"appeals" poems
i'm biracial
no i'm not an oreo
no i ain't your zebra
i ain't the best of both your worlds
i ain't mulatto either
i am white
and
i am black
living my life with a sense of inequality
my race always seems to follow me
no matter where i'm at
white people have jokes
black people have questions
my hair appeals to some of you
while the rest of you have suggestions
who said i needed you to tell me who to be?
who said i needed to explain who i really am underneath?
striving to be normal and thriving to be equal
i just so happen to be a white girl
that knows what it's like to be black
and that bothers a lot of people
my race may not define me but it is apart of who i am
so yes i get offended when you refuse to understand
that i am what i am
black and white
white and black
light brown complexion
***** curls front to back
a strong black woman resides inside and it's she you see
a white woman is there but will never be
but i never deny my lines culturally
because they are me
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 12:56 AM UTC
I’m thinking now of my childhood
Of Dinky toys and a bright shiny trike
I travelled for miles going nowhere
On that beautiful three-wheeled bike.
It even had a boot on the back
Like a bread bin between the wheels
That I used to fill with books and toys
Only opened to best friend’s appeals.
The bike was bright red and I loved it
I raced round on it every day
Until that time when I was just too big
And the bike was taken away.
I missed that old red tricycle
It had been my companion for a while
But the two-wheeled cycle that Dad got
Soon turned my lips up in a smile.
It was a second-hand bike and quite grown-up
Hand-painted the darkest maroon
And I rode it for miles, this time with my dad
But it’s fun-giving days went too soon.
My next bike was blue, and a racer
Derailleur gears numbered ten
I wanted to ride out again with my dad
But he’d cycled his last before then.
My dad rode a bike for the whole of his life
Yet he never reached fifty-three
When I’m on a bike now, cycling along
I think of him riding with me.
©Joe Wilson – Riding a bike with my dad…2015
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 1:08 PM UTC
As the wind blows across the fiery desert,
The desperate people of Yemen sigh.
How many more will suffer today?
How many more children will cry?
A Saudi-led coalition
Strikes with a heartless disregard,
Leaving behind misery--
Death and destruction its calling card.
Choking the poor country, the Saudis
Organized a major blockade,
Cutting off vital medicine,
Food, and water, and stopping all trade.
Cluster bombs have fallen on cities.
Thousands of innocent people have died.
Hospitals and schools have been hit.
How can such horror be justified?
Millions of people risk starvation
If all the bombing does not end.
The Saudis hunger for more and more weapons,
And they have billions of dollars to spend.
A bomb made by Lockheed Martin
Hit a Yemeni school bus
Killing fifty-one people, and hurting
Many more, thanks to us.
A U.S. bomb hit funeral mourners;
One destroyed a marketplace.
That our support causes such
Atrocities is a disgrace.
The people suffer from cholera--
Something that is hard to avoid
When a country's sanitation
Facilities are being destroyed.
A massive humanitarian crisis
Plagues the country despite appeals
To end the conflict by caring nations,
While major players dig in their heels.
Sunni-Shiite conflicts continue
With innocent citizens caught in between.
Callous leaders turn their heads,
Afraid to speak up or intervene.
-by Bob B (10-17-18)
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 11:05 AM UTC
I read that women like Spock
Because making someone love
Who says he cannot
Appeals to them.
I read that you usually
Go for guys and that you're
Incapable of feeling love
In the letters you wrote me
In confidence and I
Have to admit-
Those people researching Star Trek
May have been on to something.
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 3:03 AM UTC
Sweeping past the lineroom yards
With a long hand held broomstick
Malayandi was a daily sight,
A hard and indelible insight
His quiet mouth a taco
Betel leaf and tobacco
The sweet red rose scent
Animate his hands to accent
Rhythms in the dirt puddle
strokes of savage broom
Frolic along sewage groom
Gargle alongside marbles
Rake up ripple giggles
Babbling bubbles fling
Driving mild stink flakes
To spread morning
Knit into a dead neat serenity.
