"assistants" poems
Hello.
Welcome to this poem written by a strange poet.
Here we will get to know the story behind the poem.
True.
He had actually created his own Taj Mahal.
Not just the telephone I refer to here in this poem.
But.
There is his Taj Mahal which we all remember daily.
Not just the telephone I refer to here in this poem.
His.
His girlfriend's name was Margaret Hello.
Do not we say Hello so many times daily?
Alex.
Alexander Graham Bell even got future generations to remember his love.
Each time when we're on a call then we almost automatically say Hello.
No.
He didn't **** or impair any of his assistants,
Totally opposite to what Shahjahan had done.
Yes.
Alexander Graham Bell was the greatest among lovers who immortalized his love,
The other one is Me! as I write all my poems without her thought escaping my mind.
;-)
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 3:52 AM UTC
I stepped on the stage again,
My act was supposed to be the showstopper;
This circus was still breathing,
And I wasn't modest claiming all the credit;
The schedule was followed always,
It had been followed this time as well;
The magical act of mine was to be recorded.
I bowed a greeting quickly,
Followed it up with a bouquet sprouting out of thin air;
Delivered it to a girl in the 7th row,
Neither by foot nor by hook I did that;
Yes my magic wand I flicked smartly,
Making the flowers reach the girl so cute;
The audience sure was impressed with me.
I saw clapping hands in the stands,
Not much later did I speak of a vanishing act;
And I made an assistant vanish into a box,
Then followed a fiery act & my head was aflame;
Like the agent of the Devil, I appeared,
Soon underground I disappeared;
Didn't stop on the floor below strangely.
My assistants were none there to put out the fire,
I panicked and called for help but none arrived;
Soon the fire gelly would run out and my head will burn,
But I hadn't been married yet & my inamorata was upset;
She wasn't going to forgive me for my crimes,
Whether I had committed them or was innocent;
Now I felt my hair burning and the stench sickening.
I was about to find my doom's onset,
Still, the fire was getting colder & bolder;
Now I didn't feel burning in my hair,
The flames were now blue as I could see;
Out of the body was that experience,
And now I regretted each one of my sins;
Suddenly on my stomach, I felt a million pins.
I still wondered if any of it was real,
At least the pain felt real and I was in hell;
By now there was no point repenting it,
The sin committed was grievous I realized;
No Punisher will take it easy & forgive me,
Here the executioner was my own inamorata;
Never did I think she could be so cruel.
I then felt my head being supported,
And I was brought back to my senses;
She then helped me into a standing position,
And it was her who had again breathed life into me;
The vanishing mechanism had failed this time,
But my ceased breath had breathed a new lease to 'us';
I just looked at my inamorata with desperation & guilt in my eyes.
There was such kindness in her eyes,
I just knew then that I'll be satisfied.
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 6:19 AM UTC
Scrambling to get to the 81st floor.
Outrageous? Yes. But who could ask for more.
My coffee spills as I fly through the office door.
But it's worth the price, I can't live poor.
My office is the best. $10,000 conference table, oak cabinets, view of the financial capital of the world.
Five assistants, three for my organization, one for coffee, and the other is best kept secret, so the wife does not find out.
I make more than I can spend, yet all expenses are paid for.
Some might call me lucky, I disagree, I call myself hardworking.
Some might call me lucky, I disagree, word came in that my flight tomorrow morning will be postponed.
This means that I will have to postpone my meeting with my biggest client. But it's ok, because he needs my business.
I guess I can come in to work tomorrow morning.
It will be one more step to the top, to become number one.
As my calendar reads September tenth, two thousand and one.
