"blurted" poems
Far away in ancient Jerusalem
Stood a garden, long, long ago
Home to giant oaks and figs
And plants and shrubs of every kind.
On every season, from time to time
Merrily they would burst into bloom
Filling the air with fragrance sweet
And fuelling the hearts with joy and cheer.
Amid the riot of flashing shades
Where Poppies and Pansies held their heads
In a corner, there a Lily stood,
Sans scent and sans grandeur.
A poor loner never once noticed
Nor skilled to steal the show,
Those, brilliant in shade and shape
With contempt openly quipped
‘It’s such a shame
She grows among us
With such pallid shade
And nothing to rave’,
‘Lilies are such lazy lot
Giving only seasonal blooms’
Rang aloud their haughty comments
Rashly blurted out and blunt
The poor Lily wilted in shame
Wishing she had never been born.
Late that evening, through the garden
Into the newly dug up grave
A band of people came with lights
Bearing someone cut and scathed.
With blood oozing, drop by drop
From wounds, left by piercing nails
The body, carefully wrapped in linen
Was the body of Jesus - Son of God
The one who bore the sins of the world
And courted the most accursed of deaths.
The body embalmed was laid inside
And sealed with a giant block of stone
Soldiers posted to guard the tomb
And every vigil so prudently kept.
Early by dawn, three days hence
While it was still very dark
From inside the tomb had come
Rumbling sounds and a blinding light.
Flowers en masse blinked their eyes
Beheld a man, gently walking out
The wounds still fresh on his palm
And the linen that swaddled, lying behind.
As they watched this queer sight
In awful amazement, they did see
A host of Lilies, white as snow
Far more beautiful than any of them
Bowing their heads in reverential glee
And singing Hosanna to the Lord of Life.
All the flora in silent shock
Sighted from whence the Lilies came
They sprang unforeseen in those spots
Where drops of blood from his body fell
Then onwards, without fail
April sees the grandeur and grace,
Of snowy lilies - those delicate blooms
Sprouting suddenly from the crust of the Earth
Joggling their heads in whiffing breeze,
And giving delight to all who behold.
Mar 31, 2018
Mar 31, 2018 at 1:00 PM UTC
Out on the road in the middle of the night,
I made my way with no one in sight.
Hugging all the tight corners and vrooming on the straights,
Burning tyre rubber at alarming rates.
Little did I know at that hour along the next turn,
There'd be another person.
With the wind in her hair and one of the most lovely face,
She rode her little pink vespa with amazing grace.
I happened to have crossed paths with her in a traffic rule breaking fashion,
A move I made with deadly precision.
Instantly she uttered that lovely swear word with a sweet loud tone,
******* she said, raising her middle finger alone.
Wrong I was and would've apologized if I could stop,
But in a hurry I was and a high speed it all to top.
Late that night, those stream of events ran through my head,
I pondered on it as I lay in bed.
Swear words! Instantly blurted in the spur of the moment,
Yet originating from the heart's deepest cavity and vent.
Pure to the core,
No hidden meaning they store.
Swear words may have been considered in appropriate and shunned in the world,
Yet they convey what a person feels most appropriately when they are hurled.
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 2:01 PM UTC
In the dark of night, in the middle of a storm
A dish falls, shatters
A shriek tears the relative silence
Pale pink blood blossoms in the water
While rich red blood wells up in the hand
Tears falling like a blinding waterfall
Stabs and throbs of aching stinging searing pain
Blood and pain and tears fill the mind
A flash of white tissue beneath the torrents of red
Panting sobs and hyperventilation
Panicking as victim is rushed to the ER
Mother tries to comfort daughter with story of healed,
Previously lacerated toes
Two words blurted between gasps of pain: NOT HELPING
Arrive to an empty lobby, excepting a nurse and receptionist
Focus on nothing, only the hand
The possible tendon torn, the skin shredded, the blood spilt
Dishtowel now soaking red irony fluid instead of clear soapy
The story repeated 6, 7, 8 times
A nurse asks if I smoke or drink
A radiologist asks if there is any chance for pregnancy
And for a moment I am shocked out of my pain into pondering
The corruption of the modern generations,
Such that I am asked these questions
Any friend of mine would quickly tell that
No, I'm not that kind of teenager... but how many are?
