"awfully" poems
And I just want to feel your breath
On my neck
And your *******
On my chest
And I just want to feel your lips
On my cheek
Telling me I’ll be okay
When I’m feeling awfully weak
And I just want to see your eyes
Meeting mine
Soft orbs of blue
Too mature for your time
And I just want to hear your voice
Whispering softly in my ear
Be here with me
Be near
I can’t handle this distance
Not only of miles, but of mind
I never could catch you
But god how long I tried.
Oct 23, 2012
Oct 23, 2012 at 12:42 AM UTC
The Sunflower is awfully bigheaded
For being so tall & gangly
With fiery blooms, rough around the edges
He’s quite a sight to see annually
He looks down upon all the other flowers
With his head so high in the sky
This makes the other flowers jealous
But they fail to realize the sunflower lives a lie
Because the problem with the sunflower
Is that he turns his back on the sun
Creating the misconception
That he does not need anyone
But through the circadian rhythm
His leaves continuously change
Eluding the very revelation
That the sunflower causes his own pain
So as the sun begins to set
The sunflower realizes what he’s done
He faces the darkness with much regret
Realizing he cannot live without the sun
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 3:17 PM UTC
He watches the world through tear streaked eyes,
At the people just living their lives,
There was no one who cared or was even aware,
That their society was founded on lies,
It was the cruelty of man to man's fellow man,
That caused his young heart to break,
It filled him with sorrow to learn that tomorrow,
There was no difference or change he could make.
First there's the teen with no hopes or dreams,
Who holds the gun to his head,
If only we had heard that four letter word,
"Help" and he might not be dead,
But parents ignore a child's implore,
Move along there is nothing to see,
Then comes the day when he's taken away,
Pushed over the edge by the bully.
The starving young pup who lies all beaten up,
By the teenagers too cool for school,
They've come to learn that next it's their turn,
Drunk fathers are awfully cruel,
Or perhaps the poor homeless just hoping for kindness,
And ends up completely ignored,
We can grumble and shout from our comfy warm house,
That most likely, they're all just big frauds.
Then there comes war the thing all Governments adore,
They can line up their pockets with gold,
The war against terror? Or just the oil endeavour?
It doesn't matter soldiers do as they're told,
"An air strike for peace" is the press release,
As civilians are rained on by bombs,
Can they really believe that what's been achieved,
Is greater than the innocent lives that are gone?
He watches the world through tear streaked eyes,
At the people just living their lives,
There was no one who cared or was even aware,
That their society was founded on lies.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 11:44 AM UTC
Isn't it awfully nice to have a *****
Isn't it frightfully good to have a ****
It's swell to have a ******
It's divine to own a ****
From the tiniest little tadger
To the world's biggest *****
So, three cheers for your ***** or John Thomas.
Hooray for your one-eyed trouser snake,
Your piece of pork, your wife's best friend,
Your Percy, or your ****
You can wrap it up in ribbons.
You can slip it in your sock,
But don't take it out in public,
Or they will stick you in the dock,
And you won't come back.
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 11:43 AM UTC
It's dark out, A cold winter night.
Awfully lonely even for me.
A howl echoes throughout the silence, my heart drops.
A howl that entered through one ear and echoed loud for my soul to hear.
Would it be sinister to say I smiled knowing I wasn't the only one here?
A smile becomes a sarcastic laugh of desperation, being ironic I joined with crying howls to the moon.
Before I could finish the wolf howls again.
I learned something that night, I solved the answer to love.
Find your moon, find someone who brings light to your darkness.
Find someone who, when you feel like a lone wolf with a numb soul; Will be your moon to howl to.
We'd be a beautiful love song.
I learned hope is when a lone wolf sings to a moon, as if it'd reach.
A Favorite melody howled the lone wolf so heavenly.
A rhythme being merely, an echo of his heartbeat.
Love is feeling that heartbeat and hearing a melody.
Then singing all the words otherwise too scared to speak.
