"approvals" poems
"You're so beautiful,"
says
Mr. You-Deserve-Better.
His friend,
Joe I-Can-Be-Different,
nods in agreement.
I'm just Miss Single-20-Something
searching for companionship
finding nothing
but the company
of every one-track-minder
in the Greater Portland Area.
I've been promised the moon,
stars,
a few planets here
or there.
Receiving just grunted approvals
from two-pump chumps
with over-active sweat glands.
So excuse the skepticism
clouding my judgement
as I roll all man kind
into one conclusion:
You all bark like dogs.
If he acts like one,
and smells like one,
I'd say Bingo
is his
name-o.
Just save it.
This Jenny has been around the block.
Your flowers will die.
Your chocolates will go to my hips.
For now,
your name is Mud,
and you can call me Miss Independent.
May 22, 2012
May 22, 2012 at 9:31 PM UTC
Do not lance your hair
Just to satisfy those men in suits,
Or your woman, sat there with that expectant gaze
Reserved for only you.
Let your image be cultivated
Through the culture of the downstroke.
The lazy thick steel on the neck of the guitar
That shudders at your touch
And responds with the readiness of one thousand ******
Cooing their broken sounded and false approvals.
I see your fingers fumble across the chipped mahogany
And I recall on the benefit of all men
The first and forgotten lovers,
Buried beneath years of clumsy ***
And vicious disregard.
And from the shadows in the archives of your grey matter
You remember every wince of self-doubt,
Etched across the faces of your women
That you never cared to notice in the dizzy ecstasy
Of your youthful wantonness
And the hardness of your ****
So age will bite at your features,
And you will squint in the wind,
Cowering at the cold that clings to your bones.
At some age you will cut your hair
And iron your shirt.
Nurse your whiskey
And find yourself in receipt of all those women
Still tangled in the hotel sheets
In the back lodgings of your mind
And everything they did to shape you.
And you pick up that old acoustic
And play the tune of one thousands odes.
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 11:39 PM UTC
Once daddy decided to teach his son,
His favorite being politics,
He set to teach Civics..!!
He said,
Son let's begin from home,
If I be the head,
I become Prime Minister,
And your mother,
She becomes Home Minister,
At this point,
Mother who was listening
to all the commotion,
From her undisputed department,
The kitchen...!!
Came out and
Explained casually,
Your daddy is the Head,
And he becomes 'President'...
Who has to give formal approvals,
To what is sort from 'The Parliament',
He also gives approval for the budget presented,
And be guest of Honor at various public events,
He gets to speak few times a year,
And he is still the 'formal approver'...
I manage few portfolios,
Prime ministry and Home ministry,
At times I have Finance ministry too,
Defence ministry too mostly stays with me,
I am the 2/3 rd majority, I decide how to run 'The House'!!
And most times I have solid 'Opposition' too,
The leader of Opposition (LoP) is very strong,
She being your grand mother,
Is also the head of oldest party in the house.
Her party has now lost and so she is in opposition,
Disputing every new law I, the PM try to bring.
She is Old Monk with a Gin,
But with her experience and wisdom,
I the PM, is always trimmed !!
Your grand dad, is a gentle politician,
He keeps changing parties from government to opposition,
When he is with us, we give him portfolio,
We make him a minister for Agriculture, Food and Health.
In some houses he is the Retired Former President.
Living a comfortable life with benefits that come with retirement.
You dear son get to keep Games, Education and Tourism ministry.
Nothing more comes your way,
You are forced to believe you are our future,
And so your ministry always need to perform,
Because,
To brighten the future is supposed to be in your hands!!!
Sparkle In Wisdom
August 2018
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 7:39 AM UTC
Pay checks and movie stubs
amongst reciepts and wrappers
buried beneath fields of dust bunnies
and clouds of unused smoke
is that all there is?
Graded approvals and first take judgements
within statement making garments
dependant upon conditions and factors
and one can't forget limits
is that all there is?
Genuinely fake smiles and unpiercing sharp eyes
around the time of no boundaries
next to missed alarm clock rings
and ever so important transit missions
is that all there is?
Talk back and rumor mills
spin webs of classes missing caste systems
yet gaining entry into future endeavours
so clever these days of ours
is that all there is?
Awkward congregations and a sense of forced happiness
paired with seemingly healthy attractions
combine to create an enviroment in which only the parasites can dwell
is that all there is?
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 11:10 PM UTC
I'm a person that always feels alone & unwanted, a general feeling that's never gone... The desires to be important & not just the doormat.... Not to only be remembered when you need something, the nerve to call yourself my friend is amusing...
Being the nice guy with the world walking all over you when your working hard all for you, approvals mean most to me mistake number one but I hope for my sake this all just passes
The story of my life is a bad joke and I'm the punchline, the pun to this joke is that I've accepted it, if you hear me loud enough now through my silence, your heart has ears better than the ones attached to your head those ones just have you mislead....
Vent what feel not what you think your heart speaks louder than your mind and if you don't mind I'd rather listen to the beat of your heart than the thump of your mind...
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 1:39 PM UTC
Be it rye, barley, berries: whichever my glass carries
- will keep me content- if only for a brief moment.