Mar 7, 2011
Mar 7, 2011 at 7:19 AM UTC
The aliens are coming to put weight on your feet
You see I haven't got any social skills, and I haven't got a decent job
But still people like preaching to me, and they will relax so annoyingly
As if they are really sick of you, or something similar like that
It's alright to be normal adults, and do normal Things
But it's when you preach, and you seem to have even my folks
As cooler people than me, they aren't cool, they don't want to do anything good
The only reason they went on a cruise is because I thought of it
I am cool, and i have fun everywhere, and I party and relax
And take lots of great pictures, yes, that's so cool
I seem to have an adult relationship with other people
But to my family, I am just a little kid, but I ain't a kid
And I feel the aliens are around trying to make my feet feel very tired
I see the aliens are biting my feet, and taking the tips of my feet
For a little spin, yes I am sitting in my living room
Being chewed alive by flesh eating aliens, yes they have abducted me
When I go anywhere with my parents, all the cool people talk to my parents
As if they are cool, and you can say, they're not, I am cool
I don't want people to bash me, or something
They think I ain't normal, and I say that's true, I ain't normal
I am abnormal, especially when normal is drinking beer
And eating more junk food, than you can poke a stick at
And also I think normal also to everyone is being stupid
And I think that sounds cool as long as it is clean stupid
And not going out robbing banks and stealing cars
The types of things that aliens force you to be
The aliens were getting caught in my body making
Me say that I was 323 years old, and I was born on Christmas day
And the aliens made me say that 23 times in one day
To shop assistants and people down the pub as well as over the web
I even said it to close friends, and they got sick of me, yeah
Then I said the reason I said it, is if you add my ages together
I will be 323 years old, which I didn't say straight away
And it confused him a ****** lot, he kept saying
Stop saying you're 323 years old
Sent from my iPhone
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 9:25 PM UTC
(Give me a London girl every time…)
*- I want to push my hands into your hips and smack you back to front against the wall, bunching your **** little skirt in my fingers, unclipping those fifties plastic beauties that cling to your thighs and I want you to be a right proper girl for me, a right proper girl -*
(…I’m gonna find one, I’ve made up my mind…)
So she got her phone out and
Smiled her Madonna-Gap smile,
Fine lines floundering
Like speech marks
Either side of her mouth.
So romantic!
A girl with a face of
Punctuation!
***** pennies,
she said,
Your eyes are
*****
*******
Pennies*
She would finger the holes
In my tatterdemalion
Charity coats,
And my shop-bought medals.
She would jab her fingers
Against each point
Of the Burma Star,
Spookily,
As though it were a
Pentagram.
She’s a washboard,
Her ******* are thumb-tacks
In a cosmetic shade of
Gold,
With a crucifix stamped
Like a dagger glyph
Right between them,
like a silver sneer,
on her precious metal chest.
*- I want to take your photo -
I want you in Pippi Longstockings
And to angle you just so, my no-knickered **** with her goosebumps on show -*
I’ll never forgot when she told me
She owned a leopard-skin
Pill-box hat ,
And I said
* “You’d have to be dead
Not to fancy that…”*
I’m not sure how aware she is though,
Of how many people
Tongue- to- the -floor want her.
She plays bored on purpose!
I’ve watched beautiful boys
Go to pieces
Trying to entertain her
With a curly straw.
She’s a real cheekbone feline,
And around her pupils
Rages a ring of jagged orange,
Like a jester’s ruff.
And I think of all this,
Whilst she stands there,
Moving from toe to toe
In her zig-zag heels,
And wooden bracelets,
And her little lycra
Landmine that
Shop assistants sell
To girls like her.
And then she clocks me.
and she doesn’t say a thing -
she just swims smilingly over
Through a parted gaggle,
Letting me grab her
Like I mean it,
Spanning her waist with my
Hands like
A corset -
And the fairylights
Are just smudges
Across her sequins,
And her mottled shoulders are
Ten shades
Of mostly white.
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 9:35 AM UTC
I’ve dreamed I was falling asleep
And shaking myself to keep awake.
There’s only so much weirdness
And crap a poor dreamer can take.
It was all involved with friends you see
That I don’t see now, because they
Were stranger than my dreams
Or maybe I was. Back in the day.
I would be partying with them
And walking remembered streets
But I’d look around and everybody
Found other people to go meet.
Then suddenly the Hollywood
I knew and loved for twenty years
Became Kansas City boulevards
And Hollywood totally disappears.
Or maybe I’m coming home
At the end of a tiring long day
And look around, find myself
Saying, no way. No effing way;
This is not my apartment!