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 9:00 PM UTC
We sit beneath the mango tree
You say, “I’ve got to go one day, you see…”
I nod and smile for that’s far away…
And I know deep down you really want to stay
So we talk and learn about our lives
Blaze right past all the normal lies
I say, “I think I’m gonna miss you some…”
You laugh and say, “God, you’re young.”
If I’d known then how this was going to go
There were more things I would have let you know
Like that time we sat under the mango tree
And my heart stopped when you first kissed me...
While you were packing up your little home
I was sitting, waiting by the phone
Wondering where I’d gone so wrong
Wishing your determinations weren’t so strong…
The weeks crawl by and you don’t call
I take the frustration out on my bedroom wall
We both knew that this had to end
But for that short time it was awfully nice to pretend
So we meet under the mango tree
I stare at you, and you stare back at me
You say, “You knew I had to go one day.”
I mutter back, “Then I guess there’s nothing more to say.”
Then like a tragedy I left you there
Unable to hold your penetrating stare
There were more things that we both should’ve said
But it seems we took the easy road instead
The road whose paths would never have to cross
So we’d never have to think about what we have lost
But sometimes I still pass that mango tree
And remember how you used to look at me,
Smile about those shining, sapphire eyes,
Marvel at the tree’s growing size,
Laugh about the brief time we shared
And pack away the memories with care
Oct 6, 2011
Oct 6, 2011 at 8:24 PM UTC
Let us not
Sit behind our stares any longer
The watch
Is moving
Why don’t we
Love’s paralysis
Is stronger
Than I expected
Shall it be
A falsehood
Of my misunderstanding
Or am I
Still
Standing here for a reason
Leaving
Chance to do my bidding
Abiding
By the construed rules
Of attraction
As I pause at awe
Awfully beautiful
An unlawful marriage of the minds
My unknowing bride
Lies in front of me
My truths lay juxtaposed
In the background
Just a pose
On one knee
Proposing to
My wife to be
Ha!
My imagination
Get’s the best of me
You still
Don’t know
My name
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 12:43 AM UTC
I am
Eternally exasperated
Frequently frustrated
Incessantly irate
Perpetually perturbed
Awfully ambivalent
Forever fickle
Frustratingly finnicky
Laconicly labile
Madly mercurial
Virulently volatile
And every other ******* adverb, adjective alliteration
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 10:02 PM UTC
I'll tell you the story of Cloony the Clown
Who worked in a circus that came through town.
His shoes were too big and his hat was too small,
But he just wasn't, just wasn't funny at all.
He had a trombone to play loud silly tunes,
He had a green dog and a thousand balloons.
He was floppy and sloppy and skinny and tall,
But he just wasn't, just wasn't funny at all.
And every time he did a trick,
Everyone felt a little sick.
And every time he told a joke,
Folks sighed as if their hearts were broke.
And every time he lost a shoe,
Everyone looked awfully blue.
And every time he stood on his head,
Everyone screamed, "Go back to bed!"
And every time he made a leap,
Everybody fell asleep.
And every time he ate his tie,
Everyone began to cry.
And Cloony could not make any money
Simply because he was not funny.
One day he said, "I'll tell this town
How it feels to be an unfunny clown."
And he told them all why he looked so sad,
And he told them all why he felt so bad.
He told of Pain and Rain and Cold,
He told of Darkness in his soul,
And after he finished his tale of woe,
Did everyone cry? Oh no, no, no,
They laughed until they shook the trees
With "Hah-Hah-Hahs" and "Hee-Hee-Hees."
They laughed with howls and yowls and shrieks,
They laughed all day, they laughed all week,
They laughed until they had a fit,
They laughed until their jackets split.
The laughter spread for miles around
To every city, every town,
Over mountains, 'cross the sea,
From Saint Tropez to Mun San Nee.
And soon the whole world rang with laughter,
Lasting till forever after,
While Cloony stood in the circus tent,
With his head drooped low and his shoulders bent.
And he said,"THAT IS NOT WHAT I MEANT -
I'M FUNNY JUST BY ACCIDENT."
And while the world laughed outside.
Cloony the Clown sat down and cried.