Then I am whisked from the x-ray room
Off for stitches, they say my tendon is cut
That I need stitches
The fingers no longer gush, but that triviality is soon remedied
A doctor probes the wound for shards
Nurse flushes it clean with chlorohexadine
Both renew the flow
Doctor returns, stitches both fingers and chats away
Grand tally of five stitches, a splint, blankets of guaze,
And a roll of medical tape
Prescriptions for pain meds and antibiotics, both given
A scoffing glance, but instructions are followed
Forbidden from any activity with the right hand by my mother
I struggle even to write, simple chores soon a nuisance
First time the splint and stitches are gone,
Doctor number two declares my hand usable
First time the little finger bends, the half healed skin splits
So all for a plate, a hand was rendered more useless
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 10:07 PM UTC
Don’t go.
I blurted out through my cries,
gripping her hand tighter.
Think of trees,
she whispered, wiping the tears from my cheek
like leaves catching raindrops,
They’ll help you sleep.
So I began to dream
with the help of the trees
and the breeze that brushed
ever so lightly through the leaves.
As she let go of my hand
and disappeared from my room,
I was no longer afraid
of the loneliness that loomed,
for the trees will always surround me.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 10:37 PM UTC
Hello
this is a short message
written this Sunday morning
on March the first
the rain keeps coming from the west
non-stop for two days
risk of flooding
government says.
I miss you - had another dream
driving in sunshine.
It's the sun I miss
mostly - and then of course
there is your friendship
to treasure and to hold.
I hope you're having fun
on your quad.
They say four wheels
are better than two
I'm not so sure
how could you
have Zen and the art of
quad biking -
impossible?
I see you have given in
to peer pressure or whatever
and made your modest entry
in the ******** book
I had a quick look.
It looks
OK.
Now I suppose Twitter
and MySpace
where you can compose
even wittier
sayings.
You're a true master
of Wisdom
with a capital W
But it is not that
you struggle to say something
wise
it comes spontaneously
best when blurted out
immediate response
like:
"they throw babies in dumpsters
in your country too, Janet?"
She'd never forgotten it
as it
was such a strange and powerful thing to say
by the way
I googled your name
and you have loads of coverage
mostly under AHEC and Best.
This is just a few short lines
to say you are on my mind
and in my heart
as always
yours
me.
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 11:03 AM UTC
"You're not a lot of fun to be around" she blurted
Not the first time I've heard it
I went
From being bullied to being A bully, was never meant to be permanent
You can probably guess what temperament brought more enjoyment?
So there's a solid argument to be had for it being a just verdict
But if you've never been in that predicament hold your judgmental hyperbolic rhetoric
Most folks seek out that kind of empowerment but keep it quiet, I'm just admitting it
Look, nobody's perfect but the crime has never fit my punishment
Pushed and shoved "getting back to the old me" to the back burner, against my better judgement
Cause I didn't bother with it any further, now a derelict social misfit
Then when it's my turn to take back the moment
My retort, a one and done statement;
Fck you, fck the planet and fck everyone on it
Easier to parrot that then to admit no one can stand me past the first minute
I don't know if it's the misplacement of hurt and anger, a cover for inadequate social alignment
Or a relentless deep seeded resentment for the general public
Not sure but it definitely feels organic
This old dog ain't capable of learning a new trick regardless of any enlightenment
Kinda sad isn't it?
©2024
Jan 16, 2024
Jan 16, 2024 at 6:30 PM UTC
My heart was shattered by you
but slowly the pieces were glued
The puzzle was finished
and I was done.
I walked away.
One day you came back
you told me to give you a chance
I myself just blurted without thinking,
I said yes.
You ruined that chance
you broke my heart again
I shouldn't have let you in my life
I shouldn't have.
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 10:43 PM UTC
I saw her once in passing
Once only!
But once was enough
For I never stopped seeing her
She was everywhere
She was everyone
All day, all night
My heart gave her no rest
Tirelessly and aimlessly
She roamed through my mind
For days and weeks and months
Our paths never crossed again
I was grieved!
I should have made my move then
But how could I?
How do I approach such beauty?
With what would I catch her fancy?
Why should such perfection, regard me?
Would I ever see her again?
Was she gone forever?
The thoughts made me nauseous,
Made me sweat and shiver all at once.