These fermented cherries do cause the little fairies
- to speak, very, kindly to me, far as my eyes can see.
Could it be: thee- yeast has suddenly caused a cease
- in sanity- for me? Or is it that I've, simply, released
- my need for other people's nods and approvals?
Have I, merely, stopped caring what fellow pupils
- see and/or feel when they look or think t'ward me?
Dec 29, 2016
Dec 29, 2016 at 1:48 AM UTC
(
•
)
^^^
•
Crippled ole gal
Once was a god but he got hired by
HALLIBURTON
as an anti - terrorism consultant
and says he is doing more for humanity now
And is certainly more loved !
( take that you Liberals )
••
A new law is going thru Congress
giving the states the power to grant
**** licenses
On the grounds that studies show
That women aren't actually harmed by ****
And that men have the right to the pleasure
**** provides them
That is impossible to obtain in any other way
/////
Corporate money is pouring into Washington
As the elites highly favor the bill
••
In other news
86 poets on HP gleefully wrote of
Killing or maiming ex- lovers
Generating
811 likes and approvals
And many thanking the poet for the great idea
••
360,000 children died in oil wars this week
And 500,000 starved to death
Bringing in a massive world wide response
Of
** HUM
SO WHAT?
That caused god to say
DON'T LOOK AT ME
I WORK FOR HALLIBURTON
•
THIS JUST IN !!
Of those on HP
715 poets got laid today
Resulting in 217 self mutilations by razor blade
4116 screaming ***** fits
3 *******
And ( fortunately ) no pregnancies
( though I know most of you don't know of
the connection between *** and pregnancies
Or between pregnancy and child birth )
••
The level of MISERY AND DESPAIR
Has been upgraded from
INTOLERABLE
to
OH **** / WE 'RE ALL DEAD
///
The poets responded
DEAD ? Of COURSE WE 'RE DEAD !
WE WERE BORN DEAD !
////
I seen some kid walking with his head down
Thru the rain drenched streets
I tried to catch up with him
But I couldn't and he's gone
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 11:33 PM UTC
the fat **** there lay
On the wall
splayed between thighs open
Without expression
Except as art
The beauty of figure
Nature's whorish expression
comes to life in this ****
In pencil, or is it pen?
Shocked ***** nether
pressed into 80 pound bond
Look, look away
Move on, but look back
watch her lips purse
irises flicker and throats clear
Fountains of youth
never produced such blush
In the markings of young women
where bared ***** roam
in Quieted approvals
And not this shaft of derision
Where ******* have put down
and no one blinks an eye
So raised are now the *****
and let's see where the room turns.
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 3:01 PM UTC
Broken promises left my focus anonymous til life sent its consequence
pretentious postures kept my thoughts unconscious
a prominence to be full of confidence
and an ominous apparel to your provenance,
your body language was taught differently than what I’ve heard
speaking in foreign words
from the painted nails to the forced curls
killing a canvas created for diamonds and pearls,
It's what the world prefers but love begs to disperse
but whats love to a lustful mind,
like obsessions are where your worth is clearly defined
your lust goes beyond approvals of mine
you need attention of those on the outside
like what I say can’t align with the amount of likes that they provide
I feel like I couldn’t matter less,
I'm a personal therapist who tries their best
who gets blamed for the things that cease to rest
who gets pushed under the bridge when things get stressed
you say you’re depressed but your sympathy for mine has digressed
your symptoms are contagious when you tell me i'm selfish for wanting better than this
I'll remember to shut up next time I ask for happiness
Who you are to me isn’t the same as who you are to with anybody
you pick moods like they’re choices
like the person you’re around is what affects how your voice is
you never wanted happiness when I was in your presence
pity is what you love more than the betterment of our essence
putting you first is what benefitted
You is all that mattered
my heart was a broken platter
swept away by filters I held over
my mind felt shattered
my hopes and dreams clattered
the foreclosure of who I was for who you wanted me to be
My hearts in a different place now
my mind is full of spirits now
I lost who i was in an act to please you
I regret sacrificing myself for you
I hate the way things turned out but I'm learning who I am now
Im learning what it means to be me again and that’s something ill never give in
I hope no one has to experience the torments of losing self love again
Apr 8, 2019
Apr 8, 2019 at 5:26 AM UTC
I’m fine
It’s nothing
A cocked brow
A notion
Disinterested sigh
Not important
Bygone valor
Gallantry shrugged
In commonplace lie
Bravado amongst poets
Passion, satire, silent glyphs
Etched to the bone
By penman, scribe
Acting, wishing,
Holding place,
Word, sentence,
Stanza, rhyme
Tears written
Down a hardened face
Literature’s torture
Pain sublime.
