"approachable" poems
I see her
Again
I searched for her on the internet
I found her
She is naked
Again
Having ***
With different people
Again
Why did I look for her?
What was it about her?
That sparked my interest
Her body is nice from what I can tell
But her smile
Her cheek bones
Here eyes
Friendly looking
And kind
Beautiful long hair
She seems so approachable
I don’t know anything about her
But I want to know everything
This is why I don’t normally look at ****
I see a face of a beautiful person
And I want to know everything about her
So I search
And download
Telling myself I am not a stalker
I am not a pervert
Telling myself I can be her knight in shining armor
I can save her from the life she has chosen
I am not a stalker
I am not a pervert
How long can she last?
In this kind of work
Before she goes crazy
Before she gets used up
How much money does she make?
She has a twitter account
I will never tweet her
I am not a stalker
I am not a pervert
A couple of years go by
I keep following her on the internet
She has changed her body
With plastic surgery
She isn’t the innocent cute
Girl/woman she was
She is still doing this kind of work
Why?
She needs to get out
She doesn’t have much time
She needs to learn a skill to enter the work force
I follow her on twitter
She has wish list on Amazon
She lets her fans buy her things
I want to buy her something
I don’t know why
I won’t
I am not a stalker
I am not a pervert
She is dating a man
Months go by
Now she is dating a woman
Months go by
She is retiring
I am happy
For her
But sad because I won’t see her
Her twitter account is still up
She keeps taking pictures of food
Months go by
Now she is coming out of retirement
Why
She can’t
It’s not healthy
Then I realize
I keep searching for her
On the internet
I’m responsible
For her being in demand
Myself and all her fans
Why do we watch her?
We are sick
Chasing an image that isn’t real
Her name isn’t real
This is a job to her
She needs money
And she needs it from
The pathetic losers that are her fans
This is why she is in this business
For the money
Is so simple
I’m so simple minded
I begin to hate her
I will never buy her anything
Or ever pay for any of her content
I will never tweet her
Or view her again ever
Never
never
I am free
Days go by
I am watching a television show
The actress is beautiful
I search for her on the internet
I want to know everything about her.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 7:05 PM UTC
Holocaust Poem: "On The Slaughter"
by Chaim Nachman Bialik
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Merciful heavens, have pity on me!
If there is a God approachable by men
as yet I have not found him—
Pray for me!
For my heart is dead,
prayers languish upon my tongue;
my right hand has lost its strength
and my hope has wilted, undone.
How long? Oh, when will this nightmare end?
How long? Hangman, traitor,
here’s my neck—
rise up now, rise and slaughter!
Behead me like a dog—your arm controls the axe
and the whole world is a scaffold to me
although we—the chosen few—
were once recipients of the Pacts.
Executioner, my blood’s a paltry prize—
strike my skull and the blood of innocents will rain
drenching your pristine uniform again and again,
staining your raiment forever.
If there is Justice—quick, let her appear!
But after I’ve been blotted out, should she reveal her face,
let her false scales be overturned forever
and the heavens reek with the stench of her disgrace.
You too arrogant men, with your brutal injustice,
suckled on blood, unweaned of violence:
cursed be the warrior who cries "Vengeance!" on a maiden;
such cruelty was never contemplated, even by Satan.
Let innocents’ blood drench the abyss!
Let innocents’ blood seep down into the congealing darkness,
eat it away and undermine
earth's rotting foundations.
Al Hashechita ("On the Slaughter") was written by Chaim Nachman Bialik in response to the ****** Kishniev pogrom of 1903, which was instigated by agents of the Czar who wanted to divert social unrest and political anger from the Czar to the Jewish minority. The Hebrew word schechita (also transliterated shechita, shechitah, shekhitah, shehita) denotes the ritual kosher slaughtering of animals for food. The juxtapositioning of kosher slaughter with the slaughter of Jews makes the poem all the more powerful and ghastly. Such anti-Semitic incidents prompted a massive wave of Eastern European emigration that brought millions of Jews to the West. Unfortunately, there have been many similar slaughters in human history and the poem remains chillingly relevant to the more recent ones in Israel/Palestine, Rwanda, Bosnia and Kosovo. Keywords/Tags: Holocaust, poem, Bialik, translation, slaughter, massacre, God, prayer, executioner, hangman, blood, innocents, justice, false, scales, injustice
Mar 12, 2020
Mar 12, 2020 at 4:00 AM UTC
You walk by and it hits me
Like a brick wall.