On festival seasons vacations
Instead of grooming the vassal
comes blooming with big vessels
Collects cooked food in measures
From each and every homestead
People pour in quiet leisure
Rice in a *** of metal
Curry in another kettle
Filled with reverence and pleasure
His heart is brimming sure
All different kitchen meals
In a single container appeals
All children of the same ranch
With many a range
of community
A bonehomie of unity
The children heard
from their friend his daughter
They'd preserved
All those food in cold water
And all the while
They'd eat from it too
This collected meal
for a week or two
This made the children to
look up at them
With same respect due to
a national anthem
Are they more advanced?
With knowledge enhanced
In matters of life and cleanliness?
Malayandi was unaware
That his humble duty covered
Sweeping as well grooming
The children's hearts
With arts of rare sensibility.
Dec 1, 2018
Dec 1, 2018 at 2:52 PM UTC
A Sonnet is a moment’s monument,—
Memorial from the Soul’s eternity
To one dead deathless hour. Look that it be,
Whether for lustral rite or dire portent,
Of its own arduous fulness reverent:
Carve it in ivory or in ebony,
As Day or Night may rule; and let Time see
Its flowering crest impearled and orient.
A Sonnet is a coin: its face reveals
The soul,—its converse, to what Power ’tis due:—
Whether for tribute to the august appeals
Of Life, or dower in Love’s high retinue,
It serve; or, ’mid the dark wharf’s cavernous breath,
In Charon’s palm it pay the toll to Death.
4.7k
superimposition of celestial ampersand:
a continuity of all things
stars hanging loose in the pupil
of this deadbeat word.
typhoons in a swirl of tempestuous ballet,
dogs shivering in the blue cold,
biting their canine integument the way
scarabs would, sinking in a temporal flotsam-way within tectonic display
of text
hectares of blank stares bringing
to life lysergic field of black birds.
and then some
equal number of evocativeness:
continuing on into the ground
are the bones warm in their compost.
the sudden fragrance of rat ****
appeals to the masses.
too much laughter in flooded thoroughfares pockmarked by
the vehement jam of staccato jackhammer.
choking us is today's headline
in supreme obbligato - its stench
reeks of libidinal perfume etched
in the flesh of the rigmarole.
one filthy day in Manila.
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 12:53 AM UTC
When her husband glances at me;
I observe tiny highlights of speculation
glittering on the treacherous
surface of his intelligence.
My open smile defuses him.
He blast the ready pores of his suspicion,
of course her animation appeals
to other men: she's attractive,
high-spirited in conversation.
But my pleasure find
new edge to the tale of an axe
returned sharper than it was.
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 5:09 AM UTC
Indecisive
Maybe misguided
I'm digging myself deeper in the rut
Don't make any decisions
But expect a new view
To eclipse my tunnel vision.
I wish that I knew
But the whole city knows
The whole stupid city knows that I don't.
I've got some friends here
Some that I hardly know
Some that I know entirely too well
And regardless of category, I wonder
As I sit here, lookin' at laughs
At smiles, at scowls
How long it's going to be before we don't know
Each other at all
How long before we barely have
Memories.
I'm ready to go
We're all starting to grow
I really know that I should go
But what happens when you don't like the skin you're growing into?
What happens
When the things keeping me together fall apart?
What happens when it's my own ******* fault?
A glorious display of regression.
I'm indecisive
Pretty misguided
Putting myself farther in the wrong
Yeah, I'll admit that I'm wrong
Like you were wrong
I guess we're just going to be wrong
About some things.
I know that I am because it could never be
It would never be
It should never be this easy.
It should never be this easy
To not care.
Make everyone happy
Put it all on ice
And hope that global warming doesn't apply here
Hope that they believe
You thought that was possible.
Hope they believe
That you didn't know
I know it's almost time to go
I know we're all going to go
I know I really should go
But I'm too ******* scared
To know much else.