It’s fine, I kind of like the place
But someone is pulling a joke
The housekeeping is a disgrace.
Then someone would come in
Who I was supposed to know
And this chick is my roommate?
Oh, no. This woman has got to go.
But before I can get my head
Wrapped around standing up
My family is there too, cooking
Handing me a steaming hot cup.
Well,, now I can’t offend them
So, I sit my *** back down.
I don’t want to seem ungrateful
Like some unfunny kind of clown.
****** I leave to go for a walk
Thinking I am in Tucson but then
This is the Country Club Plaza
And I’m back in Kansas City again.
One time I was building something,
Under an expensive sort of contract
But none of the sub-contractors
Or the assistants knew how to act.
They were putting the thing together
Like a Rube Goldberg machine.
I was going ballistic on them all;
The ugliest thing I had ever seen.
These are the dreamworlds for me
On a regular, but often bizarre basis.
Streets change while walking
And people I know change their faces.
Or I am tasked to do something
Involving technology or looming mass
I end up getting no help at all
And wind up falling right on my ***
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 3:53 AM UTC
(For my Loving Daughter Suzanna Christy)
Seven years before her heart throbbed and mine too,
She was prepared to face to the world with God’s Gift:
Her travail had begun and each of her nerve shivered with thrill,
The Father in Christ in His invisible Presence hath been beside her.
Now I shed tears that speak how she had borne the physical agony,
And my inward eye writes how the day was and today it is.
The tiny blossom within the womb shook the stem of the plant,
And the plant stood fluttering, unshaken, but withstanding.
I now feel how I felt of her personal ordeal for matchless Gift.
God’s Answer in her womb, personified, traversed the way out,
The Invisible Christ held her in His arms during the journey,
It was the journey that none can describe except the Answer in the womb.
Biological apprehensions began to fly out with anguishing threats;
Yet the Heavenly Providence filled the way with His Grace.
Medical engineers acted upon their wit and tools to watch the drama.
The God-sent soul, anxious and hopeful, waited for the little wonder:
‘How could God’s Answer personified be?’
Time was on its wings, minutes flew, seconds galloped.
Engineers’ assistants exchanged responses of sincerity and hopefulness.
The little Answer personified whispered from within the Heavenly Mercy.
Everyone heard the whisper, and the mother too, and she would be a mother.
The clock was in its perfection to chime the melody of the Answer,
And the whole world, dressed in joy and smile, looked in awe and wonder.
It was forty strokes behind the entry of the little Answer:
How could I share my joy and with whom?’
The mother raised a doubt within her.
‘I am with thee, share thy joy and pain with Me,
For I have borne everything for thee on the Cross.’
She heard a voice within and the pain left her,
Joy let its wings fly when the little Answer peeped out the world.
It was seven strokes yet to chime.
Each second was a mystery and the mystery was to be solved.
The trumpet raised its clarion call; the lyre touched its strings,
The firmament, filled with Heavenly Blessings, began to shower on.
The little Answer personified sent forth her first cry,
And the cry was first heard by the Master.
Yes, she was born, and she entered the world.
It was fifty-two strokes past three whistles she was born.
Little fairies began blowing little trumpets,
The mother shouted in joy: ‘THANKS TO MY LORD!
Our answer hath been heard. Thou art my Master.’
