"awarding" poems
HEAR YE HEAR YE:
It's a wedding bell for bedding well cause' we're crushin' the illusion of Russian collusion! CNN wets on Russian bedding but Trump bets on Russian wedding, and you're invited to the bridal shower. Punking the monkery, dig the debunkery; from Rasputin to Putin it's time for some straight shootin'. Hillary looks old and glowers at Donald's rumored golden showers. Our media owes US an explanation for streams of steaming urination, but we are willing to forgive and use their wet diapers as debt wipers. My poem's appeal may take a toll, but let its little peal now roll:
****** ****** rings the bell
A Fake News warning; time to spell
out what was wet with Moscow girls.
Putin's putas ? Wisdom's pearls
were pried from Truth's reluctant shell,
banishing Hillary straight to hell.
None. It's what we want left over
from this hag. We now discover
beds were dry; it all amounted
(all those golden tricks recounted)
to less than a tepid bowl of kasha. . .
Russia laughed from her summer dacha.
InfoWars was on it first
while Dems spun lies from false to worst,
awarding cash for faked dossiers
embellished with the CIA's
well-trained performing circus-seal.
The FBI endorsed the deal
as RINOS horned in on the action:
Washingtonian distraction;
a democrat-concocted fuss—
. . . but we ALL paid Hillary to **** on us.
Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 4:47 PM UTC
*everyday chores
wake
eye-crusted
weep
hoping
to free-falling freedom
maybe
splash
words of encouragement
let them
dry
*untowled and untrammeled
upon expressionless lips*
routinize
squeeze
*out the poem
reforming repeatedly*
write
of everyday chores
sleep
go to, to go,
*half awarding awaring
that newbie tears new pooling
will by morn
old crusting creating
and
everyday chores
never ending
I am earth
crusted
no matter how deep
daily*
dug
the untitled
everyday chores
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 8:07 AM UTC
I have conjured up
an aversion to empathy.
It only opens the heart,
awarding her influence
over the mind.
I know how she feels.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 8:14 PM UTC
Jean Bartel, born Jean Bartlemeh;
on October 26, 1923 & died March 6, 2011;
Miss California and Miss America 1943;
She won the talent and swimsuit awards
at the national pageant. At 5 feet 8 inches tall,
Bartel was the tallest winner up to that time;
Jean Bartel was the first college student
to win the title of Miss America & after
visiting her sorority sisters in Kappa Kappa Gamma
around the country, she developed the idea
of awarding scholarships to those who competed;
The Miss America Organization is now
the world's largest provider of scholarships
for women in the world;
Bartel worked for many years on Broadway
and in television, including starring in her own
travel series, It's a Woman's World, as well as
performing for seven months in South America;
She appeared in an episode of The Love Boat
in 1984, w/ Marian McKnight,
Miss America, 1957;
Nancy Fleming,
Miss America, 1961;
& Vanessa Williams,
Miss America, 1984.
Bartel died in Brentwood, California,
on March 6, 2011, aged 87; The Miss America
Organization issuing a statement calling her
"one of our most beloved Miss Americas"
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 5:19 PM UTC
For Caira Doheny, My Irish Muse
"Chameleons feed on light and air:
Poets' food is love and fame."
An Exhortation, st. 1 (1819)
Percy Bysshe Shelley
------------------------------------
Let us intimate a Poetic Competition,
Tween an Irish lass,
and a New York Jew,
I shall serve, and you,
You shall return
A contest:
Our tongues, our racquets,
Across the table,
The words shall bird fly,
Across the net,
Couplets and haiku
Shall smash and whistle
The winner will be the one
The God of Poetry
Accepts for permanent servitude
You **** my poetic soul forever
With the currency of praise genuine,
Authentic, flowing and fulsome,
Awarding me the Medallion Doheny
Cash value, a mere Irish penny,
But to the poet, the food of love and fame
Genetic to your nature,
You exhale word rhythms,
Excitable and interrupting,
Speech free flowing,
Tho I am of the People of the Book,
You, by birthplace,
Are unfair poetry advantaged
All your utterances
Are action heroes of the heart,
And I fail miserable to capture
The poetry you breathe out
Your Irish praise me awarded,
Tis now the
Standard and the Curse
This benighted amateur
Must now Prometheus nurse
One day in Dublin, shall we meet,
In a country where poetry is the
Iron in the people's blood
In a particular pub
Opposite we will sit,
You, a cowboy by adoption,
Me, the dastardly banker
You know the pub,
I, with my pint,
You, with your diet coke,
And the only lingua Franca
Shall be darts of poetry
In a language our own,
A collective work we will weave,
A blessed unity, a single tongue now,
Lilting, singing, bespoke
We will let the singer-poet laureate**
Of the island we now share, moderate,
Over his piano man's gin and tonic,
As we do as Yeats instructed:
Between us,
"A line will take us hours maybe;
Yet if it does not seem {but}
a moment's thought,
our stitching and unstinting
has been naught"
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 11:58 AM UTC
Curious Natures
In a more weak world the most aggressive advantages
don't always deal in what is referred to as "fair consequence."
