM UTC
I remember the Tropicana Beau from Syndale,
She delivered my order at the welcome pub Dazzle-
It was the smile she was affording that day,
And now she is the jealous infection from the social bay…
I looked at her same contours hesitantly,
And they have been exposed much sharper delightedly-
She appealed me her demystified glory,
Two weeks later she left her job for the clearance money…
I remember her tears washing the ***** streets in the market,
She was refused by every seller for credit-
Those scanty clothes she was affording that day,
And now she prices her perfection in that way…
I looked at her eyes and she believed in me,
And ma editor startled me, “Sir, who is she?”
She gave me her perfect look and the rest did my camera…
We worked hard to frame her saying, “Love You…Rihanna!”
Feb 16, 2010
Feb 16, 2010 at 10:46 PM UTC
It's enchantingly stunning how nature's gleam took me away,
Put me in a rocket and send me to wander in the Milky-way!
It's so fascinating , my tongue get twisted,no word left to say
Meditation in the stars, planets and comets as they display,
A special kind of music that has so much beauty to convey
This journey enlightened my soul ,appealed it to stay
Fancy is this galaxy,where I will sail every single day ...
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 4:21 PM UTC
I am the ******* son of Nero,
the sad product of licentiousness.
A fact about my life
that I should really mention less.
My mother was a famous Queen
or so it is that I am told.
Unable to acknowledge me,
to the slavers I was sold.
But pirates attacked our galley
a few miles out to sea.
Bold, daring, fearsome men,
their life appealed to me.
Plundering, fighting on a ship,
I loved the pirates life.
Until one day I floundered
and took me a beautiful wife.
She bore me two boys and a girl,
I gave them all my affection.
Mourning the loss of my childhood,
my severed parental connection.
The children grew and flew the nest,
so leaving just two alone.
Then the plague paid a visit,
my grief weighs heavy for my home.
So now I am just a humble poet,
Withdrawn and cold, but serene.
Throwing words at a paper audience,
waiting patient for the final scene.
Well, wait there a while longer,
this ******* is not quite done.
I am not so ready to die just now,
that epilogue is yet to come.
© Pagan Paul (19/04/17)
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 10:44 AM UTC
The words "once upon a time"
Begin a fantacy story
Who's seemingly shallow rhyme
Creates a deep allegory
The princess traped, endangered
Our deepest fears are revealed
Yet, saved by the kind stranger
Our wishes are to be appealed
The prince fighting, enthralling
Our search for love is now released
Always hopes for belonging
Our strong courage not so repressed
Then "happily ever after"
Soon ends our magnificent tale
But what is happy hereafter,
Far beyond this twisting trail?
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 5:03 PM UTC
If you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss will also gaze into you. I know this to be true, even if the abyss is not necessarily anything outside myself. The abyss is simply, The Abyss. It is not within me or without me, it is just being. And I do gaze into it. I don't really take this to mean that I will become like my hates or enemies, as I believe that I have always been what I hate- my own worst enemy. I take this to say that The Abyss, for however long I look into it, also looks into me. It leaves marks on my soul; deep gouges made with stained black talons. The Abyss is many things, and also nothing at the same time. It is darkness, that is a given, it is also The End. It is The Apocalypse, it is The End of Time. The Abyss is the complete-stop-of-everything. Some people even believe that the surging water-deep of a literal abyss is Hell itself, though I think I know better. The Abyss is not Hell, because when your soul is released from your vessel, and you of course have committed sin, you do not go to The Abyss. Your soul does not forever reside in the Nothingness of The Abyss, your soul does not belong to it unless it belongs to you. Even so, after looking into The Abyss for a long period of time, it is hard to shake the feeling of its eyes on you. It can linger for days, and the restless, dreamless state that those eyes leave you in is hard to leave behind. As someone who is constantly staring into The Abyss, I find that it never quite leaves me. It's almost as if The Abyss has left some part of it inside me, within my very being. I can't hope to root it out without never seeing into The Abyss ever again, and I don't imagine that will happen any time soon. The Abyss has been a... comfort to me. The promise of Nothingness, of simply Not Being, has always appealed to me. This existence of mine has not been an easy one, but it has been growing on me. Even with the promise of Nothingness, I think that I will try and stay Existing for as long as I can. Existing has its perks of course. I get to think and feel and experience, and part of that Feeling is Love, which I believe may be the most important one of all. What is there, without Love?
That, I believe, is what The Abyss actually is. Lack of Love.
Oct 22, 2019
Oct 22, 2019 at 3:32 PM UTC
Americans ... Is it just Americans you're talking
about here Trump? ...
those chosen,
those special people,
those singular red-blooded people,
because I'm a little confused here
as you didn't seem to consider Syrian
refugees as bleeding the same red blood
even when it flowed so freely for them over
there in their pitiless homeland,
& Hispanic immigrants,
they bled red too,
or being rapists & murderers
was it a tainted red?