Dec 20, 2011
Dec 20, 2011 at 11:28 AM UTC
Mexico is a great gift. But there. Good services (male / female / people). The founder of the Boston Market has 300 boxes. Many adults make mistakes. In the Philippines (4), prostitutes, many doctors are wrong. In Brazil, France and Brazil it is difficult to reduce the 600-100-1. Brazil 300 300 pure white, new regions of Russia, Morocco, Wilson, Brooklyn, Harlem, George Washington and at least four. 40.82 300 + 8: Mobile, Google solves the problem with Greece, Macedonia, South Africa, South Africa and Sweden. Mexico is the name "William". Mexico, color, 300 years without other black ornaments for horses or card assistants. Russia, Russia, Russia and Russia. "For 600 years Brazil has 600,000 dollars, 600, many teachers and many other things and bloggers," Sugar, Sugar ": Events: 8: 8 however, Ricky 40.82 South Africa with Joseph because he does what is right for China Africa click on Google Toolbar was and will not ruin Julius Caesar's school, it is above all the foundations of Alkcal's alkaline, the way of life of the child. (4) in three years, 82 Peter Kirkland, George Washington in the White House, Nazarene introduced by Tom, has two dogs, Brazil, Brazil, 600 and 600-600 600-600 games, so thank you for your government that 1000 F-Oh-rty-two children 8 + 8 and 8 women 8, 40, 82, South Africa , Northwest Africa, the continent of Africa Good service (male / female / people) Lotus Boston Trading is the latest version of the 300 Sleeves 600-100-1 Brazil 300 300 pure white regions of Russia, Morocco, Wilson, Brooklyn, George Washington and at least four others. 40.82 300 + 8: Mobile, Google solves the problem with Greece, Macedonia, South Africa, Ica Ica, and Sweden. Mexico is the name "William". Mexico's color for 300 years; There are no more black horses or carts. Russia, Russia, Russia and Russia. "There are 600,000 doctors in Brazil, Brazil, Brazil 600, who do not crash it". Stories, Teens 8 8: South Africa: 40.82 Ricky, African Football, Mother, China and Africa, click on Google Toolbar Jumper Alkashams to protect the house or destroy it. Georgia responds with jelly beans and head piercing each girl's skin to study the words of a group as well as the salivation of young men and women. (82) 82 82 (4) in three years, 82 Peter Kirkland and George Washington back in the White House introduced by Nazareth. Tom has two dogs. Today is a good team. The flight chooses this option in California. Good public security services, public offices and other names. 1.1. Brazil, Brazil, 600 and 600 to 600 600-600 games. Thank you for your head? And everything in the world is great. women. there are many problems at home. The sons of forty victims will come. 8 + 8 and 8 women, 8, 40, 82, South Africa, North-West Africa and the African continent. In fact, click on Google. Mexico is a great gift. But there. Good services (male / female / people). Traffic in Boston. Lotus is the latest sleeve version of 300. In many adult mistakes. In the Philippines (4), they commit many doctors who are wrong. In Brazil, France and Brazil it is difficult to reduce the 600-100-1. Brazil 300 300 pure white, new regions of Russia, Morocco, Wilson, Brooklyn, Harlem, George Washington and at least four. 40.82 300 + 8: Mobile, Google solves the problem with Greece, Macedonia, South Africa, South Africa and Sweden. Mexico, whose name is "William". Mexico, color, black kits 300 years, and other helmets of horse trolleys. Russia, Russia, Russia and Russia. "There are 600,000 doctors in Brazil, Brazil, Brazil 600, who do not crash it". Events: 8: 8 However, Ricky 40.82 South Africa is good for the Tully Halls in China and Africa, click on Google Toolbar and delete the school. Glass bottles with nitrogen oxide come from Alkasham.
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 8:39 AM UTC
Do you think that when first presented with
that enclosed heaven above the Pope,
Michelangelo stopped for a moment,
then maybe a longer one, and still more,
as he attempted to count how many strokes
it would actually take to paint that sky?
How many times his arm would have to
conduct an arc, from down to palette,
back above his head, again and again
and again and again and again. Did he think
about how the brush would stay in his grasp?
The pen is slipping away from me into
horizontal weariness as I write this, contemplate
this one single, un-fluid flow. The autistic part
of me is not going to be happy until it can
at least guess some sort of recognisable
answer to such an insane question. We can
even begin to construct a formula: x strokes
per hour times days times years minus whatever
the assistants did. Haven’t you yet boggled at
the still way-off number this crude estimate
puts out? If I was a girl, I would always demand
a portrait. That’d be a real sign, true effort,
devotion; not just some words scribbled down
on a page while he’s probably thinking of some
other girl he’d like to write a poem about, in which
in which she’s having her picture painted,
her soul pinned.