12.1k
I think the scent of bug spray on my palms will now forever remind me of you and the late night (early morning) we spent sitting in your car, drawing awfully unskillful portraits on the back of each other’s hands in
dim light and 3 a.m. stillness. (I wonder if you could tell that doodling on your skin was just an excuse to touch you.) I wanted so badly to let my fingers find yours
as we laid back in our seats
and peeked out the rolled down
windows at the infinite stars scattered above us in the
early August night sky. I told you I wouldn’t kiss you,
because I know my heart and
how relentlessly it would
replay how your lips felt on mine, and how it would ache knowing
you couldn’t be mine,
so I let you kiss my cheek instead,
and the half a moment that I felt
your unshaven face brush mine in the middle of the street at five in the morning feels like a fake memory. When you looked at me, I wanted to hide, because I was too afraid to read what words might’ve been written in your eyes, but I felt so content listening to the
deep tone of your voice
mix with the obnoxiously loud crickets singing in the trees
surrounding us. I could’ve sat there with you till the stars disappeared and the sun took their place, but you walked me back home, and you left in the dark, and now I’m sitting in my bed thinking about how the hours between 2 and 5 a.m. have never felt so full.
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 10:50 AM UTC
Doctor, doctor I’m feeling awfully ill
When he’s gone it’s like my world is gone too
And I’ve got serious symptoms of withdrawal
My fever’s burning like a nasty flu.
Doctor, doctor I am losing my head
I’m addicted and I can’t get enough
In a cold achy sweat I’m stuck in bed
And desperate for another dose of love.
Doctor, doctor you tell me there’s no cure
No pill or remedy to ease my pain
I guess I’ll always be left wanting more
Until my last day when I go insane.
Love’s a disease and I’m under the weather
But it’s the only sickness that makes you feel better.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 7:07 PM UTC
the deafening silence
this painful love
your lifeless soul
with the bittersweet
news perched on your
awfully beautiful,
cold hearted
lips
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 5:55 PM UTC
With the peak of spring in the month of May
In the early hours of a pleasantly sunlit day
Two kids sat cuddled on a swing
Feeling as though they were taking on wing
Swinging in the air, they began to sing
Their sweet lay breaking the silence with its ring
They kicked their legs in rising delight
And felt like thistledowns ever so light
Up and down on the swing was fun
They closed their eyes on being face to face with the sun
Felt the swish and sway of the buoyant air
And knew the light tug of breeze on their curly hair
As the air got caught in the frills of their frock
Their eyes gleamed bright in delightful spark
Imagining themselves to be astronauts in space,
An ebullient excitement lit up their face
From a raised angle, they saw the Earth in green folds lie
Watched the surrounding hills standing awfully high
Saw a small stream flowing as a slow moving train
With trees lined up on its banks in unbroken chain
Longingly I watched these children free of all worry and pain
Also their aerial feats, not tainted by any melancholy stain
How I miss these childhood days of innocent fun
As my hours, towards the sunset, quickly run
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 12:38 PM UTC
i told the girls at work about
time spent with jane.
they seemed awfully excited
for me.
maybe they could smell
that jane is new,
but familiar
like a car bought
used. she is barely driven
though. i still drive over
the skids i left from
trying to stop
too quick. you can see
my tread worn out like
sanded wood.
or maybe they could
smell the hope like dew on
the morning grass.
fresh but dangerous.
waiting
to trip me with my eyes
set ahead but not infront.
theyll leave the wire
right where they
got me the last time.
it would be an honor
to be fooled
by something so sweet
to the touch. it almost feels
alien
to not be so upset
by the way the weather
dictates my evenings.
i do not FEEL like i used to.
my love and guilt
helix and weave like code.
i would only kiss you now,
if it brought back the one i poisoned.
i live in a farm upstate now
like a dead house dog.
if ive really moved on
know that i did the impossible
we'll be better off for it.
and if things never work out with
jane, you best pray
someone loves me when im dead
cause they sure as hell
dont love me
now.
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 12:28 AM UTC
The witty mother cat galloped everywhere
Everywhere and Anywhere
Just to feed her kittens' hungry tummies
For yummy food they dream, at times!