Being an empire built of sharks, snakes, wolves, and rats-the most basic of beasts-
we really understand the most prehistoric philosophy: survival.
Using it as the first building blocks and the cracked foundation for this society.
Still, one must always reserve all judgements for the most lucrative habits that surprised all by opening up a vast spectrum of the most curious natures.
Leaving any who wander vulnerable to grow into a legendary victim or a menace to the community.
Often being left with a life of never being able to escape their never ending abnormal minds.
It has been speculated as well as documented, that these street racing thoughts are more than fast to attach themselves to a mythical beast more commonly known as a "mortal" who will lose all balance and footing as they unknowingly grasp both reality and fantasy with white knuckled fists.
Stuck in this forced upon reverie of insane clarity that consumes both the mind and soul.
Becoming vessels for the sins of others, as they are suddenly privy to the most awarding secrets and gilded griefs they could never begin to understand.
Belonging to the most wildly havoc notoriously murdering confidences.
While the rest of us, close our eyes and frequently feign sleep.
All the while refusing responsibility for each other, denying a hostile yet unmistakable sign that declares the biggest secret of all: THE TRUTH.
Told in the most intimate, consuming, quivering, thundering, vibrations being smothered in a explosion that was meant for "We the People" as it projects a plethora of colours on a always changing horizon.
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 4:51 AM UTC
by Arcassin Burnham
Toilet paper stuffed in her bra,
too much insecurity,
not enough of the real her,
and always wants to be the center attention,
hope you wrapped your head around those books here girl,
all your little incidents we care not for it girl,
trying to be the kids that are popular,
be in the spotlight,
15 minutes of fame,
will not get you an awarding Oscar,
nobody is perfect , that's the way it goes girl,
being on your own is always best girl,.
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 10:45 PM UTC
I wouldn't actually forgive you for what you have done
doesn't that sound pleasing?
because for me a thing forgiven is a thing forgotten...
and you wouldn't want me to forget you....
i am gracing you with the gift of memories of all the mishaps you created ...
killing a part of me
awarding you a path of misery to lay yourself to follow
after all we all want something to look down on our ruins
rememberance is the essence of not letting your wretched deeds go oblivious
in a very confined space in my head
there's a door and there you
happily dance with my rage and torment
and i tend to ring the bell of that door every moment
I won't be the one that i once used to be for you
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 1:20 PM UTC
heat rises to my cheeks
and embarrassment flushes my face
I avert my eyes for a moment only to be met by yours
playing coy games as I walk away regretting the moment I lost to see you
my breathing staggers
nervousness agitating the blood pulsing through my veins
adrenaline blocking my thoughts and emotions
your fingertips dripping over my heart
heat rises to my cheeks
anger fills my heart
I avert my eyes for the moment my tears scar my face
awarding myself with a moment to not see you
my breathing staggers
salt agitating my eyes from all the tears
pain seeping in my thoughts and emotions
your hurtful words dripping into my heart
A cycle of love to loss
causing pain to suffocate my lungs
causing loss to pierce my heart
causing gratitude to penetrate my brain
for letting something so good and so wrong go
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 10:55 PM UTC
4,000 More Light Casualties
A group of journalists arrived from Moscow and were told that the Afghan National Army…had taken the ridge. (They) were posing for victory photographs while our soldiers lay in the morgue.
-Svetlana Alexeivich, Zinky Boys: Soviet Voices from the Afghanistan War
A touchy old man who never went to war
Now poses with his decorative generals
In their tailored Ken-and-Barbie battle dress
All prepped for combat in the officers’ clubs
New president, same as old presidents
And generals, awarding each other medals
And promotions for their golden resumes’
For sending not-their-children off to die
While they prosper on defense industry bids,
Afghanistan is the graveyard of our kids
(Shhhhhhhhhh…Don’t disturb Congress; they’re all asleep.)