Doing everything with everyone,
Attaching to no one
Yeah, I'm full of solid ideas
Ideas and ideals and appeals
Appealing for belief
That I had the best intentions
A glorious display of repression.
Why?
Well, when your diagnostics team is ******
You're safe to assume
That the problem isn't going to be resolved.
I'd run the diagnostics,
But I'm too afraid of being honest
And honestly
I know that I'm misguided
But things just don't come full circle
When you're indecisive.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 3:43 AM UTC
I'm drawn into the darkness in your eyes
I feel at home I don't know why
Tap into energy you supply
Magic explodes there is no more try
Inside you I want to become
A warrior for your heart under each passing sun
Battle like a gladiator till it's won
Satisfaction in action you're sure to come
Never been holy a Devil I am
Don't have to speak words vibes you understand
Scorpio mystic powers I command
Practice creates the master who makes the plan
You can check the clock there is no time
Same way there's no limit to our minds
Words born from emotions that cannot be defined
Translated by a poet patterns become design
Keep love flowing infinite always growing
Not what I say it's about what I'm showing
Drink from the river of ever knowing
Fine tune inner light till its glowing
Did you put me under your spell?
Drunk with love my defenses fell
Detached from heaven I walk through Hell
Listen to demons and stories they tell
I write them all down chapters for this book
Analyze recognize path they took
Cast out heart meat on the hook
Appeals to third eyes many take a look
Dare touch caress don't mangle
If I Expose my wick will you light my candle?
Release tension heart strings untangle
Charmer of my snake all yours to handle...
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 6:13 PM UTC
I’m singing the blues
Saying good bye to my shoes
The red patent high heels
With the shine that appeals
The shoes that made me feel hot
Whether I looked it or not
Made me walk with a wiggle
Made my back side jiggle
Gave me a **** demeanour
Made my legs feel leaner
Helped me walk tall
On the days I felt small
The same red shoes, so sweet
That are now tight on my feet
Which squash my big toe
And somehow, they know
That I’ve got dickie knees
So I’ll never wear skis
Not to mention arthritic hips
Which cause a total eclipse
When I bend over
And moreover
I walk just like I’ve got off my horse
So I’ve got to bid farewell, of course
Part company with my lovely red shoes
That is why I’m singing the blues
…..They should sell on ebay pretty quick
….. I’ll spend the money on a walking stick
©Nicki Tilston
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 9:13 PM UTC
I'm not the best at listening
I'm even worse at talking
Even texting is impossible these days
But poetry comes from my soul
What I fail to express regularly
Flows so easily through this medium
If you feel the same then maybe that's why we do this
It feels like a game
And maybe it appeals to the kids within us
A serious, lighthearted way to communicate
That also pushes us to write more
We were always good at testing each other
As for the memory of pancakes
I remember it a bit differently
You were trying to hold back tears
And I remained passive and cold
It's not a thought I enjoy revisiting
That entire weekend was a challenge
We pushed each other to the edge
Waiting to see who'd fall first
Clearly it was me
I was wrong in so many ways
I know that better than anyone
And maybe I should've waited
I shouldn't have left so long
But I wasn't in bed with another
I was trying to sober up enough to get home safely
Sure it was a bit excessive in time
And I'm sorry I made you wait so long
But I was a drunk mess and I couldn't get home that way
I didn't mean to take advantage of you
I didn't mean to hurt you
Obviously, I did
And still do I'm sure
But those were never my intentions
I do care for you
It's all very complicated and stressful
I wish I could make it easier for us both
But I don't haven't figured out how yet
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 5:35 PM UTC
There was something so intimate about sharing our favorite colors with each other
About sharing something that people deem as unimportant, basic information
"Does it matter?" He asked
And I said "Yes, because it's funny how we can know so much about each other yet still not know the basics"
I want to know the things that most people don't know
I want to see the parts of you that you hide in your shadows
I want those parts of yours that have gathered dust and cobwebs in the crevices of your mind