One day, the witty mother broke the gate
To a luxurious well-provided estate
Yet she could only grab a Cake,
But a full cake, mouth-watering Choco-Cake!
She hopped and jumped and rolled
Just to protect it from the Afghan Hound
And reached it for her two tiny kittens
In despair, she badly wanted it too!
So she prounounced to her kittens:
"I will cut the cake into two exact halves"
And so she cut, as carefully she can!
Awfully, one became larger and one smaller!!
Then the witty mother cat got this idea:
"Why not eat a little of the larger piece?
So, both pieces will be equal in size?"
And there went the mother cat...
Eating a little of the larger piece
She tasted the Choco-Cake in a race
Again, one went larger and another smaller!!
The witty mother cat silenty became happy...
"Why not eat a little of the larger piece?
So, both pieces will be equal in size?"Read more →
And there went the mother cat...
Giving a taste to the choco-Cake again!
And it went on this way:
Of one being smaller and the other larger,
And the witty mother cat kept eating
The Cake-piece by piece!
Atlast the cake became smaller and smaller
Yet the kittens' didn't get any!
The witty mother kept eating many
And the cake never got cut equally!
With the witty mother finishing it fully!!
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 12:41 AM UTC
I fear the ocean.
Fear the lack of life
Fear the unknown sameness below
Fear for myself, you see I've
Given up on having company
I'll sail alone for a while
But I'll need water sometime
Even though there's water for miles.
Someone come aboard then.
It's awfully lonely here.
It's hard to sail alone you see
And I haven't gotten over my fear,
Fear of sinking some day
Fear of waking up dead.
When the ocean finally swallows me
And overtakes the resistance in my head.
Until then I'll resist.
I'll hold out for my crew.
Someday we'll sail together.
Just.... Me and you.
Yes we'll set sail for places
That we've never seen before.
So come aboard my friend,
There's life on that distant shore.
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 11:51 PM UTC
remember to always follow your dreams.
starting this conditioning early instills the message so deep
that you're never quite aware, that in order to follow
your dreams you must first remain asleep
this is how they've created generation after generation
of obedient, self absorbed, consumerist sheep
where nothing is more precious to yourself then
the possessions that we keep
conforming to what's cool
owning the newest technology
and never looking cheap
join the hottest trends, stay in the loop
you're rising high on the social ladder
a fall from here is awfully steep
the fear of this fall turns you into a materialistic creep
these social constructs we all need to together break
or no one in our western society will ever truly be awake
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 11:04 AM UTC
you play
finger puppets
in the black sky
warm
unperturbed
little worms
eating
hot soil
and foot
“I’m going to
eat this star.
Actually, I’m going
to eat them all.
I’m awfully
hungry.”
you find the
nutella I hid
under the rock
and dip the
puppets in
“Did you know
I sew?
I sewed these
puppets.
Even
the little black
eyes and the
teensy red
buttons. All in
the patience
this sky taught
me.”
your mouth
is dry and
you search
for lake water
“I swear, it’s
so hard being
a fish in
Arizona.”
the desert
agrees
once
we prayed for
rain and danced
naked in
the sand
now it’s
night and
the sand went
to sleep
now it’s night
and the stars
are disks
“Lord, take
me now. I’m a
painter, a
painter without
color.”
the act is
over
the shield
put down
and the night
swallows
disks
as you lick
chocolate paint
from your
fingers
“Goodnight, friend.
Sleep well, fish.
Until tomorrow, moon.”
your body
fresh
black
the emerald
of color
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 11:08 AM UTC
when you would have thought that nerve had gone, worn down,
when you would have thought that sense was a nub, tuckered out,
given a well deserved rest, after all, it was the best of each of us
maybe a glow, flickering in and out, a summer sun between clouds,
the occasional pang pinging, radiant, radiating in forgotten places,
luxury good, can’t longer afford, once, given with a happy reckless
crazy how love stays with me, low grade infection, ready to spread,
bud by morning, afternoon full blossom, black wilt by next daylight,
can’t decipher, finally decide, these tremors make old age life worthy?