Time passed
And she faded with it
She was gone forever.
I will never see her again
I dwell on more concrete thoughts now
As I leave the office, famished.
Entering a cafe
I spot a familiar figure by the bar
All fatigue and hunger flee-
She's the one!
I approach her,
As the DJ plays something soft
I forge on,
Fighting my greatest fear.
With a husky voice that barely made it out,
"Hello", I whisper
She turns, facing me squarely
Eyes so lovely, piercing my being.
Eternity must have passed, cos she awoke me
"Yes?" She blurted
I gawk for a moment, then I stutter,
"I, I **** at pick-up lines, but can I have this dance?"
She smiles!
Revealing perfectly crafted, white teeth (unlike mine)
Increasing my already rapid heartbeat
As she offers her left hand,
And I take it in my right
And lead her to the dance floor,
Praying for God's mercy and grace.
I awake again- from my trance
As the music fades
Determined, I stop right behind her
And as I dare to open my mouth...
A muscular dude snatches her from the side
Turning, she hugs him and they kiss.
I swallow hard!
Wanting to be him.
Unsure of what to do next, I sit by her
The bartender salutes me
"Coffee?"
"Nah" I mutter, as I stand to leave; feeling stupid.
I take one more look at her, probably my last
As she giggles lovingly
In the arms of another
Oblivious of my existence
My heart burns
As the DJ plays a familiar tune-
James Blunt's You are Beautiful
I leave the cafe
Sad as ever, as reality dawns
No use dreaming further
She's in love with another
She will never be mine
She's gone for life!
© Raphael Uzor
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 4:50 PM UTC
It was the early days of the organic food craze
and my wife, ever a slave to the latest fads
(which disposition sometimes benefitted me pleasurably
but mostly cost me dearly)
made me run on an errand
(like: “Fido – go, fetch!”)
to get some organic vegetables
and arriving, I blurted out to the produce guy, stumbling:
*“Some ****** for my wife”* –
and that wise guy, Oxford-educated as he was
(though a failed Professor, so ended up at the greengrocer’s)
he said: *“That you must induce or encourage in your wife, Sir;
I cannot and will not be of service in that connection.”*
And I slowed down and I said:
“Well, dear fellow – for my wife, have you any organic vegetables?”
And Oxford-educated as he was, he did not understand such fads
having mostly a sedate and Classical demeanour
and he pointed his most English nose to the air;
and so I attempted again to sensible-phrase my inquiry:
*“Are your vegetables -
and this I ask on account of my esteemed wife -
sprayed with poisonous chemicals?”*
And the Oxford guy apprehended now, and he pronounced:
*“Poisonous chemicals for your spouse
you must procure yourself, Sir”*
Now, that was an idea. I knew Oxford-educated guys
were smart in some way or other.
And since then I have been free of my wife.
I have no need to run on errands for no baby, no more;
though I do have to count bars,
limited as my numerical skills are,
as is my verbal proficiency.
And the Oxford guy, meanwhile, I have it from the grapevine,
has set up an ******** Food Chain Store*, worldwide;
I knew he’d go places, sooner or later, far and global
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 8:06 AM UTC
Standing on a busy street corner
When a limo pulls up next to me
Out pops the head of Johnny Depp
(Not the body mind you, just the head)
And asks where's the nearest Dairy Queen
Not one to miss an opportunity
I blurted out I'll show you the way
So that's how the head of "The Depp" and I
Spent time together that day
In his limo he had his makeup artist
Which seemed a bit odd to me
Everywhere the head of Johnny went
It had to dress up for the scene
Since Johnny was drooling a Dilly
First stop Dairy Queen
With Johnny's head as the Mad Hatter under my arm
It was a very strange scene indeed
With me holding onto the Dilly's
And Johnny's head on the counter up front
Mr. Depp was the King at the Queen that day
Though his ice cream licking habit did turn some peoples lunch
Later on passing a Piggly Wiggly
Johnny's head said what's up with that
Told him it's nothing more than a grocery store
His reply was let's give it a crack
So undergoing more of his makeup
And in the blink of an eye
I have the head of Jack Sparrow
In the grocery cart with a bag of Funions by his side
Yes, Johnny Depp's head loves Funions
Which to me really ranks the breath
But who am I to tell a Big Time Movie Star that
I'm not the keeper of his head
He even dressed as Edward Scissorhands
Which didn't turn out quite right
Since Johnny's head has no hands
To hold the famous Scissorhand knives
That day we went to so many places
With every stop a new disguise
I guess for entertainment you do what you can
When all that's left is your head and some of your mind
Whelp, that's about it on this days adventures
Not a whole lot more to be said
As I stood on the street corner waving bye, bye
To the limo pulling off into the sunset, along with the head of Johnny Depp
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 8:19 AM UTC
Sitting beside her
Watching her slowly break to pieces
The only thing keeping her together
Were her thin calloused arms
Clasped tightly around her heaving chest
I couldn't bear it anymore
I love you...