& black folks?
was their blood red?
from reading your White Supremacist
re-tweets I figured darker skinned Americans
had some innate handicaps or un-American
tendencies & thus their blood was a might
different to us white folks,
& Muslims?
do they bleed red too?
or is it a special breed of red,
an Islamic red?
a special sort of red that favors
deportation as says Brietbart news
or that forbids them entry as per your
unforgivable attempt at en-masse criminalization.
There was no bleeding of the same red blood
as you appealed to the lowest denominator in
white folk bigotry during your successful rise
to top of the heap in Republican vengefulness,
bitterness & just plain Supremacist American
red blooded horror was there?
No, there wasn't.
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 10:14 PM UTC
Next to him the eldest daughter:
She suggested very little
Only asked if he would take her
With her look of 'passive beauty-'
Her idea of passive beauty
Was a squinting of the left-eye,
Was a drooping of the right-eye,
Was a smile that went up Sideways
To the corner of the nostrils.
Hiawatha, when she asked him
Took no notice of the question
Looked as if he hadn't heared it;
But, when pointedly appealed to,
Smiled in his peculiar manner,
Coughed and said it 'didn't matter,'
Bit his lip and changed the subject.
Nor in this was he mistaken,
As the picture failed completely.
So in turn the other sisters.
1.5k
It’s that time of year when I think of you....
And all the strange things we used to do...
We were young and cast our fate to the wind...
Regardless of the message that we might send..
Out to the world , cause we didn’t care...
And that’s what brings me here to share....
You treated me just like a queen honey bee..
And I believed and worshiped thee...
We shared our ups and downs together...
In thick and thin and stormy weather...
What was mine was mine and yours was mine.....
And we never ever crossed that line !
I assumed it would always be just you and me...
As no one else appealed you see....
My friends said you will break my heart...
But I told them that, I was just too smart....
As I remembered , what I was taught....
That no one could control my thought...
And then it happened I lost my heart....
My bracelet, my watch and my college ring...
And then you did that awful thing...
You lied , you cheated , you had stolen my bling...
And that’s why now you aren’t around....
Plus no way... will you EVER.... be found....
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 2:21 PM UTC
He found her hiding
In the cities cowers
And thought to befriend her
By offering a carrot
She wouldn’t take it
But she couldn’t leave it
Her eyes
Droopy half moons
Darting between him
And his offering
*The Scylla
And the Charybdis*
Knowing that if
She didn't starve to death
This fox would eat her.
But the fox was a Magnus
He knew her pain
*A Pea - hard as tuppence ha'penny
Under twenty mattresses*
And appealed to her sensitivity.
He too had been alone
- His rhombic truths
And scared
- A slant on the straight and narrow
And when it was time to leave
He asked her to dine with him
In his burrow.
But still she hesitated
So he scuttled away
Leaving her to follow
And apologize
For having vexed him so.
*If he had wanted to **** her
He would have done so already*
And she was very hungry.
So they talked of books
*Peter Rabbit
And the Velveteen Rabbit*
As he sharpened his knives
To dice potatoes
And chop carrots.
They were going to have
A German dish
-Hasenpfeffer.
-What does that mean
She asked
Sniffing the broth.
- Rabbit stew
He whispered.
And then he bit her
Hard
And held her
Until she stopped struggling.
He really did love rabbit.
Nov 22, 2011
Nov 22, 2011 at 3:44 PM UTC
I Thought She Was Different
I thought she was different
she seemed so fresh so new
I thought she really cared for me
I laid my heart out for her to take
well she did take it and she was fresh
and she was new and different
except things kept repeating themselves
the fresh and the new began to fade
she wasn't new or different at all
she was just like the other
she loved to stroke my heart
and make me feel like the luckiest
man in the world until she was sure
I was sufficiently hooked into her charms
until I wanted nothing more but to be in her arms
then I was just a bother to her
I no longer appealed to her challenge
you know what that feels like
to be down on your hands and knees
and have someone grind their high heel
into the back of your hand
but you know what
after a day a week a month
she would be back throwing her kisses
once again stroking my heart
and once again I fell
the number of times I fell
are too numerous to count
it is so easy to fool a fool you know
I thought she was different
Gomer LePoet ....