Nov 23, 2010
Nov 23, 2010 at 11:47 PM UTC
My mind is a bull-fight, semi manifested. Half-realized and halfway through a lingering emotion, a hesitant atmospheric disturbance. The stadium is empty, but the perspiration of thousands of people still float. The enthusiastic screams craving blood, honour, courage; the craving for a childish narrative in which the bull represents evil, and the Matador represents the rebellious hero. The crowd knows such things don't exist. What they do know, however; is that somewhere between the
tête-à-tête
of the bull and the matador, exists a universality of understanding. An understanding that the crowd has defiantly given up on. So they do what we all do: They grasp at straws. But the crowd is not really there. And neither is the Matador, and neither are his assistants. There is only the smear of their bright, bourgeois garments dancing with exuberant flamboyance across the walls, in an obscure, enigmatic disobedience to black-line-confinement. The same distortion of form that occurs through the lens of a powerful drug; or the force of blunt pain.
The bull is adept with his horns, and their propulsion is fuelled by bovine testosterone. But his horns turn to papier-mâché, and the rage loses its direction, like when you try to escape some pursuer inside a nightmare.
And then: Revelation.
The amphitheatre is empty, there is no Matador, no enemy, no good, evil, no trouble or tranquility;
Only
Silence
Impotence
A confused bull, alone in it's thoughts, infinitely circling an empty arena, stabbing at a phantom.
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 3:03 PM UTC
Santa, couldn't make it on Christmas Day.
So, his spouse has a chance to drive.
With the assistance of the elves.
Mrs. Claus took it upon herself.
To make sure all the children's has their day.
With the reindeers prepared.
And a few female elves assistants aboard.
She took to the sky.
While waving to her husband Santa goodbye.
She use as her phase, Happy, Happy Holidays.
As she came and departed many family's places.
After completing her filled in position.
She heard her spouse, said he's tired.
After she has given him a break.
With a snare and a frown upon her face.
She slowly heard Santa say-Happy, Happy Night.
It's time for us to turn in.
And share some jolly quiet time.
As, her spouse turns down the lights.
Dec 15, 2012
Dec 15, 2012 at 11:13 AM UTC
Sitting in this jail cell contemplating my choices
I wish I never ever hit the joined the raid and hit the police
I’m glad I dropped the knife from the shop assistants throat
Glad that I saw reason from wanting to steal from the bank.
I sit in this prison though for all my minor actions
I stole a car drunk one night and got caught in a police chase
Was caught stealing from the supermarket because I had no money
And attempting to ****** the shop assistants that I robbed.
But I have never felt so scared within this wire fenced jail
I pray each night that I will live to see the next day as I close into my parole
As inmates get murdered on severely injured with the guards looking away
And being alone in here makes me realise while everyone tries to escape.
Standing outside these prison walls looking in where all my problems were left
I sit and pray for forgiveness and the chance to prove I have changed
Walking around in a business suit going to and from the court house I was in
Is where my job is now as I go to court with all the minors to help them if I can.
Feb 21, 2011
Feb 21, 2011 at 9:24 PM UTC
You so desperately want to
tickle my
funny bone
Don't you realize
how fractured
you all left it....
And this broke-down heart
cannot pump the
healing elixer
My veins have run dry
from the
Ectomy
you performed
with the myriad of surgical assistants
you employed
So you can search for that phantom
spark
but don't be too disappointed when
you come out empty handed.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 1:24 PM UTC
I remember dad lying
in a hospital bed breathing,
but not much more than that.
Hours were spent watching assistants
come and go.
Televisions droned through the hallway
from other rooms,
echoing through my head
like an old movie playing at
4 a.m.
after pulling a drunk.
Rousing moans from dad
punctuate the tedium.
Sweat pools under my thighs
from the high-quality,
leatherette upholstered chairs
that only one hundred thousand dollars
of medical care could provide
in a hospital room.
Mornings
brought the same parade of people
pressing and probing dad.
Occasional visits from the resident physician
yielded timeless comments like,
“we just want him to be comfortable,”
and my personal favorite,
“have you been here all night?”
Stupid question.