It is subtle, yet powerful.
It washes over me making
that warm spot in my lower belly
even warmer, yet it sends chills
and shivers down my spine.
Spicy and dark, it hints
at a hidden passion.
The darkly seductive sex-god
that women so desire.
But a hint of your day,
only makes you more human
and approachable.
Autumn waves over me
months too soon.
All because you carry the
crisp leaves in your skin.
You are palpable and delicious
and sweet and cool to the touch.
Hold me now, or I fear
I might never let you go.
Apr 7, 2011
Apr 7, 2011 at 5:49 PM UTC
To love and love again,
with the eyes watching,
staring
Childhood secrets and imaginary pleasures
criticized for naivety by those
who have displaced the memories of a
long forgotten past
Who's insecurities double by the cynical
jealousy built up after
innocence has been torn to shreds
Seductive and approachable
this tree,
this swing
We all believe,
as children,
in that tire swings indestructibility
But
as it ages
and the rope withers from the weight
and frays like a spiders gossamer web
we witness the growth of a sad time
One slow piece at a time unravel
from lie after lie
Love lost several times
Everything holding the rope together
realizing that the end end is near
The tire snaps off and lays
in rest
among the dead and dying foliage
Abandoned,
years pass
and that old tire becomes caked
in dust and mud and
forgotten times
But
that rope still hangs there
swaying with the shifting moments of life
Waiting
waiting to be useful once again
There is only one use left for a lone rope
hanging from an old
and lonely
tree
A rope that offered hope and freedom
can do that one last time
A gift that can once again
release us from the pain
and the suffering
this world throws at us
That old tire swing rope
looped
circled
knotted
is now pure freedom
Standing on that old ***** tire
reaching
for that newly formed circle
Fit it
tighten it
release
and jump
Freedom
once again
because of that old tire swing noose
Jun 6, 2012
Jun 6, 2012 at 2:22 PM UTC
across the pond,
I lived off the diet of
some 55 year old bachelor
racing towards the past
only, I looked forward to
so much more than
my mother's improved health.
I would find books and read them
laying them vulnerable and bare
to my devouring mind. *(I swear
to god, there's an approachable
Minotaur among my grey matter.)*
I skipped Barcelona with an alcoholic
to research gay fascists and history's
slaughter benches. I hand-wrote that paper
just so I could feel something at work besides
strong coffee and false anxieties about projected moments.
I raised my hand, countless times
in foreign classes with tobacco residue
creased to my sheet paper. While others
slept or day-dreamed about the pigeon **** outside
*but I smiled at the professor, & mommy and daddy sent them
capitalist notes with the appearance of life.*
I met a girl, who got to know me through
all five senses, at once. Speaking more languages
than half this world is aware of, I danced til my flight
departed and I knew which city was my favorite, because
I knew nothing of it going in and having no expectations
opens me like an oyster whose made multiple pearls.
I lost my scarf there, in Italy,
a beautiful one with conversational brilliance
falling to disappearance on my final night, after the rains
of Tuscany had drenched away my need for movement
and the winds of Ventotene had me sailing with
men, I knew nothing of. *After I cried on the floor
over the beauty of Hegel and Marx and fell into
Nebulae of epiphanies.*
across the pond, my life had verve.
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 10:10 AM UTC
I took the crown off my head
To make myself more approachable
To you
And in doing so
Forgot that I ever owned one
Dec 23, 2018
Dec 23, 2018 at 3:39 PM UTC
I have had two opportunites to meet Muhammad Ali, once in Oklahoma City(1972) while working for KWTV Channel-9, and the second time in 1975,working for WAVE-TV Channel-3, Louisville, Kentucky, which is his hometown. On each occasion he was in town for some type of benefit appearance. At Channel 3, the sports director was Ed Kallay, who was to do the interview, and who just happened to be Ali's mentor when Ali was much younger and involved with "Golden Gloves", a youth boxing organization. I was a 'director' in the production dept. and it was my job to set up and direct the cameras, etc., during the taping.
