"aver" poems
The flame in my flesh burns tor like
Above conventions of average humanity,
Propelled to hatred of their opposite
By the pristine charm in the streaks of culture,
Their Florence comes from the glory of orthodoxities
In the time long fibres of religious pockets,
Islam, Christian, Hinduism and all that steadily
And firmly in piety aver perfection of Godliness,
Forgetting the flame of same *** with oral spice
In the God made flesh of the dear lesbian daughter,
Spell binding the equivalent in blossoms of the gay,
Provoking hatred from the threatened heterosexists,
But the oral *** of a lesbian is an apex of human pleasure
Surpassing all on earth and in heaven, as no human barricade
Of whatsoever caliber will cull lesbian’s feelings
From the glorious power in the genitals on kiss of lips,
As the tongue of the chic wag from side to other
Touching fountains of ****** glory in cement of sameness
Throwing threats of law and black order to dustbins
And trash yards of anachronisms as the power of LGBT
Engulfs the young world into in its protégé,
Shamelessly tethered on the sensual tentacles
Of maximum gusto in the ***** of oral *** with a dear ‘less’
In tune with all rhythms of the times
Remaining strange to the conservatives,
Ever seeking pleasure from where pain hails
Living gloomy life on a brink of melancholia,
Worry not lesbian daughter you are powerful,
In one away or so, rise up and walk tall
You have power in your oral ***
Oral *** Oral *** Oral *** of a lesbian!
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 4:43 AM UTC
Forbear, bold youth; all 's heaven here,
And what you do aver
To others courtship may appear,
'Tis sacrilege to her.
She is a public deity;
And were 't not very odd
She should dispose herself to be
A petty household god?
First make the sun in private shine
And bid the world adieu,
That so he may his beams confine
In compliment to you:
But if of that you do despair,
Think how you did amiss
To strive to fix her beams which are
More bright and large than his.
2.8k
A sea of names
--the waterfall of praenomen
Nary just a sobriquet
this is who you are, child
or what you shall grow into
Bathe in it
take drink from its fountain
aver your lifeline and identity
to the cascading baptism
It's your birthright
Jan 17, 2021
Jan 17, 2021 at 2:55 PM UTC
first, make sure you are very concerned with
unlearned or silenced or misread minorities. this establishes that you
are a rarity, a person of charity,
a champion and deity of the small and the voiceless.
you’ve made the right choices
swallowed the right poisons
so now you’re not pointless,
you’re with the top few
of the economic disparity.
do you aver verity?
not so much.
you just make the choicest noises.
second, it is very important that you stud your vernacular
with words like deictic, post-spaciality, and sub-simulacular.
when you, font of knowledge, squeeze out pearls like turds
in twelve-point, double spaced, times new roman rows,
lined up like crows or some other ***** birds,
be sure to write no sentence shorter than thirty words, and
see to it that two thirds of these words have more than ten letters
that even the nerds in their plaid-patterned sweaters have not once ever heard.
when you walk, A paper in hand, from your car to your apartment, past four vagrants, do not look at them.
do not look into the eyes of the man standing in the rain, barefoot, black, green, and yellow toenails oozing and crusting, nodding his head and shouting at no one, and do not wonder whether or not he’d be there had he been educated.
lexicon is not eloquence.
erudition is not wisdom.
intelligence is not a prerequisite for rights.
you have no rights.
take a dictionary and shove it up your *** and
while you’re at it, shove one up mine, too.
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 4:54 PM UTC
Alla voce della persona, ignorata,
non risponde che uno stesso sfondo
di suono paziente, vuoto.
Con gesti circospetti
non si fermano gli oggetti
lasciati in un punto.
C'è stato un giorno qualsiasi,
un avvenimento banale:
qualcuno che dormiva
nelle camere di fianco
mentre si parlava.
E continuan le abitudini.
Sul cortile riposano
la nera facciata
e gli archi dei terrazzi.
Da un angolo proviene
una vampata di terrore.
S'arresta il rumore dei fili
della luce sbattuti.
S'apre una corta reminiscenza.
Nello stesso spazio
occupato prima da un senso strano
ora è un cemento d'angoscia.
Sul parapetto del muro di fronte
cade qualcosa,
poi si muove un animale nel fondo.
Arriveranno altri perduti dettagli,
si sentirà l'assenza.