absent, but memorized slivers, old poems, drive by glances of places,
hurt like hell so briefly, double over, no one notices, so fast dispensed,
it’s crazy how love stays with me,
and it’s a crazy that tastes so good,
hurts so awfully good, so badly bad
perhaps that is why behind my back,
not to my face, they whisper, call me,
the guy, still crazy after all these years,
just still crazy after all these tears, or just,
still crazy
Jul 9, 2023
Jul 9, 2023 at 5:45 AM UTC
Don’t read this if you’re squeamish,
Or if you’re eating food at the present,
Since some of the subjects discussed in this poem,
Are let’s just say rather unpleasant,
On the subject of donating organs,
Or the subject of organs at all,
It’s not unusual for my claims to leave,
Some subjects feeling pretty appalled,
Now I’d say that most people die,
In fact I’d vouch that it happens quite often,
But when my time comes, set has my sun,
I want all of me in that coffin,
Now I get it, I’d save lives if I donated,
And I don’t mean to sound like a **** (yes I do),
But the unmissable flaw, the foot in the door,
Is that not all of my parts seem to work,
My eyes are screwy, my heart’s far too cold,
The state of my lungs’ll make you shiver,
My kidneys too small, I'm not sure I have a pancreas,
And don’t get me started on my liver,
And let me tell you with a face like mine,
Not showcasing this beauty’s a sin,
But it’s awfully hard to have an open casket,
If I’m not sporting any of my skin
It’s selfish and weird I know that,
But my eyes are where my soul is exposed!
…Yeah actually my soul’s pretty tainted,
Can someone make sure that my eyes are closed?
I only want those I love to have a part of me,
So if I’m forced, if I’m forced, to partake,
-
-
-
They’ll be frying up my organs,
For refreshments at my wake.
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 3:22 PM UTC
Sometimes i wish i could write poems
with all the similes clinging to your thoughts like barnacles.
And describe people with metaphors that wrap around the actual meaning like weeds grow on to other, more pretty plants.
It would be nice if i could use edgy things like cigarette butts, half filled bottles of beer, and lipstick stained papers with a number jotted down
to describe mundane things like sadness and fear,
although lipstick stains and cigarette butts do leave an awfully mundane stench behind.
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 5:20 PM UTC
*Cast out entirely this time around.
There's a beautiful world waiting,
But it's easy to be blinded by what you think is beautiful in a beautiful world.*
In the dark for so long.
The retina I own captured false images
Of what i once believed in.
So much effort stored in a mirage,
lodged in doubtful recollections.
I want no sympathy,
I can only evolve through the chasing of symphonies.
Villainous, aren't you?
The conflict is the enemy.
I'll do away with this blame game,
You're just so awfully gifted at how you play.
I was the warmhearted prey
Fooled into what appears to be defeat,
Due to stupidity.
I saw what I wanted to see,
And clearly my vision was wrong.
(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith
(Originally written 10/31/10
Revised 9/27/14)
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 2:48 PM UTC
Nina Simone, occupying ears singing about bed and dressers.
Sparsely populated
young couple
Interrupted by saying amusements.
Only two stops
I know where to get off
I knew to mind the gap
I'm a responsible citizen
Voter with a valid railcard
Only two stops
Purchased a ticket
Only two stops
I can not throw up in that time
I can not clear my system of over-priced beer
A niche in the market
Exploited in the name of money Making let's just raise them
let's charge extortionate rates for an autoimmune disease
Paying to support a normal drinking culture embedded into the narrative
Growing by in the western world Listening to Nina Simone
Only one stop now you'd never know what life would be like
Without loud pop charts entertaining a few leaving the others yearning the return of ABBA when times were simpler and people cared about Eurovision and illegal music was your own
“Tickets please”
He seems awfully jolly for a late night shit-shift on Arriva Trains Wales
Who's making him work and why's he So ******* happy about it
Real extra effort! Soul sapping in my opinion
Last stop gotta get off.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 3:16 PM UTC
The question has to be asked, “How hard can it be,
for a man to get a decent cup of tea”?
How can people get something so simple so wrong?
A question that has vexed me for ever so long.