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 10:39 PM UTC
There was a Mortician I used to know
With a chin of whiskers and sallow teeth
He didn’t comb his graying tresses
“Moonlight commence your drip” muttered he
But his hair grew stringier and his ligature looser
A man ever dingy with mourning
Shrouded with death was his visage
A man of fifty, shriveled like a rose
If you spend lifetimes watching milk curdle
And leaves stiffen
Traces of mortality will wrinkle you the same
Acrid appealed to the Undertaker’s senses
Drank black coffee to match his hue
Used to cloud lucid skies, he’d wipe out the blue
None spoke to him but the drawing room mirror
Listen he didn’t to its clamor of tongues
For a reflection’s to blame for receding flesh
Thirty years conducting funerals
Built a morose man
Quietly he wept
Though a furrowed rose cannot
Thus his quietus was born
Aug 13, 2012
Aug 13, 2012 at 11:04 PM UTC
*Roses Are Red,
Violets Are Blue,
It Was Just Last Summer,
The Summer Of You
My Lips Were Red,
Your Eyes Were Blue,
It Was Love At First Sight,
For Me More Than You
My Shirt Was Red,
Your Jeans Were Blue,
You Were My Bestfriend,
And I Was Yours Too
My Hair Was Red,
Your T-Shirt Blue,
We Fell In Love,
It Was Too Good To Be True
My Nails Were Red,
While Hers Were Blue,
But You Could Not Decide,
Which Appealed To You
The Sun Was Red,
But The Sky No Longer Blue,
Autumn Had Fallen,
And I Had Lost You
The Fire Is Red,
While My Soul Is Blue,
I Feel So Lonesome,
When I Think Of You*
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 11:58 PM UTC
spanish rose lingers in the corner
with some french sailor who is
just a breathing caricature
illustrated in ink and animated by alcohol
his four letter word vocabulary with deluxe cardboard delivery
but its his eyes that capture you
swimming in hundred proof they are
wise with miles of years
and wicked in a smoky dark room way
but she is too busy to notice
flirting with the stranger across the room
a traveling salesman with boxes
of rusty trinkets for crafty sale
meanwhile old jack is swinging on the gibbet
talking away the hours with his old flame and friends
he is a threadbare imitation of me
and that suits you fine
long as its three meals and a slice of pie
the essentials of easy living wrapped up in a lace hanky
its a little ***** and on the down low
but the whole digging in some
rich kids ***** laundry for loose change
never appealed to you all that much
so attached to old jack come to make your stand
both barrels smoking hot and ready to let loose
should any fool step to the line
we all watched with amusements
as the magician open his show with a shock and awe
that sputtered and fell
but we all loved his punch lines so much that we
cheered him on all night
the chorus girls got us all up and dancing little past three
and the suave singer had us cheek to cheek by dawn
it was another night to remember to be sure
memorable as stumpy swimming with the gators
we all shuffle barefoot in the sand
to our dusty beds
and dream sweetly of fiveash romance novella endings
and the beauties of dawn
we will be up to no good once more
all loud and proud
young and full'a *****
as a spring moon crests over seaside town
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 10:21 AM UTC
that bring those lemon slices back to my tea
which never quite appealed to you.
Once in a fair while, as you sit whistling that tune,
hoping I'd be smirking,
I'd hum loudly. Out of key. And tastelessly.
So consumed in your troubles,
the beer bottles, wines, tabs that are hardly tipped,
the wink in your hypocrisy kissed my pride.
I flinch now. These days have made me flinch.
Gratifyingly so, your fingers are louder than
your lips.
I do not know the taste of your lips.
No one kisses on Tuesdays.
Maybe Wednesday, but we never see each other
then.
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 10:51 PM UTC
Diseased again , in the middle of May,
Almost threateningly fatal.
Dormant dimmed brain of mine,apt and inviting prey,
Been demented since awful April!
Earnestly eager to get healed,
I've enacted the preposterous tribal dance to the write(right) gods and appealed.
They unmistakably ignored my pleas,
and my mind still remains stuck,stagnant ,in a frigid freeze.
Changed my workspace to the garden,
To **** in the fresh air,clear my brain and brighten.
Result: Chewed half a pencil,
******** alien patterns in the muck,and a weak wasted writers' will.
Countless imaginary "stories" with no beginnings,
Right Brain-dead till late evenings.
Waiting on this blasted writers' block to clear soon,
Hopefully,the rains should clean the slates, in Judicious June.
Nov 3, 2011
Nov 3, 2011 at 2:45 AM UTC
you sent an inquiry to my heart.
anxiety rose.
i appealed your probe of my soul.
because i needed to attend to the inflection,
of the phrases that potentially could lead to the finale.
little do you see i’m like a ******
hidden among the rooftops of the metaphysical.
i analyze every stir, shift, and statement,
this all happens at reckless readiness.
a sharpshooter protects someone or something,
i only ride shotgun for my heart.
history has validated i must.
i’m fearful if i don’t my sorrow,
will engulf my soul, if that transpired,
i would be vacant
frame,
and my book,
would be forgotten,
no one
appreciates, values or loves a fragmented
soul.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 7:29 AM UTC
Your smile,your eyes ,your pretty voice ...
Brought me light ,appealed my soul to rejoice ...
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 1:41 PM UTC
I looked into unseeing eye;
it didn't blink
Tears pooled blurring my vision....
Perhaps I could pass through that shuttered gaze,
probe deeper within;
pass by blood and tissue
and reach the fleshy beating heart?
I closed my eyes and appealed with words,
clawed blindly at emotional walls;
pleaded with silent screams at pie in the sky dreams....but
Treachery had been there first;
plucking away...
stealing the heart with its persuasive sway
Feb 3, 2012
Feb 3, 2012 at 12:40 AM UTC
°°••¤☆♡☆¤••°°
A friend was stricken with disease
The dreaded cancer - the Big C
But to Jesus we appealed
It is gone now
HE WAS HEALED!!!
°°••¤☆♡☆¤••°°
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 9:48 AM UTC