I want the parts of you that you may have thrown away
Black
Black was his favorite color
And then he followed up with orange
So he likes Halloween colors
Totally cool with that
And he asked me what was mine and I said I'm a bit colorblind but sky blue appeals to me
And he said he liked that
He liked this thing about me that people deem as unimportant
He liked this small piece of knowledge about me and even if my favorite color may just be as small as a sprinkle on a monster banana split, he liked it
I said I wanted to paint my room sky blue
So that when I'm in bed I feel like I'm lying on one of the clouds in the sky
He said he wanted to paint his red
And I said well that's a dark color
But he said that when he was little the sun shined through his red curtains and covered his room in this red light
And he loved it
I liked that about him
I could imagine his little self sitting on his bed staring at the red light that shone through his curtains
And all this red was all he could think about
If he would ask me again today, "what's your favorite color"
I think I would say, "You
Because ever since you came into my life you were the only color I could see. You were the only color I could feel like how you felt the red from your curtain, I felt your love. You made me realize that color is one of the best things the world has to offer. If I was a blind person and I had met you, I've no doubt I would have the best set of imaginary colors in my head because you have the ability to make me feel so much things at the same time and these feelings come out of me like paint, splattering all around creating the masterpiece of our existence. It was the best masterpiece. It was the kind that you didn't have to understand it to love it. You just loved it as it is. You love the color, the unusual mixture of color over color and the mystery of not knowing the reason behind this festival of colors. you came into my life not with smooth gentle strokes using a paintbrush, instead you painted with your fingers. You told me you wanted to feel the colors at the tips of your fingers and imagined that our blood would change color according to our mood. You wanted to feel that moment when paint meets paper, when color meets blankness because that's how it felt when I met you. You made it seem like knowing the favorite color of a person is like knowing what gives life to a person. I can't say my life has been black and white before you because I could see a few colors here and there in very low tones. As if I was looking at life through filtered lens. But because of you, I am no longer colorblind."
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 1:38 PM UTC
your George Klooney appeals to your filter.
you brunch with Tungsten and straight up toxic marriages.
the mob rules the Jupiter, so therefore and ever after
you mop Hell's kitchen while you slideshow
your thumb through the wreckage
of your tender aggressions in the marsh
where the hard sky lobs acid and false globs
of character... we blur the chi chi's and wiz bang
the last dirge
we incur the wrath of our blissful innocence
and sweeten the Lama
with our Lambda, " all back of the bus, and **** "
we betwixt the twain.
and that's the grease
in the varmint. the tuft of luscious.
you gob-smack the kiwi and chip away at the porcine thunder
of our pagan banquet.
the lungs you drum with; are even now
less equipped to sermon the mount
where your meek inherits
lengua tacos.
and your life means nothing, really....
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 10:41 PM UTC
I love them,
They don’t love me.
Why would they?
They’re hot,
Juicy,
And delicious,
And I’m just…
Salty,
******* them down to the bone.
Buffalo wings rip up my insides,
They’ll inflame my chest and belly,
Giving me heartburn,
As I power through my consumption of them,
And yet I still crave them on a frequent basis,
As if I didn’t learn my lesson the last time.
Bone in or bone out,
It doesn’t really matter at this point,
I gave up trying to develop a preference,
As I’m committed to my hankering,
And seek regular satisfaction,
From the sensation and flavor they provide me.
Eyes full of tears,
I power through the pain,
Believing that each and every wing is worth it,
Even if I know they don’t agree with me,
And know **** well they are not good for me,
It’s like hitting yourself in the face,
But laughing at the sound it makes.
Wings come in all shapes, sizes and flavors,
But I choose the buffalo wing every time,
For the mere fact that they taste the best,
Even if they end up causing the most damage.
They don’t even fill me up,
But they do make me feel like I’ve had enough.