I blurted out hastily
Before the significance of what I said could settle in
But I couldn't take them back
The words now stood between us
Floating in the silence of my confession
Her eyes widened and bloodshot
Arms wrapped tightly around herself
Hair left in a messy half tied bun
She sat just an arms distance away
And all I could was see beauty
In those runny kajal lined eyes
Coloured a warm shade of brown
I love you I specified once more
Her stumped silence more annoying now
But better, much better
Than one filled with her tears
I've loved everything about you I explain
More for my own sake than hers
For my mind could barely process such a confession
I love the way you dance to the corniest of songs
When you think no one can see you
I love how you spend an hour just figuring out makeup
Only to walk out with just lip balm gracing your face
I love how you try to dress ****
But would rather get married in a pair of boxers
I love how you're a hard core geek
But still can't resist an episode of Greys Anatomy
I love the contradiction you are
As changeable as the winds
But always steadfast when I need you
I love that awkward smile
I love that messy bun
I love those over sized t-shirts
I love that sarcastic mouth
You are not as weak as you believe
Your scars are what I love most
And how you show them off with pride to the world
Your imperfections make you perfect
And your...
Before I finished this sudden display of verbosity
She kissed me
Wrapping herself around me completely
For our imperfections we loved
And no person would make us erase our proud battle scars of life.
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 1:36 PM UTC
You'd blurt out something unforgivable
You'd yell out to the monkey in the room
Say it and I'll have to go alone
Mute your unkind mind from those things you call distractions
Sending you the truth, saying things like that are pretty sad
Your dad is an automated system
Driving recklessly, laughing at my pains
Listen turn that down, listening to your faceless friends
Skin color is only a screen blinding you
Why does it matter anyway
But you won't just leave it alone
Saying stereotypical rhymes out loud
Just leave me alone
You blurted out something unforgivable
You were screaming to the monkey in the room, which you'd soon regret
Enough was said
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 10:40 PM UTC
imagine this.
you experience something
with another person
that typically involves
a great deal of
love and commitment.
but, you didnt want to.
this person didn't love you
nor were they commited to you.
this moment
is usually special
and meaningful.
but, you can't even tell me
if it was because
you dont know.
you dont remember.
welcome to my life.
i was the mere age
of fifteen.
i thought i loved him.
afterwords,
i didn't tell anybody.
instead,
i made excuses.
“i remember.”
“i wasn't drunk.”
“i wanted to.”
i spent six long months
suffering,
burying everything,
before i finally decided
it was time to tell my mom.
last month
my mom told me
i had a doctors appointment.
you see,
i have been consistently
losing weight and
i hadn't been sleeping at night.
when my doctor asked if
my mom could come in too,
i instantly knew something was wrong.
my mom looked into my eyes
and told me i needed to be honest.
i had no idea
what she was talking about.
“she was *****
my mom blurted.
you see,
after spending
six. ******* months.
alone,
burying everything
that i didn't want to think about,
just to have all that hard work
ripped apart
was heartbreaking.
no,
having someone i
loved and trusted
do something so awful,
so wrong,
that was heartbreaking.
but digging it all back up?
that was torture.