He thirsted after knowledge once
Pleasures, power, did pursue
Labored for approvals eye
Quest for love
One’s solemn vow
Words his only retinue
Musical ballads
Crescendo al coda
Bittersweet Grimm’s
Tale apologue send
Turning season’s leaves
Burn fiery gold
Autumn’s soft embrace
Preceding winter
Chilling touch
Of daylight’s end
Words meanings bitten,
Hoarded, gripped in brazen gall
As if to stave off hunger
Hold back the ships
The red dogwood rain
Black cherry fall
Winter’s frost
Its ushered kiss
Loneliness your coffin
Fears entombing wall
My sonata written, cast
Of ebony hue
Guise of pride or humility
Fear whispers
A life’s merits
Achievements
Matter not
Soul hidden
Unread, unsung
Silence
Pride enthroned
Your own tearstained
Rorschach
Lone butterfly blot.
Sep 11, 2022
Sep 11, 2022 at 6:37 PM UTC
The world has grown around her womb,
The beginning of all beginnings, the onus of creation upon whom.
While it is her whose life slowly ebbs away,
At the hands of the manics and the fools.
Her hands chained, mind refrained,
Tongue tied and body veiled.
Lies be sold, this is your world behold!
Here your prejudices are yours only, but your pride is collectively owned,
Of the family you are born in, and the family of your future,
And the society that allows you to breathe any further.
So don’t you dare, this is a world prepared
By some to define your modesty and others to violate it beyond repair.
Caught between the two, ever so stretched thin,
Striving for approvals when discontent is where you are stuck in.
Rather learn to live in this moratorium of rules,
That pays no heed to your desires, your esteem, your needs or your moods.
Your life has never been yours, a conjugation of time tested judgements,
A world build around everyone’s opinions and your very own helplessness.
Nov 7, 2020
Nov 7, 2020 at 1:24 PM UTC
if i were conscious of all the poetic techniques,
metaphor, imagery, pun etc.
i wouldn't write as much as do -
i'd be dealing with some sort of arithmetic,
a labyrinth of obstructions to identify with
rather than bypass - i'd be doing what
philosophers do, staging a fright with a conscious
use of words like: metaphysical, etymological,
ontological - the list goes on, but such vocab secures crutches
holding the whole thing afloat, in poetical realities:
the equivalent of pursuing identities that might
summon a critical conjurer of positive feedback
who, with nodding approvals testifies:
mm indeed a poem, mm indeed a perfected use of
a hammer (metaphor) on that plank of wood
(pun), per se, imagine replacing technique very
much akin to swimming styles with an inanimate tinge,
a stasis - the techniques surrounding the approach to
each of these Pandora boxes is unlimited,
each approach a crescendo, a total failure of Roman
bureaucracy exploited - rather than that mundane
drilling of schooled knowledge of English teachers
ably identifying techniques to such an extent that
all that remains is a noun and nothing behind it;
poetry - the act of spontaneity - synonymous thoroughly
with impromptu - sheering of innocence - the act
of formidable maddening - hysteria par excellence -
spoken like a true addicts, never mind the alcohol,
even though i drink i'm still quiet sober when i infatuate
myself with verse, then the real drinking begins -
piquant - i wrote it because i just love the -quant sound
of things, meaningless indeed, but meaningful that i
could have uttered the sound, and by doing so the resonance
would have a little condo in the universe,
a little place for itself... it still ****** me off what they did
to Brain Wilson - marmalade pop, sure, but it was the sixties!
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 11:32 AM UTC
The day strangely culminates in
German potato salad
and trays of sliced meat
on my Aunt MaryAnn’s dining table.
A celebratory end to a hectic week,
filled with what seem interminable
discussions, plans, decisions.
My father takes deliberate care
to involve me in its events,
in part for companionship and in part
not knowing what else to do.
So, there we sit
in the overheated director’s office,
weigh the pros and cons
of viewing times.
Meet with clergy,
choirs and relation.
Design order,
odes and speeches.
Evaluate various technical
and stylistic advantages of
wood versus metal.
Apply for certificates
and approvals from this office
and that.
Fill out forms and releases.
Select a hairstyle
and a dress.
A shade of lipstick.
Glasses or none.
None.
It’s a freezing February day.
The wind bites;
the snow is a dry powder
blowing over rock hard ground.
I sit on the stoop outside
MaryAnn’s back door,
a plate of uneaten food,
trying to size up what we had done.
All at once, it seems brutal.
The series of banal choices
that moments after they were made,
mean less than the potatoes
and onions in my lap.
A purposeful, unavoidable,
flurry of activity followed by
nothing.
Time passes and other lives intervene.
All those boxes to tick
and formalities to fulfill,
their substitutions for
thought and reason.
A system well worn and little changed,
with its own unbearable demand.
But there was assurance,
and if I am honest
a little hope
within it.
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 6:45 AM UTC
I cried when my
Favorite character died
In the latest episode
Good thing he's still alive
In the book that I followed.
I watched unboxing videos
And got disappointed
With the newest phones
That I couldn't afford
Even after paying my loans.
I should hate this place
That's got awful ten
Bad reviews on Yelp
Forget the ninety approvals
Guess it can't be helped.
Sad I wasn't able to greet
My friends on their birthdays
But I guess it's their fault
For not keeping that Facebook
Data public by default.
I always keep track
Of chart-topping songs
And play them on repeat
But it'll just take a year or two
To mindlessly forget the beat.
There are too many
Motivational posts
On social media
Now it's hard to fill my daily dose
Of other people's drama.
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 4:43 PM UTC