He was a fascinating man, eloquent, extremely intelligent, charismatic, approachable, with a great sense of humor. When I introduced myself, he looked at me and said,"I've met you before, in Oklahoma City." Needless to say, "I was stunned!"
During the 'pre-taping' conversation, the three of us were having a cup of coffee. I made a comment on the size of his hands. I placed my right hand flat against his left, thumb to thumb, finger to finger.. He curled his fingers over mine, nearly hiding them. I sure wouldn't want to get hit by him.
He was, admittingly, also a 'bit' of a 'self-promoter.' During that conversation, he made the following comment: "A few weeks before a fight, I start shooting my mouth off, make a lot of people mad, but come fight night they really lay it down, (then took his thumb and swiped it across the open palm of his other hand, simulating the money bets being placed with the Vegas bookies.) let the 'show' begin!" And, did it ever!!
He was also a great humanitarian, donating to various charities, youth organizations, and never forgetting his roots.
A remarkable man! God Bless You, Muhammad Ali!
richard riddle: 06-05-2016
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 12:17 PM UTC
Last Friday I did a very good job
of drinking away
my anxiety.
The sad part was
the only person
there to see it
was my mom.
It took me awhile,
but five beers
and two
hard ciders later
I was free.
I’m almost 19
and I’ve already
started solving
my problems
with vices.
I had my *** phase.
It treated me no better
than any cigarette I bummed.
In the end
it was all just smoke.
Alcohol made me into something
I believed to be better.
I smile because I mean it.
I don’t shy away
From people.
But I’ve come to realize
that I’m worth more
than two shots of *****
and bottle of Mike’s Hard
It’s so easy to forget
what’s circling
in my brain.
I forgot about
school starting
in 2 weeks.
I forgot about my friends
and why
I’ve been feeling
that there’s a lack there of.
It is no ones fault
but my own.
I have no pity
for myself.
I’ve refused to believe
that taking a pill
would vacuum
away the half finished
poems and the
torn up ideas I have
in my mind.
It’s become very
difficult
to explain
myself.
Most times I wish
I didn’t have too.
I’ve never been approachable.
I look mean
But I promise
I’ve always tried to give
everything.
I always thought
that if I said yes
then so would others.
I woke up that Saturday
at five a.m.
Realizing
that the world kept moving
when mine slowed down.
School will still come
and so will tomorrow.
Give me a pack of cigarettes
Because it’s much easier
to wash that smell from my mouth
than it is to get
these thoughts out.
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 2:04 AM UTC
life is untidy fragile *****
escaping gradually
in instant beginning
life stings curiously small
timid vastly
open flutters
life
newold
life abruptly coiled
in the precisely fragrant mess
of each young thing
nice, tall beautifully muscles
deft unclean
that struck by sunlight shake
loose shimmering deeply
(
like serious approachable foil)
and though for straightening endlessly
still curls
(half small languorous )
'gainst the mortal stuff
in
toomuchclothing
swaggering with tight comely
L I F e
Aug 11, 2012
Aug 11, 2012 at 12:25 AM UTC
i love your imperfection
dry, split ends, rosacea cheeks, dry skin
the real things, the unique things, that make you
i love you most, in the morning
when you are just waking up
the natural, the real, unvarnished look
unpainted, i can see, you, in all your beauty
the acne on your chin, the scab on your lip
like a diamond with its countless flaws
you look, are vulnerable, approachable
i want to touch, caress your face
kiss your dry, chapped lips
rough hands, warm heart, i kiss your fingertips
nails natural, unpainted, coated in potter’s clay
i press my face into your hand, feel their strength
weekends, wearing comfortable torn jeans
baggy shirt, draping, but non concealing
i hug you like a dear, loved teddy bear
dollar store flip flops with a dandelion tops
the bottom of your feet dried, a bit cracked
from walking, bonding barefoot with gaia
you are the feminine, i am the masculine
you are the woman, i am the man
you are the girl, i am the boy
my love for you is endless, boundless, eternal..., Minou
Dec 28, 2018
Dec 28, 2018 at 11:23 AM UTC
a cat died
under a tree
today
the macho cat
I knew well
of his
notorious
fair share
of kids
of fights
of conquest
under a tree
he laid
approachable by
encircling flies
under a tree
laid stiff
leaping
feet snarling
jaws and
rapier claws
useless
now
frozed
by death
still poised
to fight for
a last time.