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 4:31 PM UTC
An excerpt from An excerpt from
a poem by T.S. Eliot. a poem by the False Poets
Between the idea no permanence in juxtaposition
And the reality where Falls the Shadow, the shadow
Between the motion. a divisive notion caught between
And the act composition & action, the response is
Falls the Shadow Falls the Shadow
Between the conception grayed outline indistinct, the cognitive sap
And the creation leaks, contradictions irritating birth sac,
Between the emotion whereupon Falls the Shadow emerges
And the response the response conclusive, occlusive, collusive
Falls the Shadow Falls the Shadow
Between the desire juxtaposition insertion, need to achieve
And the spasm *the blurted ****** of spurted letters born*
Between the potency. in the potent white seeds of black words
And the existence coming into existence as a riptorn issue,
Between the essence essences of scents blood+logic foretelling
And the descent birth & death, descent & the ascent, both,
Falls the Shadow Falls the Shadow
Between the desire the desire desired, completed,
And the spasm the latency uncovered,
Between the potency the potent toxins of spit and tears
And the existence the birth fluid of of existence
Between the essence the formulation of the human essence
And the descent from blood dust to blood dust is where
Falls the Shadow. Falls All the Shadows
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 6:08 PM UTC
A country tale from round these parts
Concerning potatoes none too large
Now over the hedge as he rode by
Old Dibber had a little spy
There was his neighbour, fork and all
Digging up spuds, but they were quite small.
With a cheer he blurted out
"Your spuds aren't much to shout about!"
Quick and sharp came the retort
"They're made for my mouth ba, not yours!"
Sep 28, 2012
Sep 28, 2012 at 4:18 PM UTC
So I went to get new glasses
Cos my eyes have felt real bad
I went there feeling cr*p
I left there feeling sad
I squinted and I squirmed
In that black opticians chair
"I'm afraid your vouchers expired sir"
**** off that isn't fair!"
Well that's what I wanted to say
But I bit me lip and sighed
When she told me what I owed
I almost frickin died
"How much?! I blurted back
Wide eyed and unamused
I was fed up and so I nodded
**** me should have refused!
I hope these glasses see covid
It should for that friggin' sum
Stick your lenses and your voucher
Right up your b**
Apr 6, 2021
Apr 6, 2021 at 5:42 PM UTC
Aging Poetry Well (proving the valor of writing poetry)
no more write, post, establish
to your immediate satisfaction,
what you are
what you think
is an amazing piece of
just you,
plus+comprehending
the world needs it, you,
ASAP!
needy for the
cosplay contemporaneous sharing,
curse of our
instantaneous time
from now on
deep down, gonna let it
casket age,
let memory
of the intensity
rust sufficiently to
get some time~plied
rusted accurate actualized
perspective
maybe trash it,
maybe tinker and
spot-check edit,
but if it is going
to stand
time testing,
let it pass a
first Herculean
examination of
fire and forget,
returning later
to collect it,
the wounded
that,
refusing to die,
thus proving proof,
the valor of
red badged courage of
writing poetry
is it worthy long after
the internal commotion
has passed,
just like
an ordinary
but very first
"I love you"
forming and reforming
then blurted in
a wunderkind awkwardness,
that can't be
taken back,
well, *** and all that
put me aside,
could be weeks,
months,
researching
the thing I love most,
waiting for the day I
need it worse,
a lot less,
so I can
do it better
maybe even go back
look up them
odd old folks,
written in
longing ago high passion,
and come at them
differently
or wistfully,
not
and like me,
age
for better
or
for worse
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 10:31 AM UTC
I have some good memories of you
From when I was younger.
I remember the times
You'd bring me fishing,
You taught me how to cast.
I'd always hoped to catch
A fish as big as a shark.
I remember how you'd
Always make me laugh.
Especially when you'd start
Laughing really hard because
Your laugh is contagious.
I remember being called
"Daddy's little girl" because
I'd always wanna be with you.
And I remember wanting to go to
The bar with you when you went.
The bar,
Where you'd go to drink
And occasionally smoke cigarettes with friends.
I didn't understand it back then.
But now,
I have new memories of you.
I remember the times where
I was terrified to die
While you were behind the wheel.
When you accelerated faster on the highway,
I'd laugh in fear as I held in the tears
And prayed to God to get home safe.
Then you'd swerve.
Sometimes purposely for fun,
Sometimes just because you're drunk.
I remember the time
You fell backwards onto the floor
Because you were so drunk
That you couldn't even keep your balance.
You could've fallen down the stairs
Which was just in the other direction.
I could've lost you that day.
I remember the time you
Smoked **** inside a friends car outside the bar
During my confirmation party last year.