After all the “outpourings” of concern
from friends and relatives
(who I haven’t seen nor heard
from since the dirt was shoveled over his casket),
their visits can only be topped
by the Sunday-after-church-crowd,
who desired only to brand dad
with their version of beliefs -
God bless them.
As they were leaving,
I could most certainly detect the pride
they felt in themselves
for their courageous visit to the dying.
And then came death.
And here I am at 4 a.m.
in the morning two years later,
listening to a two-bit movie drone on the TV,
wondering if dad listened to the
Sunday-after-church-crowd.
© 2010 C.T. Bailey
Apr 9, 2011
Apr 9, 2011 at 7:27 PM UTC
The ones that like order, order order
The ones that don't, don't.
The ones that have, need it protecting
The ones that don't, don't.
Those with ludicrous possessions and wealth
Create communities in despair
As their lives are dragged into ill health
Songs of revolution fill the air.
Your smug, glutinous lives are repulsive
White house, white boat, ***** conscience.
Though your email spying is intrusive
We now have a global mergence.
Oh, joy will flow when we've succeeded
Between us there is less and less distance
Ironically, your perverse lifestyle was needed
For you've become the Anarchists assistants.
The ones that like order, order order
The ones that don't, don't
The ones that have, need it protecting
The ones that don't, don't.
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 4:10 PM UTC
Think twice
About your lies
About your words,
The sharpened stick
Our suffering, your fix
The bludgeoning stones
That break the bones
The structure of our hope
Our only way to cope
To think that broken bones
Hurt as much as the verbal stones
The teasing and picking
Pushed around the circle
A game of cruel hot potato
Until they got sick and let you go
Elementary thugs
Became middle school suicide assistants
Determined in their mission to blow out our souls
To reach their sick goals
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 6:34 PM UTC
And an enemy enemy's enemy transfers
from page to page. If people do not have an injury,
you should be able to reach the bone without smoking,
flowers, the things of the father or night,
without the leaves and the bushes,
if it is less than if it is not; You can put six ounces
in the first place. Inductive love, a loveless snare
in your garden with your fingers, fingers,
kisses, is an old manor property. In other words,
he will die in power
that has power. Death has no practice or death.
He was born. You can treat someone's soul as a helper
for six avatars. Tree bars for understanding
the IHI message. drinking. tourist. He was asleep
a few weeks after two weeks, but soon he saw his face.
Economists, all other jobs have been deleted,
people who can show all the colors
of the devastation of Reis or the ancient secret
of that priest that night, having the master's
shadow. Unfortunately, the result is enough to show
the behavior of girls and many practices
that bring thousands of events to fruition,
and they only remember two things.
He showed his feet in a cave and taught me
that he was the same
as he who was white and on the ground.
I changed the clothes.
I like your child's personality. Homer's service
does not need food.
One evening, I believe in the store. As you approach the kitchen,
someone will be honest. An enemy's enemies.
Transfer from page to page.
If people do not have an injury,
you should be able to reach the bones without cigars,
flowers, things of the father and night,
without the leaves and trees,
if you are less than if you can not eat it.
Dining at the moment. [Grassless innocence], the trap
of the garden within your garden
with your fingers, fingers, kisses,
is an ancient possession. In other words,
he will die in power. Death has no practice or death.
He was born. You can treat someone
as a helper for six incarnations. Wood tree
for understanding IHI
content. drinking. tourist. He had been sleeping
a few weeks after two weeks,
but soon he saw his face. The economists,
all other jobs have been deleted, are people
who can show all the devastating effects
of the raison; the ancient secret of the priest
that night, in the shadow of shadow.
Unfortunately, the result is enough to show girls'
behavior and many acts have led to thousands
of events, and they have remembered
two things. He showed his feet in a hole
and taught me that he was the same person
on the ground. I changed his clothes.
I like your baby's son. Home service does
not need food. One evening, I believed
in the store. As you approach the kitchen,
someone will be true. And enemy enemies.
Transfer from page to page.
If people are not vulnerable,
you should be able to reach the bones
without cigar, flowers, things of the father
and night, without the leaves and trees,
if you are less than you cannot eat yourself.