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 8:14 PM UTC
New heart flame so bright
Atop this ancient Candle
Awakes my day-old fright.
Fiery memories of this forgotten scandal.
I wouldn't recommend -
Defending someone so lost in their own eyes.
Their soul flies
No need to compromise.
Everyday is self-justified.
It's a way to think,
breathe,
eat, and feel.
All about me,
every speech, step, and meal.
You can't reprimand.
After all, it's tough to need
To be needed.
To let yourself actually care,
That kinda thing slightly impairs.
Your sense of judgment I hear.
Always been unmovable.
Every day, just me and the sun.
All my dreams, so approachable.
In between, my daily fun.
Until a new heart flame came bursting through
Bearing gifts and cursing me with thoughts of you.
Strike my morals with your lightning bolt of a smile.
An instant to re-think, and deny my deepest denials.
We as humans think colors when we feel emotions.
Something our brain does, call it thought recognition.
A crimson flame turned brighter magenta.
Within my ever-cautious aura.
Mixing simplicity with complications.
New heart flame
I wonder if I need you.
Lavender stroke of luck, guess it doesn't matter.
No one's to blame
At least now I've something to do.
Spending every day trying to flatter.
Learned a lesson on love today.
That it's just being who you are, every bit you can admit.
With someone standing there and accepting it.
Like a new heart flame shinning there in the fray.
Or just telling someone something you never thought you'd say.
That I'm always here for you, and I'll never quit.
Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 5:21 AM UTC
My heart
Neither sad
about anyone, nor mad...
Yes! It's changed
No one matters
not interested in others' matters
I don't claim
It's under control
But, it doesn't trust them anymore
Not exactly
It's shrunk to few people
But not ready for new hassle
When they meet
I greet with a smile
But "no strings attached" is new style
The status is available
But steered clear
from those who aren't approachable
Have hopes and
Do have desires
But now I do not aspire
Only when it rains
The old wounds pain
But the life is peaceful again
Aug 7, 2023
Aug 7, 2023 at 12:19 PM UTC
Cute and adorable,
But not the approachable.
A smile that can make the heavens shine,
Oh, how can i make you mine
Mixed emotions commenced within,
Thinking of plans for the world we live in.
Fear and dreads of the past,
I thought not all things will last.
The purity of the heart consumes me,
Not knowing what's supposed to be.
Loving you was all I could think,
Although we are in the process of what to pick.
Tongue-tied and frozen,
You approach me as I'm left unspoken.
The aroma of your hair subsides,
Another moment wasted by the tides
You are one blooming flower,
Nothing can price you, not even a cent or a dollar.
I wish I'd be the one who'll watch you bloom,
Cause losing you will lead me to my doom.
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 10:16 AM UTC
Maintaining that faux image.
Live up to society's expectations.
Have *** and be ******
*Don't have *** but act like you do*.
The boys set the bar,
We want to reach it.
We wear make-up because it will
Make us pretty.
We dress **** because it will
Make us hot.
We want to have *** because it will
Make us normal.
Does pop culture have the right to
Tell us what's normal?
If we do not measure up, then
We will put on a show if we have to.
We hope we look approachable so
Then boys will talk to us.
But we have to say no and stay pure so
Then boys will want us.
We are supposed to understand the
Mixed signals and popular beliefs.
We must ignore our morals, yet claim they
Are what we live by.
Pornorgraphy, 'Girls Gone Wild', and risque magazines all tell us that
Guys want us to be a certain way.
We are supposed to turn ourselves into
What they want,
And accept that that
Is all that matters.
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 1:30 PM UTC
Favorite excuse: I'm tired.
Works like a charm.
Everytime.
Ninetypercentofthetime.
I am tired from lack of sleep
I am tired of being soft-spoken, shy, unsure, standoffish, rude, ******
I am tired of people talking behind my back
I'm tired of talking behind their backs
I'm tired of being speechless; not knowing what to say,
how to say it...
when to say it.