Quando dal vicolo si scorge
un'altra spoglia di ringhiera
e una parvenza di passi sulla ghiaia,
come un pazzo risvolto, si ripete,
nel grembo dell'essere t'assale,
senza speranza,
un incontrastato malessere
così forte che il tempo appare
nella posa arrogante degli oggetti.
Oltre la scarpata,
piani di terra asciutta, martoriata,
i campi dove si tuffi
l'acqua di motori accesi nella notte
e, dietro, il mare.
E' un disuguale accorgersi
delle distanze.
A volte si sostiene per ore
un manto di oscurità feroce
intorno ad una statua.
Poi non resta che il dissapore
per aver inteso domandare pietà
da un'inutile voce.
Feb 19, 2010
Feb 19, 2010 at 4:38 PM UTC
how is one supposed
to aver their thoughts and emotions
with nowhere to pour their words
and nowhere to place their heart for safe keeping?
one has tried locking their heart inside of a chest
where forests of anxiety filled skies and thorny vines await predators eyeing the treasure: a pulsing heart, torn in two, clinching onto the safety of benevolence.
but somehow, the heart is always gaining scars...
scars that have stories,
stories intangible of the human mind to even comprehend.
when flooding season arrives,
those feelings
those emotions
float up stream and settle onto the banks
where a human sits,
eyes overflowing with the truth of life: nothing can be hidden from our world,
from ourselves.
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 2:28 PM UTC
My sweetheart your fragrance makes me wild
After sun set and in full moon your graces styled
Your beauty made me most wonderfully beguiled
You cherished in spring and spring just smiled
Your chastity is represented by your white color
This is what I understand and this is what I aver
You my sweet heart my jasmine is that charmer
My heart sings song of love you are sole dancer
Let me cherish the fragrance let me love my love
From your innocence you seem to be a little dove
I will keep you in my heart henceforth and now
My love I am land below and you are sky above
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Aug 2, 2016
Aug 2, 2016 at 6:01 AM UTC
a refugee from wealth,
he and his Dartmouth degree found the spot
farthest from his New England roots, and the first roots
he saw there were those of a banyan tree, giant gray tentacles
piercing the Asian earth, imploring the black soil
for atonement, he thought
the natives said the tree was older than God
immortal, but cursed with some blight that bedeviled them
and that prudent pruning of ailing arms would be wise
the man had only a Swiss Army knife
with its minuscule saw, but soon he set about the task
of trimming the behemoth, one mad millimeter at a time,
and mad was all the natives saw
this white creature, high in the canopy,
often from dawn until the sun sank in the jungle behind him
sawing away, a half branch a day, treating the gargantuan arboreal
like a prize bonsai
villagers would come, hunker, watch in the shade of the tree
once in a great while, they would see a branch crash on the ground,
at which time they cheered the pitifully patient woodsman
many offered to help, some leaving bow saws,
axes at the banyans' base, but he would have none of that
over and over he received new red knives with their tiny saws
these parcels the only mail he got
even during monsoon rains,
the man's labors did not desist
though his audience waned
appearing to defy physics' uncertain laws
the tree was nearly felled, but the man disappeared
before his colossal task was done, the locals claiming he climbed
into the thinned canopy one day and never came down
not even a well worn blade was found
allowing the witnesses to aver he was yet high in the heavens
resting after love's labor had wearied his hands
but perchance healed his heart
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 2:46 PM UTC
To-night the winds begin to rise
And roar from yonder dropping day:
The last red leaf is whirl'd away,
The rooks are blown about the skies;
The forest crack'd, the waters curl'd,
The cattle huddled on the lea;
And wildly dash'd on tower and tree
The sunbeam strikes along the world:
And but for fancies, which aver
That all thy motions gently pass
Athwart a plane of molten glass,
I scarce could brook the strain and stir
That makes the barren branches loud;
And but for fear it is not so,
The wild unrest that lives in woe
Would dote and pore on yonder cloud
That rises upward always higher,
And onward drags a labouring breast,
And topples round the dreary west,
A looming bastion fringed with fire.
1.3k
To-night the winds begin to rise
And roar from yonder dropping day:
The last red leaf is whirl'd away,
The rooks are blown about the skies;
The forest crack'd, the waters curl'd,
The cattle huddled on the lea;
And wildly dash'd on tower and tree
The sunbeam strikes along the world:
And but for fancies, which aver
That all thy motions gently pass
Athwart a plane of molten glass,
I scarce could brook the strain and stir
That makes the barren branches loud;
And but for fear it is not so,
The wild unrest that lives in woe
Would dote and pore on yonder cloud
That rises upward always higher,
And onward drags a labouring breast,
And topples round the dreary west,
A looming bastion fringed with fire.