I remember those two Christmases
And those two birthdays that
You ruined for me two years in a row.
I remember the time when
You blurted out to my godfather that
I had cut and starved myself as if it were a news story.
Did you ever stop and think that
Maybe you're part of the reason why I did it?
I remember the time
You grabbed a trash bag and
Started to put all your clothes in it
While threatening to leave.
But It's like you're never there anyways
So what's the difference?
Then last night you said something to me
That tore my heart into pieces as if it were paper.
You were mad at Mom for something
That was most likely your fault.
You said,
“I'm gonna save up all my money
And to hell with her!”
Then I did the same thing as always.
Go into my room.
Close the door and lock it.
Turn up the music.
And cry.
Sometimes I’d wish I was a child again
Just so I wouldn't be able to understand,
So it wouldn't hurt as bad.
You know,
You said you'd die at 40 but look, you're 41.
So maybe that's God giving you a chance to change.
But God has given you too many chances,
I have given you too many chances,
We have all given you way too many chances.
A part of me wants you to know that I wrote this
So you could maybe realise how much it hurts.
But the other part of me knows that
You'll just look away and laugh
Like it doesn't mean anything.
Just like you always do.
-Cynthia Medeiros
Apr 28, 2017
Apr 28, 2017 at 7:15 AM UTC
The children are running and stumbling
A humbling experience, but deliverance
Is only gained here by running in fear
Away from those who hate and ****
And warp the will of those too young
To see people hung and murdered.
So they are herded with the living
Into an unforgiving world of pain
None should see, even less see again
But they remain in these clusters
Mustering and lining up for food
A homeless brood of adopted waifs
That should be naifs instead of this,
Nomads, glad of a blanket for bed
On the hard ground, all they found
To call home during flight, for tonight,
Not all are children, but the hurt
From blurted out hateful names
Is not the same for the young ones
Who should be having fun and not
Suffering through this hell they got
From being born in the right city
In a time of no pity and no rescue,
No kindness the world should do,
Instead they cringe from angry faces
As if they were disgraces for living.
Nothing left for giving to them.
These are orphans now, not sons
Not daughters, what was begun
Has ended for them, permanently
While nations stand by silently
Watching the perfidy and sighs,
Ignorant of their cries and destitution.
No restitution can ever come to some.
To most there is only memory of death
And running, out of breath, nowhere
Because nobody is there for them.
It is their problem.
Oct 24, 2016
Oct 24, 2016 at 8:27 AM UTC
My roommates are all up and about. It’s finals week and everyone is hustling about. Lisa came in from an early exam, it was snowing lightly, she looked right at home.
“How’d it go?” I quizzed.
“E-Z,” she replied, shedding her long navy coat and mango cashmere beanie. After dumping it all on her bed she joined us in the common room. “Blue State (coffee) is closing,” She announced.
Leong gasped, “What?”
“Three of the four Blue State locations are closing,” Lisa confirmed, “not Orange Street.”
“Why?” Leong moaned.
“What are you why? Lisa queried.
“They’re so popular!” Leong exclaimed, “There’s always SO many people in there.”
“That’s real,” I chimed in, “those places are packed and noisy.”
“They got bought out,” Lisa attested.
“By whom?” Leong wondered.
“By another coffee company.. maybe,” Lisa guessed soothingly.
“Oh, I hope so.” Leong stated, sounding depressed.
“You know what? Lisa added, “rumors were thick that Book Trader would close too.”
“No!” Leong bemoaned.
“I’m happy to announce that they’re not.” Lisa assured, “That’s something to celebrate.”
“I love studying at Book Trader.” I professed.
“And their bagels..” Leong mentioned dreamily.
“Oh, yeah,” Lisa agreed, “so good, so cheap.”
“Change is ineluctable,” Anna sighed.
“WHAT?” Leong replied, looking confused.
“Inevitable,” Lisa told her, “change is inevitable.”
“Then just say that.” Leong grumbled at Anna, who shrugged.
“I need to go support my favorite coffee shop soon,” I declared.
“Which is?” Leong inquired.
“Coffee with a K,” Lisa and I blurted out, both at once. “It has an intimate, date spot vibe,” I explained, “and the chairs that are perfect for putting an arm around someone.”
“The Benjamin and Acorn (two on campus coffee shops) are going to be so crowded.” Sunny stated, joining the conversation as she started putting on her shoes to go out.