How many buffalo wings would it take,
For me to try a new flavor?
Is it the saltiness that appeals to me?
Is it the spiciness that enslaves me?
Is it the drippiness that seduces me?
Why not something sweeter, like BBQ,
Or savorier like Parmesan Garlic?
Why not choose plain old wings,
With a little bit of seasoning to keep it interesting?
Nope, I’ll always go for the buffalo wing,
I’ll always have that craving,
Because sometimes, living on the edge,
Knowing the risks and going ahead anyway,
Makes loving wings all the more worth it,
Despite their destructive ways.
Oct 30, 2023
Oct 30, 2023 at 8:29 PM UTC
All sounds have been as music to my listening:
Pacific lamentations of slow bells,
The crunch of boots on blue snow rosy-glistening,
Shuffle of autumn leaves; and all farewells:
Bugles that sadden all the evening air,
And country bells clamouring their last appeals
Before [the] music of the evening prayer;
Bridges, sonorous under carriage wheels.
Gurgle of sluicing surge through hollow rocks,
The gluttonous lapping of the waves on weeds,
Whisper of grass; the myriad-tinkling flocks,
The warbling drawl of flutes and shepherds' reeds.
The orchestral noises of October nights
Blowing ( ) symphonetic storms
Of startled clarions ( )
Drums, rumbling and rolling thunderous and ( ).
Thrilling of throstles in the keen blue dawn,
Bees fumbling and fuming over sainfoin-fields.
2.4k
It was rumors
An overzealous starlet
Her name Cassandra
Well-known to critics
Beyond a casting call
Conquering the boulevards
This flaming Diva
Her serpent attitude is her might
For I
Once bitten into poisonous passion
Repeatly stumbling
As her looks proclaim the likes of a darling Dove
Losing a battle that cannot be won
Her graphic representation for apparition
Appeals to men with greater value
Calamity is her weapon of choice
For days upon her roof
I've fallen
To a script
Only meant for fools
Nov 21, 2009
Nov 21, 2009 at 11:22 PM UTC
A cuckoo bird breaks the silence
Of the wintry morning.
Although all the people are sleeping,
She appeals us,
With her happy note,
To awaken from the wintry bed.
And how to begin a day’s work.
She hides her face
With a veil of darkness.
But she unveils her face
In the wintry night.
She sings
To give the odor
And perfection of the wintry dawn.
Let’s praise
For the eternal bird.
Let’s sing
For her divine voice,
Who breaks the silence
Of the wintry morning.
And welcomes the day with her divine singing.
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 2:31 AM UTC
i know what i am,
to you.
an embarrasment,
don't let the ladies from the church,
hear that i dont believe in god.
you have dragged me,
to shrinks,
to priests,
convinced i am of the devil,
convinced i was molested.
convinced that there is something to be fixed.
all the while,
i had known,
that my disease was not of the mind.
i was not diseased at all!
i was wearing black,
because i liked it.
i loved a woman,
because she made me happy.
i have ink on my skin,
because its beautifull.
i have steel in my flesh,
because it appeals to me.
i am an atheist,
because it makes sense.
but lo!
shield your gaze from me.
cover your children's ears.
suspect that they are gay,
while you are at it,
it rubs off you know.
push your head into that hole,
stick your fingers in your ears,
and sing a ditty to drown me out.
cut me off.
frankly, i dont care.
i am done explaining.
no longer,
can i fake a placid demeanor,
around the dinner table,
to encourage your beliefs.
i know you think,
its all attention seeking.
equipped with this,
my mother,
my sister,
i will not squirm under your gaze any more.
i cannot conform,
to your ideas,
of a daughter,
of a sister,
of a wife,
of a woman.
i fly proudly in the face of your disaproval,
because i know,
every step i take towards your shackles,
is a step away from my destiny.