1.3k
Amo a mi mama tanto
que no aguanto
siempre esta con migo
y siento como si estuviera
en mi bolsillo.
nunca me olvidaria
ni abandonaria.
ni aunque le dieran una tonelada de
dinero me dejaria.
es amable como
mi amiga crisabel y
joan,la unica diferencias
entre ellas tres esque una es mi
mama la otra
mi amiga y la otra como mi
hermana le doy gracias a mi
mama por siempre estar
con migo y le doy gracias a mi amiga por apoyarme
en todo y le doy
gracias a mi hermana
por aver intentado ser mi hermana.
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 3:01 PM UTC
Oh,the past I want to obliterate
all my past sins abolished forever
for all old hurts with good deeds compensate
Oh, karma holds a grudge, catch me never
Any damage I’ve caused I commiserate
Ah, with my bad deeds all ties I sever
Not necessary to rant and berate
To mend my wicked ways I endeavour
So unfurrow thou brow, let me placate
I admit I was oft, not so clever
I’m trying new ways to communicate
To walk path of righteousness, I aver
I vow, this is my new travelling road
It entails a pure and chaste highway code
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 6:47 AM UTC
I 549 giorni fa
scrivevo di aver fumato una sigaretta perché il sapore mi avrebbe ricordato te.
prova a toccarmi con un braccio, mi passerai attraverso. sono trasparente, sono fluida, sono leggera. 549 giorni fa ero aria greve di umidità, ero fatta di aria pesante & sassi, ero inchiodata al pavimento.
II 528 giorni fa
scrivevo che nel cuore avrei avuto una lacuna incolmabile, un pezzo mancante sostituito dal tuo nome, come una confessione, un'ammissione di colpevolezza. mi sbagliavo. chi sei? ci siamo mai incontrati prima d'ora? no mi spiace, non mi ricordo come ti chiami, scusa.
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 5:54 PM UTC
Hypotheses abound, regarding the extinction
of the reptilian hordes, those base or of distinction.
Some aver, and others vow, things must have gone this way
and when I hear such lofty speech, I clear my throat and say:
“It seems to me that when we speak with such calm certitude
we miss the possibility of death by attitude.
For when I look upon these bones of prehistoric herds
I catch a glimpse of simpler times, and then I see the “birds”
For while the stegosaurus trod with stoic steps so slow
I perceive he may have been arraigned as one below
the wild heights of soaring things, with pointed, cackling heads
who mocked him at his every turn (which stegosauri dread)
And so as this terrestrial life was bound to suffer so
The pterodactyls found great fun to drive them all to woe
They drove them off, by day and night, until they were defunct,
the primal victims of a craft; the first to e’er be punk’d”
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 10:31 PM UTC
Like a moon in clouds so your face in curly hair
Allow my love me some glowing beauty to share
Let me kiss your glowing cheeks in trance to share
World may not have witnessed such flair so rare
Flowers blossom in such a way only in real spring
Let my love give your beauty a wonderful swing
Let me compose many songs on your beauty to sing
Allow me to beautifully make a love chain and string
Only you care for me in this cruel world of hawks
In your company I can encounter all blocks ,rocks
Let us just cherish our all hidden and inherent talks
Let us bear together all lovely and violent shocks
Even if we die but our longing will travel for ever
You my sweetheart is just mine I can declare ,aver
Dawn carries along all hope like just a vast azure
My love I love you let me take to world my candor
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Jul 26, 2016
Jul 26, 2016 at 9:21 AM UTC
*Your words pulverized me again and again
I saw each little arrow
that lead me in circles
back to your doorstep,
wanting to reach out, touch you
but was afraid you weren't there,*
*Did you understand the love we shared
Deeper than the depth of the Pacific,
but the schism of the abyss deepened,
like a cracking Mariana, imploding unto itself,
as I play each scene through my mind
what did I do to make you turn away
I wonder…
it was hard to say
good bye…,*
*My angel, it has been long, since I saw you
yet whatever little moments that we spent
were blessed pearls in shining oysters,
worn around our hearts
I aver it still hurts to know
you are still there somewhere
How I miss…
the endless, senseless talks
wishing for more of those precious moments,
but life, does it value treasured seconds?