“True THAT.” I agreed.
“Common Grounds Cafe,” Sophie revealed, coming from her room, drying her hair with a towel, “bought out Blue State,” she confirmed. “it was in the Yale News.”
“OK,” I pronounced, satisfied. “Perfect.” Lisa declared. “Thank God.” Leong agreed.
“Coffee’s important.” Sunny proclaimed, picking up her coffee cup and book bag. “See ya!” she waved to the room absently, with her coffee cup, as she opened the door and stepped out.
Dec 20, 2022
Dec 20, 2022 at 1:13 PM UTC
There was a little boy named Andy...
He was only nine years old when he died...
They buried him under a willow tree...
His father was so sad that he went insane...
One night he went to his son's grave...
Dug him out quickly...
And carried him home on his shoulder...
He then made him a dummy...
Turned him into a wooden dummy...
Painted a stiff smile on his dead face...
Put his play outfit on him...
Sat him in his favourite chair...
In the living room...
Put some music on...
He has gone home...
He has gone home...
He sang so loud that he got tired and fell asleep...
In his dream he saw his son dancing...
Bouncing around...
Singing out loud...
When he woke up his dummy son had disappeared...
He was not in sight...
He sought for him all night long but he could not find him...
He did not know...
While he was asleep deep in his agony...
Somebedy broke into his house and stole his dummy son...
Sold it to a russian ventriloquist for a few pennies...
He cried all night long...
He went back to his son's empty grave...
Crying...singing his sad song of loss and loneliness and agony...
When he went back home...
He found his dummy son sitting in his favourite chair...
With two bleeding hearts beating on his lap...
The hearts of the man who took him away....and the russian ventriloquist...
His father blurted out his happiness....
Held his son's cold wooden body tight....
Stroking his grinning dead face gently...
His son sat back still...
He stood still...
He was just a dummy...
Just a wooden dummy...
Feb 22, 2011
Feb 22, 2011 at 2:34 AM UTC
It was February 14, Valentines day
When I first saw her
Dressed in red
And her enchanting smile taking control of the room
She looked at me and smiled
And before even knew it
I was in love with her
My first love
She was sitting near the crystal clear glass
And the moonlight made her enchanting
I asked her whether I could have a seat beside her
She said "Why not?" and giggled.
I sat beside her
And was carried away in her beauty
She was like a god
Who was born to enchant people with her beauty
I was engrossed in her blue eyes
Which was deeper than any ocean
Her nose was so perfect
That even make Aphrodite jealous
Her glossed lips
Shimmered like diamonds
Making them precious
Priceless
Her snow white skin
And her blonde hair
Made her look as beautiful
As golden sunshine on a winter morning
Her hands were small and pretty
And it looked so dainty
With her painted nails
picturesque and perfect.
She asked"Dude where are you?"
I was a bit unprepared
She asked my name
I asked the same, and the reply was Cassandra Black.
Even her name was so beautiful
That even "Black" could not shun its beauty
I asked her out for the dance
She said Yes.
We danced and I was again engrossed in her
The alluring maiden
The captivator of my heart
And my first love
It was all going too perfect
I never wanted it to end
But all stories does not have a happy ending
And neither did mine
The door blurted open
And A man entered
Seeming rather angry
And unfortunately was Cassandra's father.
He came in
And dragged Cassandra out
And I never met Cassandra after that day
She had disappeared.
And my first love
Only lasted Valentines Day
And as people say
Valentines Day is a day of Happiness
And the day after is of sorrow
And that saying became true for me.............
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 11:29 AM UTC
We met outside of a dingy doorframe
of a hotel room and automatically blurted out
introductions at the same time,
pinking our cheeks and
slowing
us
down.
The way you breathed out your name
as if it was the lingering smoke
from the last drag of your cigarette
captured my attention and
kept me hungry
for more.
Three days passed
and we were caught wrapped
in the white sheets of Room 243,
whispering compliments of the craft
of my soft lips on your bare skin
in between green apple
Smirnoff-soaked kisses.
You didn’t mind
when I desperately needed to find
my best friend wrapped in the arms
of a half-naked frat boy
by the bonfire flames,
just to tell her she was
the best friend I have ever had.