I'm tired of talking to myself
[I like to think I'd love some company]
I'm tired of beating my brains out.
Tired of trying to spend time with people who don't want to spend time with me.
Tired of trying to find new friends [how many people live in the world? why am I alone?]
Tired of fake and fumbled attempts at fostering flailing and failing friendships.
I'm tired of being in a room full of people who see me but don't really see me;
who know me, but only a little. Hardly.
Who either hate or love what I am now
Who wish I'd go back to the precious, less-scary, much-more-approachable girl that I used to be.
The baby that they ooh'ed and ahh'ed and cuddled into this mush.
A mush that they could mold into anything
they wanted.
They pulled
my arms and stretched my legs.
They smoothed
and straightened "Ooh, yeah, that looks good," they'd murmur under hot, concentrated breath.
But after all, I was only a mush.
Not a tangible and workable [fixable] medium.
Not sugar, not spice, not everything nice; certainly NOT what little girls are made of.
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 2:37 PM UTC
So I had more than I needed to drink, enthused away the heavy
Managed to let go of it for long enough to be an approachable friend
And fall flat on my face on the dance floor, and lose my bottle and bag to London's foreign legion
It was a good night and a warm reminder of why I'm here
Forgive me though if I'm brought back to those same old nags
One is a permanent part of the programming
A variable that resculpts moments, sometimes with a lack of clarity, otherwise too intense a saturation
I'm not here to talk about it, but the context needs to be there
The other is that same old chase of the cats
Throwing yourself with arms behind you into an encounter without even realising it
Because that one took your hand and let you kiss her
I remember the moment, and nothing else, the evidence of failure only found in drunk texts and a phone that's turned off
Really hits home after a while
Weirdest thing is though.. is that I've taken a lesson from it
One that for some reason gives me a sad smile, and yet an empowering one
If I relax into life, work off the coughs and work on the plans
Ease off the deceptions and distractions, as far as I can
I.e. just carry on with this stupid self involved process
I'll have another moment like that somewhere along the way
Whether by circumstances I've put myself in or by the random roll of the dice
And this time, instead of the worst crashing in front of her in ways I don't even remember
I'll be ready to show everything that's good about me
And if that last girl's look was anything to go by
It'll be enough
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 12:16 PM UTC
I do not want an old man God sat in a throne,
Judging from afar with sceptre and gold
riding on a cloud, sombre and haloed,
stern faced, woolly warm beard stroking,
Michelangelo-esque nighty clad, run of the mill deity.
I do not want a Sunday morning liturgy reference God,
inhabiting musty buildings, documented within dusty books, out dated, out rated, out of duty once a week
(twice if you include the mid-week bible study),
appeasing a sick relative, reluctant, habit God.
I do not want a jolly nodding head back shelf of the car job, kitsch icon, only when it suits me, pocket amenity,
fashion accessory, hobby gimmick God; a God modelled
from routine and agenda and TV evangelism, a convenience style digestible man made allusion.
I don’t want a controlling egomaniac parent God, bent on
setting us unattainable goals and tasks then throwing
a tantrum when the model train set breaks; or a God
who is distant, self-righteous, passive and out of touch,
an elusive, reclusive, exclusive God,
I want an ‘I Am who I Am’ God, whose boundaries are so
immense that to trace them would destroy you. A God
who is completely indefinable, that every brushstroke
put to canvas, every conceivable melody whistled, that
every imaginable word uttered, would barely compare.
I want a God who to stand before would burn my eyes out, make my heart explode; that I would be totally devastated. Yet, a God who is approachable and approaches, a God who is in the here and now, surrounding, dumbfounding, astounding, a God with promise and hope you can taste.
A God who breaks all the boundaries and exceeds every
human expectation and limitation, a God who hears and feels every longing, every desire and creates opportunity,
empowering the heart that cries out, stilling the soul when it aches, a God of promise and hope and deliverance.
I want a God unlike any parent, friend, lover, sovereign, reckless in compassion and filthy with goodness, available and ever there. So dangerously loving, so excessively wise and firm, yet tender, knowing, emotive, compassionate, A God who takes my grief. A God asking to be found and worth being sought.