I wonder…
then why is it that
I miss the most…us?
I hope to awaken when the sun comes up
and rubbing my eye, I see the dream crash
see you standing before me
as if you had never left my side.*
**The parallel worlds.
My princess, just peep out of the castle window
Do you see that glorious steed?
A knight atop, in his shining armour
Perhaps not…
Since with changed time’s dimensions
I stand on the tor while your castle is in the vale,
Each looking at the other as a mist
Yet still there, where we were…
Nothing has changed, yet there is no constant
The eye of the storm has changed the breeze
The sailboats changing tack, yet on the same course
All a matter of perception…
Look out of your dream and you shall find
Us, standing on the same shore that we last left,
The travels and travails seem to keep us adrift
Bobbing up and down, times tides
Synchronous, dancing to the beat of the waves…**
Dee
Debbie Brooks.
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 12:09 AM UTC
Il dono eccelso che di giorno in giorno
e d'anno in anno da te attesi, o vita
(e per esso, lo sai, mi fu dolcezza
anche il pianto), non venne: ancor non venne.
Ad ogni alba che spunta io dico: "È oggi":
ad ogni giorno che tramonta io dico:
"Sarà domani". Scorre intanto il fiume
del mio sangue vermiglio alla sua foce:
e forse il dono che puoi darmi, il solo
che valga, o vita, è questo sangue: questo
fluir segreto nelle vene, e battere
dei polsi, e luce aver dagli occhi; e amarti
unicamente perché sei la vita.
898
Mi maestra es espectacular.
Aprendio espanol por
mi porque no la iva entender
ni ella ami.Para mi a sido muy dificil
aver aprendido ingles.Y ella es todo lo
contrario.Imaginense si o no es dificil aprender
ingles y saber spanol al mismo
tiempo y lo se porque yo estoy
sufriendo eso.
Miento cual sufrir para mi
es lo mejor que me aiga pasado en mi vida.
Por eso aprecio tanto a mi maestra porque
es la mejor en el mundo.
GRACIAS POR SER LA MEJOR MAESTRA DEL MUNDO. (:
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 3:07 PM UTC
*Your words pulverized me again and again
I saw each little arrow
that lead me in circles
back to your doorstep,
wanting to reach out, touch you
but was afraid you weren't there,*
**Did you understand the love we shared
Deeper than the depth of the Pacific,
but the schism of the abyss deepened,
like a cracking Mariana, imploding unto itself,
as I play each scene through my mind
what did I do to make you turn away
I wonder…
it was hard to say
good bye…,**
*My angel, it has been long, since I saw you
yet whatever little moments that we spent
were blessed pearls in shining oysters,
worn around our hearts
I aver it still hurts to know
you are still there somewhere
How I miss…
the endless, senseless talks
wishing for more of those precious moments,
but life, does it value treasured seconds?
I wonder…
then why is it that
I miss the most…us?*
**I hope to awaken when the sun comes up
and rubbing my eye, I see the dream crash
see you standing before me
as if you had never left my side.**
*The parallel worlds.
My princess, just peep out of the castle window
Do you see that glorious steed?
A knight atop, in his shining armour
Perhaps not…
Since with changed time’s dimensions
I stand on the tor while your castle is in the vale,*
**Each looking at the other as a mist
Yet still there, where we were…
Nothing has changed, yet there is no constant
The eye of the storm has changed the breeze
The sailboats changing tack, yet on the same course
All a matter of perception…**
*Look out of your dream and you shall find
Us, standing on the same shore that we last left,
The travels and travails seem to keep us adrift
Bobbing up and down, times tides
Synchronous, dancing to the beat of the waves…*
Dee
Debbie Brooks.
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 12:02 AM UTC
*Your words pulverized me again and again
I saw each little arrow
that lead me in circles
back to your doorstep,
wanting to reach out, touch you
but was afraid you weren’t there,
Did you understand the love we shared
Deeper than the depth of the Pacific,
but the schism of the abyss deepened,
like a cracking Mariana, imploding unto itself,
as I play each scene through my mind
what did I do to make you turn away
I wonder…
it was hard to say
good bye…,*
**My angel, it has been long, since I saw you
yet whatever little moments that we spent
were blessed pearls in shining oysters,
worn around our hearts
I aver it still hurts to know
you are still there somewhere
How I miss…
the endless, senseless talks
wishing for more of those precious moments,
but life, does it value treasured seconds?