At the moment. Infinite light,
the trap of the garden
is in his garden with his fingers, fingers,
kisses was an ancient possession.
In other words,
he will die in power. Death has no practice or death.
He was born. You can treat someone as a helper
for six lifetimes. Wood tree to understand IHI content.
drinking. tourist.
He had been sleeping a few weeks after two weeks,
but soon he saw his face. Economics,
all other functions
having been deleted; | are people who can put all the endless
reestablishing of the material of the ancient ancient priesthood
and night, in shadow of shadow. Unfortunately,
the result is enough to show behavioral behavior
and many acts that have led to thousands of events,
and they have remembered two things.
He showed his feet in a hole and taught me
he was the same in the ground.
I changed his cloth.
I went to your grandson.
Home service does not need food.
One evening, I believe in the store.
As you approach the kitchen,
someone will be true. And enemies' enemies.
Transfer between pages.
In the absence of scratches,
people can reach the bones
without using cigars without cigars and trees,
flowers, fathers and evening.
This moment now. Infinite light, his garden
his fingers, fingers, kiss garden traps
were ancient possessions. In other words,
he is to die with power. Death has neither practice
nor death. He was born. You can handle people
with six assistants. A tree that understands the contents
of IHI. Drinking with a tourist.
He had been sleeping for several weeks
in two weeks, but he immediately saw his own face
In the shadow's shadow where all other functions
of economics are removed, people who are part
of the ancient priesthood and infinite reconstitution
of the material in the night. Unfortunately,
the results are sufficient to show behavioral behavior
and many activities that have caused thousands
of cases, and I remember two things.
He showed
his feet in the hole and told me he was on the ground.
I exchanged this cloth. I went to your grandchild.
Home service does not require food. One night,
I believed in the store.
| As you approach the kitchen,
| someone is the truth.|
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 2:52 AM UTC
An awesome place at which you will want to stop
The Closet is a charming little posh Shoppe
Come meet the staff and all the volunteers
They will gladly help you and are very sincere
They have countless apparel and lovely dress suits
Stunning hats to trendy shoes, purses and boots
There is never a dull moment at the closet
Everyday there are many clothing deposits
Assistants who sort, steam, hang and tag
Life at My Sisters Closet is never a drag
Boundless deals numerous times a year
Continuously makes you want to cheer
Several dozen bridal gowns and vivid color dresses
Your chosen style no doubt will be quite impressive
We’d love for you to come donate, visit or buy
Please come before six, now don't be shy!
Copyright 2015
All Rights Reserved
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 8:27 AM UTC
I have a couple of ‘research for credit’ classes this semester and I’m spending a lot of time with my TAs. Teaching Assistants (grad students) are essentially approachable professors with longer office hours, faster response times and a willingness to spend a little time walking me through options, so I understand the material and don’t charge-off in some crazy direction. I have a flawless record of wasting time on the wrong things at the wrong times, so I never feel silly or dumb asking questions.
AM I having fun yet? Yeah, I am.
A bell dings. Let the fighters enter the ring.
There’s a gathering of things, then we rush for the wings.
Students are bolting from classes, like riders out of rodeo shoots.
Focused faces, off to the races, phones appear from a hundred places.
Outside, a cool, brisk breeze moves paper-mâché clouds, across the blue-dome sky.
Squirrels freeze from their thieving, and watch this sudden, noisy invasion of their world.
There’s a bee-like buzz of conversations, from ahead, behind and in doppler passing.
“Question six - was that right - what are you wearing to the thing tonight?”
My tummy growls for some lunch time relief - a plea for a snack - or coffee’s appeasement.
I glance at my watch, there’s no time. I leave the path for the grass;
I have an immediate class! Why are people so slow?
I get heinous looks - it’s grass people - kiss my *** people.
I squeeze sideways in the crush to enter the Kline Biology Tower, atop science hill.
In the hallway I find Lisa, we share the next class. “Do you have a granola bar?” I ask.
“I’ve got two,” she brags, fishing one out, as we drop our bookbags.
As I moan with pleasure, she chuckles at the relief on my face.
The TA announces, ”You should have papers, pass ‘em, please.”