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 8:28 AM UTC
Ordinary day, lonesome happening
Quiet as can be, here I sit
In this uneasy office chair, daydreaming
Of what can be, pretending to be
What all I really am, Imagination set aside
Desire catches my eye, Endearment blessing me
On terms anyone could really conceive
What is in a thought, a process which can be deepened
A simple second can change anyone’s life
Whether it be for the better or the worst
Life is what we make of it, use of the proper tool
A lesson to be taught or learnt
Determination of one pure decision
Decisive declaration over biorhythms of allotment
Chronologically prepared to make right
Stepping one foot in front of the other
Tend the watchful eye as it shows you
A golden path through the toughest resolution
Building brick by brick along pastures of purview
Now come to your senses, strike a pose
Propound on this glorious insight
A betterment for which you will carry on forth
Entering the approachable endeavor of life’s greatest mystery
Setting sight upon goals to live by
Be free to understand the lesser of evils
As your mind yearns for enrichment
That of which comes from the power of virtue
Apr 6, 2010
Apr 6, 2010 at 11:25 AM UTC
When entering the realm of another
Try to connect by being receptive
Relate to appropriate space
Approachable pathways through
principled heart centred objectives
Display the routes to sincerity by
observing a faithful open perspective
Nov 6, 2020
Nov 6, 2020 at 5:38 AM UTC
To the girl sitting at the bar -
surrounded by bodies, but you're still alone -
please see the beauty they'll see
before they ever ask for your name.
Your smile is addictive
like this liquid courage
that frees our inhibitions,
and lets a rat sing poetry
to a hummingbird.
They don't care,
but I'm sure that you don't either.
But a face that pretty
with eyes as clear as your
gin and tonic,
and their intentions,
does not deserve
the ol' college
Walk of Shame.
The damndest thing
is that at the end of the night,
all you want is for someone to notice you,
to treat you like
how the music makes you feel.
I would buy a drink and your time,
I would point out the way
you grab your earlobe when you feel
isolated
But this game wasn't meant for me,
and I've heard that you want a player.
Sweetheart,
they all notice you.
The more you wear,
the less approachable you are.
So I ask:
Please see what they'll see
before they ever know your name.
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 1:25 PM UTC
Almost aloof yet engaging
She carried herself daily in fastidious fashion
Approachable yet distant
The inner workings hidden from all
Yet when pressed loving and kind
So much so to her detriment
Trying to reason with fools
Cost her the career of her dreams
Once I saw her guard down
Fractional then raised
Then as I met her in turmoil
I said goodbye the same
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 8:14 PM UTC
My cat,
Maps,
Is pretty rad,
You see.
I let him roam
Outside,
Some times.
He’s agile.
Skills honed
Over time,
Naturally.
This proclivity
Is pretty recent,
Honestly.
I raised him in
An apartment
In Austin
With a second
Floor
Balcony.
I’ve done him well.
He’s happy,
Joyful, active,
Rather built,
And Inquisitive:
Very much so,
He’s even cuddly:
Friendly and approachable,
You know.
I’ve known a lot
Of cats,
You see,
But Maps,
Maps my cat,
Is my favorite cat of all,
Naturally.
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 11:23 PM UTC
Intend for miracles
end up in tears
Abated of feelings
trials lasting years
I know I simmer
when I slightly stir
But add more flavor
The allspice, life
and try to concur
In its essence
faltered
incentive
is murmured
Relaxed to dine
and drink fine red wine
exceptional and approachable
with a tight velvety dress
You know you find
uncovered if you try
true lasting impressions
Sloppy kisses
far far far from dry
Jan 30, 2011
Jan 30, 2011 at 7:12 AM UTC
I’ve been reduced
To watching limbs dangle
From trees
Outside these windows
And the dogs
They chase each others tails
We’re not that different either
Approachable
Loyal
Yet ignorant
But I feel
More sorry
For the man behind a desk
Doing relentless work
For supervisors
Really just
Shoveling excrement
I guess I envy the dog
At least they enjoy
Chasing each others tails
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 12:42 PM UTC