I wonder…
then why is it that
I miss the most…us?**
*I hope to awaken when the sun comes up
and rubbing my eye, I see the dream crash
see you standing before me
as if you had never left my side.*
**The parallel worlds.
My princess, just peep out of the castle window
Do you see that glorious steed?
A knight atop, in his shining armour
Perhaps not…
Since with changed time’s dimensions
I stand on the tor while your castle is in the vale,**
*Each looking at the other as a mist
Yet still there, where we were…
Nothing has changed, yet there is no constant
The eye of the storm has changed the breeze
The sailboats changing tack, yet on the same course
All a matter of perception…*
**Look out of your dream and you shall find
Us, standing on the same shore that we last left,
The travels and travails seem to keep us adrift
Bobbing up and down, times tides
Synchronous, dancing to the beat of the waves…**
Debbie Brooks.
Dee
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 4:23 PM UTC
Not like life, when it's the end, it's the end
The sun will set, yet it will rise again
The lost opportunities can be rendered tomorrow
But, the same sequence will never show
Enjoy the clouds while they're at fleet
The patterns will never aver again repeat
Be open to the opportunities that knock
Like a rock, once thrown, they'll never come back
Regrets, nostalgias, and broken dreams surround
As the pink skies are swallowed by dark clouds
When the day comes to an end
It remind
things in this world are transient.
Jun 20, 2020
Jun 20, 2020 at 9:40 PM UTC
Your embrace perfunctory
A trace of our history
Hesitations in your voice
Speak of your choice
Demurring eyelashes aver
It is all over- Forever.
Excuses new you innovate
Towards the door your gravitate
My eyes plead and placate
As my heart you vacate
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 10:33 PM UTC
"Credi che il tuo sia vero amore? Esamina
a fondo il tuo passato" insiste lui
saettando ben addentro
la sua occhiata di presbite tra beffarda e strana.
E aspetta. Mentre io guardo lontano
ed altro non mi viene in mente
che il mare fermo sotto il volo dei gabbiani
sfrangiato appena tra gli scogli dell'isola,
dove una terra nuda si fa ombra
con le sue gobbe o un'altra preparata a semina
si fa ombra con le sue zolle e con pochi fili.
"Certo, posso aver molto peccato"
rispondo infine aggrappandomi a qualcosa,
sia pure alle mie colpe, in quella luce di brughiera.
"Piangere, piangere dovresti sul tuo amore male inteso"
riprende la sua voce con un fischio
di raffica sopra quella landa passando alta.
L'ascolto e neppure mi domando
perché sia lui e non io di là da questo banco
occupato a giudicare i mali del mondo.
"Può darsi" replico io mentre già penso ad altro,
mentre la via s'accende scaglia a scaglia
e qui nel bar il giorno ancora pieno
sfolgora in due pupille di giovinetta che si sfila il grembio
per le ore di libertà e l'uomo che le ha dato il cambio
indossa la gabbana bianca e viene
verso di noi con due bicchieri colmi,
freschi, da porre uno di qua uno di là sopra il nostro tavolo.
754
Let me talk about your intoxicated eyes
Let me take your beauty just as surprise
Through your eyes let explore seven skies
Let us establish real wonderful love ties
You and me are eternally chained together
You are my life let me just declare and aver
You are green ocean of beauty and I am diver
Love is a beautiful tune and you are dancer
Please induct me to care as personal guard
Allow to take charity from beauty as reward
With trials and tribulations life is so hard
I am a gambler let you be a real fortune card
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 5:47 AM UTC
** cercato di mettere insieme i pezzi del puzzle, ** raccolto ininterrottamente tutti quei pezzi di vetro e chiodi arrugginiti che insieme formano un risultato miserabile ma finalmente onesto, almeno alle apparenze, quel tanto che basta a quietare parzialmente quel bisogno di cercare le tracce nel fango per potersi ritrovare sul giusto percorso.
sento le mani sporche e il cuore meno pesante di prima, non sono felice ma posso crogiolarmi in quella sensazione di vittoria amara del sapere di aver avuto sempre ragione, una corona senza alcun valore.
la lingua va a cercare perennemente il punto doloroso della bocca, stuzzicandolo, ed è così che continuo a riaprire vecchie ferite di cui non mi sono mai mai dimenticata.
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 5:02 PM UTC