I didn’t mind when we ran
through the hotel hallways
to find your best friend
on the brink of arrest,
barefoot and broke,
giving the shuttle drivers a hard time.
We said goodbye outside the dented door
of the shuttle we coincidentally took
together the morning after,
leaving behind our two a.m. talks
of improvisations and dances
to stupid songs by the DJ
in the other world that is
Lake Havasu.
May 5, 2014 4:17:28 PM
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 2:12 AM UTC
I don't regret the way I breathed in your heart,
Or the way you gently held my hand in the dark.
I don't regret how it felt that morning, glowing with summers heat,
When we met in secret to feel our hearts beat.
That was the last time it felt real, and no I don't regret,
I just hope no matter where we are, that we don't forget.
You told me you wanted to kiss me,
As the river rushed and my flesh was no longer frozen,
My heart skipped and ran as I finally felt chosen.
But our lips never met and I don't regret,
How you told me that evening you were scared and you weren't ready yet.
I know what that meant, and I don't have some false hope,
But I won't regret and I don't have to cope.
You told me that you loved me,
But just as a friend.
Hey darling I understand, we don't have to pretend.
Maybe it wasn't meant to be,
But I loved every moment that I spent with you,
I know how you feel, I was scared out of my mind too.
I don't regret the way we awkwardly flirted,
Or the way it feels foolish looking back, your words bluntly blurted.
Honest and raw was our code of conduct,
I am messy and bleeding, who am I to instruct?
But regret? No, not for a moment.
I only hope that I still mean the world to you,
Just know that you mean the world to me too.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 12:42 AM UTC
I shot a glance past the pastures and the fields
And they looked so inviting
They said to me, “come walk among
Our thorns and our burrs in dim lighting”
But my eyes could not see the thorns
So I flew through the fields
And I stopped only after
after I felt the blood on my heels
One Hundred paces deep in a camouflage despair
I stood there in the cold night
With too little to wear
And said
“Why was I so easily swayed
by the cover of the dark?”
Because among these thorns and burrs
I’ve lost my one and only heart
A Chorus
Into the eyes of the night
You’ll awake without your sight
Into the eyes of the night
You’ll escape if you can fly
I saw a man with a lantern walk past the field
And called to him
But my secret was revealed
He knew of the thorns in the field
And he called back to me and said, “son if you need me
Then you must not need yourself”
And I saw scars on his hands, feet and side
And knew in my lost heart that he could help
Another Chorus
Into the eyes of the night
You’ll be asleep by first light
Into the eyes of the night
You’ll escape if you can fly
So I gagged on my pride and said,
“if you have scars how are you any better than I?”
and he replied, “son I have these scars
from when I found your lost heart about to die”
I said, “show me my heart
And I will trust that you are here for my rescue”
And the man replied, “Son
Your heart is the fields and the thorns among you”
A Third
Into the eyes of the night
You’ll believe that you are right
Into the eyes of the night
You’ll escape if you can fly
I hated him for what he said
And took a step toward where he stood
But fell upon the ground in pain
And there was no moving on
even if I thought I could
I shook on the ground in the cold and the burrs
And I yelled to the man with the lantern and said,
“how could I be causing myself so great a pain?
It seems to me that you’re the one to blame!”
The man replied, “Son! You ask of me a question!
And then cringe at the reply!
You do not use the pretty words!
And so neither will I!”
I thought then blurted back,
“so you will leave me here to die?”
he said, “Son I wish you life,
but you must need me to survive”
A Fourth
Into the eyes of the night
You’ll shake when you can’t fight
Into the eyes of the night
You’ll escape if you can fly
I lay on my only heart
Not to ready to say goodnight
I said to myself, “if this is me
then I will cause my own loss!”
And I heard the man begin to walk across
I said, “I cannot live in my heart
And my heart will never stop
And I felt the man begin trampling the crop
I said, “I cannot heal my wounds!
My heart has run me dry!”
The man leaned over me with lantern bringing light
Kissed me on the head and said,
“Son now you need me,
let the thorns and thistles die
Because if you need me, you must not need yourself
A Fifth and Final Chorus
Into the eyes of the night
You’ll believe you know what’s right
The only way that You’ll escape
Is to trust the man with light
Feb 17, 2011
Feb 17, 2011 at 6:19 PM UTC