.
.
Songs for this:
Home by Luke Chiang
No Other Plans by Sunny Levine
Sep 23, 2024
Sep 23, 2024 at 12:48 AM UTC
Here's my thought about some folks
I guess you know them too
Their names are Siri, Alexa, Cortana and Google Assistant
You said your purpose is to make my life easier
To ask you questions and you will answer
Recently, I figured that's not all that you do
But you are constantly eavesdropping too
Pick all my data to send to your maker
The other day, I was talking to a friend about dining at Montana's
Couple hours later, every website I visited advertised Montana's
Just to have it glued to my mind and then
Generate some money off me
Well, you know all the things that I crave
Go ahead and put them all in my face
You have my credit card information
Just go ahead and make the purchase
Maybe that's why Google Home and the likes are quite cheap
Because our personal information is the real cost
They are definitely after their own cause
Makes me wonder if we are just guinea pigs for their experiments?
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 12:32 PM UTC
In recent effents. An undurled experience release a revelation that have reptured my previously durable ambitions.
A free thinkng fantasy. Was to have a voice that could move souls in the way some have noutured mine.
Alas on an ordinary unrepressed weekday I find myself ****** in a climactic judgement day for my previously displayed visions.
I found myself arounded by poetential assistants to finally lighting the spark that may lead to these fantasies to gainly a lively tone.
Musitions and I came together in a spontaneous gathering of the subjected topics being discussed and performed in a casual tone.
While the turn strummed their beat up six strings i merely nodded my head and let the music claim my conciousness. A farmiliar and personally well admired tune began playing. One of the gentlemen asked if I know the lyrical content of the contempory composition. After I informed him that I did the road of the dreamroad was about to split and i would make the pivitol turn through audition now. I was struck with overwhelming bashfulness and nervy contraction. It was time.
I took all the courage I had left. And rattled the shell of the cowardous creative chartacter who lives within me, and I sang. I sang as clearly and well as I possibly could. I gave a performance of my ambitious alter ego that even I had not seen.
After the song came to a close, andd my heaet returned to place from my throat. I recieved a nonchealaunt response to this desperately hopeful side. "You didn't like, sing in a choir or anything did you?" I answered him.... "no"..... The other judge drew back the curtains and the question was answered, and it was preceeded with a chuckle, and it wss all finished with a "we can tell."
Feb 1, 2017
Feb 1, 2017 at 12:28 AM UTC
What have I done? What can I do?
One was a challenge, but now I have two!
My garret was lonely as I lived alone
Until Apple's Siri came to life on my phone.
When Siri moved in, Alexa was miffed.
Two personal assistants with a personal tiff!
While I talk to one, the other is scheming
to send every suit that I own to dry cleaning
If I ask for a song both join in the fray-
each plays different versions
for which I must pay.
They both ordered groceries duplicating each other.
My accounts overdrawn; I must borrow from mother.
Yesterday, really, was the last straw
Alexa sent Strippers to my boss's front door!
For Sanity's sake I'll unplug them manana
From here on I'm a one woman man
My Cortana.
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 4:43 PM UTC
With a broken wrist
on my right hand
due to a fall at a litfest in city
I staggered back on a Sunday noon
swelling, pain and fear ,
helpless to do anything...
then consultation, x’ray, surgery,
implant inside with a stout bandage,
a sling to announce my incapacity
as my bank balance drained.
dependency for every small thing....
shattered and desperate i sit .
not used for a such a state
my mind raising to tempers
whole personality changed
to irritation seeking loneliness.
and as mind was calm once
my left is fine it dawned...
my memory clicked pictures
of children and others , with no hands
at birth or mutated due to mishap ;
browsing the internet on laptop
got inspired; my left hand fingers started
typing on keyboard slowly and wrongly
determination helped speed with no mistakes
and after sixty days my first left handed poem
I dedicate to all those with various disabilities;
and surgeons, assistants and nurses,
others who helped to cope up in hospital bed
and family and friends kind enough to care
with constant dos and donts as i move around -
now with an arm band and a smile on my face!
............................................................................
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 6:56 AM UTC