Aug 21, 2017
Aug 21, 2017 at 9:47 PM UTC
Summer comes,
distance grows.
One here
one there.
Then you’re gone.
It starts with the rise,
and it just gets higher.
The rush, the shock
like a knock in my heart.
It feels right.
But
Winter always returns.
Just like you.
Your colours fade away,
mine don’t.
You cry for a light.
I’m not there.
Not anymore.
I climbed the mountains,
I kicked the clouds out.
I sent them far away.
And it hits you in the heart.
You start your descent,
unattended this time.
I don’t care.
I’m not awarding you a single glow.
I can see the aurora
and it takes my breath away.
Now I know
I won’t fire what’s extinct.
It’s not worth it.
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 8:00 PM UTC
"She empowers time to abandon her,
awarding her the desired detention needed
to escape her companions,
therefore making it unachievable for
thou to witness her world-collapsing massacre.
She sobs so deep and profusely
to the peak of taping her mouth shut
to repress her whimpers ensuring that
no soul pay attention to her throttling tears
cheered on by the toxic oxygen
inhaled each second she still animatedly exists.
She sharpened blades,
turning her head as she engraved
thou blistered name into her delicate flesh.
She held up her gory wrists in
search of thou heavenly face,
and in dreadful return,
she felt tarnished chains
wrapped, encompassing her forearms.
In the midst of a dark storm,
yanked was she across the cold streets,
Dragged from rusted shackles.
She still held on,
hoping to be hoisted by her unrequited love,
but her presence was nonexistent.”
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 12:44 AM UTC
Once upon a time
You were important.
Once upon a time
They were inquisitive.
They listened.
They asked.
They were fascinated and marvelled
By your stories of the past,
Neglected by fault of ignorance
Sought for through awe-inspiring curiosity.
They believed you possessed
Wisdom and experience,
Knowledge of the otherwise
Unknown.
They gathered around you,
Or perhaps beside you
And in front of a fire
Begging you to speak
Drooling over your words.
You were their entertainment
Like pirates, they wanted you to hand over
Your treasures
Like sharks, they devoured your essence
Like vessels, they slowly disappeared
Surfing away on a web
You never saw, barely know
Or comprehend.
Your services are no longer required
They found a new friend
They call Google,
One followed by a hundred zeros.
You cannot bit that
You do not stand a chance.
Here is where the story gets better
They invented rules for words
The code is political correctness.
It obliges them to pretend,
To respect you
By continuously finding
New flattering definitions for you.
By now, you are not even “old” anymore
You have lost the right to
Your lifetime achievements award.
You are just “older” than someone else is.
“Older” enough to retire
With honours.
They have finally decided
To acknowledge
Your inevitable infirmity.
They are offering you a new perspective
Awarding you with a one-way ticket
Free ride
To your beautiful new home,
So that you can rest.
A well-deserved rest.
You are simply démodé.
The stories you carry
Are of no interest anymore.
Memories are written
Tombstones too.
They are gazing at the future
Drooling over the fantastic
Possibilities.
The book they are reading,
You are not in.
Treasures of the eldest
Buried at sea
Rest assure you will be retrieved,
When a pressing sense of bleakness
Accompanied by devastating guilt,
Will bring them back to you
Compelling them to ask once again
“Please tell us stories of the past”.
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 4:30 AM UTC
I could If I wanted to But I won't.. Keep you all close as online company.. Fan to me.. I could Make you smile with Peaceful vibes,, Share poetic rides.. Fan Like company.. I Could enjoy you at long enduring seasons.. That can go on and on.... But I will not... I care enough for you to be spring and bloom, and I care enough for you to seek and find.. To be awarded a position past fan and friendship.. I want to see you grow into all your meant to be. And like the rare Star you are. Win redeeming and awarding companionship! I'm witnessing and here listening to all the growing I see in you.. Because respectfully I'm your fan too. Cheers.. Salute.. I admire You as I am Butterfly browsing.... My hearts blooming.. Song dedicated with this note is "By Your Side" Because of its gentle expression..