Let me be clear, lest there be any confusion
I’m not into tea leaves or these fancy new infusions
Nor herbal or green, earl grey or the rest
A good plain cup of tea is simply the best!
I wonder why it is that people bother to ask
When they will not put any real effort into the task
Yes they are careful to ask how you take your tea
But what you get is something different, entirely
If there is one thing that really gets to me
It is being made a half cup of tea
I always opt for a mug because there’s never enough in a cup
But for some reason they seem incapable of filling it up!
After just two mouthfuls, Surprise! It is all gone!
I hate always having to ask for another one
All the effort they made has gone to waste
The whole experience leaving a very bad taste.
Making tea is a formula, very hard to get wrong
why so often served weak when I always ask for strong?
A small drop of milk please, how hard can it be?
But I often get tea in my milk, not milk in my tea
I do like my sugar and to tell the truth
I do possess an awfully sweet tooth
“three and a bit” I say when they ask
But is stirring it such an impossible task?
How easy can it be? Just move the ****** spoon
You were just standing there, what else were you doing?
And to see all that sugar sitting there at the end
Would drive the most sane person round the bend
Another thing I get really mad about
Is when people do not take the teabag out
And though the cup appears to be full to the top
You take the bag out and watch the level drop
You might think it’s funny but it’s certainly not
What to do with a teabag that is dripping hot?
A cup of tea is supposed to help you relax
Not be the cause of minor heart attacks
And the biggest evil, by far the worst
Is those who serve tea, knowing the teabag has burst
At the end you get a mouthful of leaves and grit
I do love my tea but wonder if it is worth it.
It got to the stage where I considered drinking coffee
But I was bamboozled by the variety available to me
Mocha or latte, perhaps a frappuccino,
Or maybe an espresso or a cappuccino
No, the idea of drinking coffee just left me cold
all I really wanted was a cup of tea truth be told,
Though I have been accused of taking this issue too seriously
There is nothing in the world quite like…. a decent cup of Tea!
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 4:11 AM UTC
On the 15th of May
In the French Laund-er-y
There was a small man,
The Chef De Partie
He was mixing and stirring
And stirring his sauce,
But his sauce wouldn’t thicken
He was at a loss
So he needed to think
and ponder awhile
Until on his face
Was a bright white smile.
“I have it!” He said.
“I know what to do
All that I need
Is a nice thick roux.”
No reductions or tomatoes
Or even puree
He needed the roux
It was the only way
So what he did next
was truly “the ****
He melted some butter
And dumped flour in it.
This mixture was gloppy
And looked like wet sand
The roux was ‘a cooking
But looked awfully bland
Morton must think
How to flavor this glob
Chef Tomas Keller said
“Morton its your job”
He thought and he thought
“Oh what can I do?
Bechamel or Veloute?
What to do with this roux.”
“Veloute I think
Sounds good for today.
I’ll make some of that.
Chef might exclaim, “yay!”
So he added some stock
Of Gertrude McFuzz
It was the best bird
It certainly was
Fond Blanc De McFuzz
Was clear and not milky
Morton’s Veloute
Ought to be silky
He cooked it awhile
Maybe for one half an hour
And when it began to bubble
The roux showed its power.
It thickened and coated
The back of a spoon
This stuff’s almost ready
It should be done soon
He strained it
removing the floury bits
It needed to be clean
No clumpys or grits
It was almost over
It was just about ready
It still needed some tweaking
“Can’t we eat it already?!”
“No” said chef Teller
as he took a lick
Was it good? Was it bad?
Was the sauce too thick
“You did a great job!
Trust me, you did.”
Said Teller to Morton
“You did good kid”
“One thing I will say
That you forgot to put in
It’s the most vital ingredient
In the entire kitchen”
“Its something that most chefs
Don’t use a lot of
It comes from within
The spice of true love”
Morton thought a bit
Like he often does
And then he said
“Chef! That’s what it was”
“It didn’t taste right
It was missing its pop
Its pep in its step
Its fizzle. Its hop”
He learned something there
From Chef Thomas Teller
Food needs more love
It needs to be stellar
After all that
And in the end
Morton threw it away
And started again.
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 3:40 PM UTC