Jan 27, 2010
Jan 27, 2010 at 2:26 AM UTC
We search hopelessly for the love of our life. Basic reality leaves us to compare in most of the choices that we make ,
Problem is we choose the things appealing to our eyes and leave the the rest alone
Perfect point to understand the worth of a gem, some cut and polished and shine like the sun but once touched by the hands of man the worth of the gem is less valuable in comparison to the love we find the value of a beaten soul that's been torn and hurt by another, when you see her bruised face you pass her by for she wasn't appealing to your eyes.
Have you ever inquired the behind the scenes of a gem at the glance of it when it's dug from the ground, beneath the dirt and mud tossed and turned and beaten by mother nature and her wrath, it's initial find much like the passing of the bruised , is tainted by this world we live , ever wondered in your closed mind the true value of it's worth go beyond what appeals at your first glance , wipe the Earths **** from the gem and shine it up now do the same for the person you passed that another person abused, take them in let their bruises heal get to know their true worth, for the next time you walk about on a life journey in search of a gem or true love , don't pick the ones that are so appealing to your eyes , dig through the rubbel or see through the bruises and there my friend is the finest most expensive beauty of a gem and the true love your in search of to spend the rest of your life with. Beauty is only skin deep but knowing what's beyond the skin and outer core of appeal is the find I would treasure much more than the fakeness of the appeal
©kimmied1105
Mar 11, 2018
Mar 11, 2018 at 10:32 PM UTC
Darkness awaits these wary eyes as
The chorus of the day fills my body
Another town
Another place
Ready for the load
So be my precious
Oil filled jeans edge the way
To my rig of life
Rock to the ready
As music meets music
Mile after mile
Lonely in my solitude
See life pass
Everyday
Eyes meet eyes never a word said
But a nod feels the same
Call to the phone don't end the delays
Cuts from the cars that never give way
To shouts from a horn
Not looking
My day
Food all a plenty that fills fuller
Shirts
Sleeps for the bunk
Time wasted
Another life away
Long the day as loading still waits
Another 2 hours
Another delay
Trucking is life
A world on its own
A place for the madman
A place for the lone
Yet all this appeals to me and the few
This world is my playground
I'm here for the view
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 2:57 AM UTC
the teacups
pans
and plates
they all talk to me
i'm overcome with uncertainty
and no i'm not crazy
but silverware
appeals to
my senses
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 1:26 PM UTC
Birds jump to the branches
of trees at sunrise,
But in the morning man
wrestles with whys.
Why do there seem to be
too many cuckoos?
Why chirping so noisy
what are the clues?
In morning the sleep
descends from its core,
and chittering of pigeons
hurts a man more.
There is a lot of tension
and a lot of stress.
Working late at night is a
suffering a mess.
Yes fatigue on mind,
whenever Man feels,
At times, smoking or
drinking appeals.
At roaming late night
the cosmos retort.
A Reckless freedom is
not its support.
Be it testy coca-cola or
a pizza or a cake,
Nature always opposes
without a mistake.
The sweet, the chicken,
the fish, juicy curd,
The cosmos advises
that these are absurd.
While Orderly pattern is
nature's workforce,
But freedom is nature of
a man of course.
As many are options and
choices so gobs.
A Man and this nature
are always at odds
Jan 8, 2022
Jan 8, 2022 at 11:33 PM UTC
You know you are in love when
You go out for a great meal and nothing
On the menu appeals more than
His/her lips...
You are kissing him/her and
A tiger comes up to lick your
Hand (tasting?) and you don't
Even notice...
The thought of him/her
Sends a thrill through your
Entire body...
When you are around your
Other friends they tease you for
Being a bore because all you
Talk about is him/her...
You see him/her across the street
And rush headlong into
Oncoming traffic...
The mustache on her lip
Only serves to make you want
To kiss her MORE!
You love to run your fingers
Through his hair...
Even though he has more
On his BACK than on
His head!
It's been 20 years and the above
Is still true!
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 1:34 AM UTC