Dec 14, 2022
Dec 14, 2022 at 12:04 PM UTC
Pretend
Let's just pretend for one Peacefilled Moment
Love actually did Win
That a powerful Voice came forward and said
We are Sorry
For the **** of your Soul and Consciousness by the poorly executed Emergenetics Process handled
Yes, we should have asked Permission
Choice is Everything in a World that works for Everyone, Choice is the Ascention of Peace
Free Will to say and Be Yes..
You did welcome this
But now we understand
Your work is to make visible the need for an approach based in greater skilled used and being as Compassion..mirrors of Love, never Mirrors of Perception
We are sorry.. We didn't understand the distinction then
Our Ministerial and practitioner Students
They were untrained, and did not respond properly, the conscious capitalist.. They are not trained in love.. Just efficiency and niceness
We didn't understand
And in truth , sadly, those of us who did
We didn't Care,
in the face of Opportunitic Greed and the awarding of large amounts of money
Even based in fraud
We decided not to give a ****
We didn't think you would go thru with a legal claim ,
we thought it was so well screened, no one could tell
How Can we Rectify the situation and change the Approach to Embody effectively applied
Compassion
And bring forth talent without destroying people thru a self interested process which works for some but not all
How can we grow to be a greater Love thru our work in this area?
And What would you like to see happen to those Willfully in violation of Ethical And Legsl Standards of Principle Applied in the World?
Is there anything we can do
Or is there anything you would like to say?
Thank you for listening
And allowing this opportunity for change
We came to Serve as Love
Not Destroy Those of differing View
Thank you
How? Start with an acknowledgement..now... After that.. It's too late..
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 7:58 PM UTC
By his Majesty's foot stool
Tales never been told
A warrior's analogy
Imaging the blood of many
The battle of old
Modakeke it's passage
Crowning victory a renegade
Scars untold
Proportionate to the heartbeat of Ile-Ife
Setting Ooni's mantle
Bowing to Orunmila
Scavangers setting the pace
Awarding criminals the holy Cross
Anointing them for the book of life
Desertion of no return
They called it a treatise
Holding onto dissertation of old
Blood a signal of peace
Reminding hearts of tales unforgettable
Written by Tosan Oluwakemi Thompson
Nov 3, 2020
Nov 3, 2020 at 4:38 AM UTC
A group of journalists arrived from Moscow and were told that the Afghan National Army…had taken the ridge. (They) were posing for victory photographs while our soldiers lay in the morgue.
-Svetlana Alexeivich, Zinky Boys: Soviet Voices from the Afghanistan War
A touchy old man who never went to war
Now poses with his decorative generals
In their tailored Ken-and-Barbie battle dress
All prepped for combat in the officers’ club
New president, same as old presidents
And generals, awarding each other medals
And promotions for their golden resumes’
For sending not-their-children off to die
While they prosper on defense industry bids,
Afghanistan is the graveyard of our kids
*Shhhhhhhhhh…Don’t disturb Congress;
they’re fast asleep.*
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 4:16 PM UTC
a flower without scent,
wilted petals blooming in the cold of night,
you came to me like
the fog that encompasses you in the still of a hurricane,
the uncertainty that sifts through your heart before you
take the leap off the platform
and fall flat on the unmerciful ground.
in winter, you take what you get
somehow even surrounded with blankets full of snow-capped mountains and warm fireplaces oozing with love,
people still pick the dying breath of spring.
never being able to live in the moment
seems like such a pity to me.
we never get to fully appreciate the
monument of the moment till it’s over and
put up beautifully in a photo frame,
adorned with decorations and a
caption awarding the printed accessory
more than it deserves.
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 2:46 AM UTC
If it weren't too much to tell you,
I'd never ever stop
You have this way about you,
where life with you has a nonexistent clock
No ticking & turning or counting the seconds
where our eyes meet & lock together, ever so pleasant
You have this way about you,
everything feels so light, effortless
but forever leaving me longing,
for always, just one more kiss
If it weren't too much to tell you,
I'd share it with the world.
I'd tell them how you're tenderness sweeps me off my feet,
and how your robust and tenacious manners still manage to be sweet.
I'd tell them you're a warrior
keeping me safe and secure
but also like a candle, your gentle allure
calming and warm, filling the room with your passion
awarding light to keep the fire in my heart, everlastin'
If it weren't too much to tell you,
I'd say it a million times
without caution
When my lips are pressed against yours,
I am weightless, a feather
you are forever the only option.
<3
Feb 6, 2020
Feb 6, 2020 at 6:02 PM UTC