"boldness" poems
Man pineapples are so good
It's my favorite fruit
It's amplifies my taste buds making an enjoyable reaction
No room for sadness
Cuz pineapples bring me gladness
Justice to my nutrition
I'm a living organism and I need my power
Making me preach wholeness with boldness
I'm black and that's what my people do
So I'll continue to eat the sweet yellow fruit that purifies my soul
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 4:25 PM UTC
your wild hair
is just a little
glimpse of who
you are,
it tells me
that your heart
and your dreams
and soul
are just as wild
as those locks
of yours
you are lovely
and free
and brave
and
your heart finds
life in color
and boldness
and who you are,
wildflower,
makes you beautiful.
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 12:25 PM UTC
coffee
ph5 acidic
nutty
hot
strong
bold
milk
ph6.7 slightly acidic
creamy
neutralizer
sugar
I do not sugar coat boldness.
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 3:12 AM UTC
You're the rose that grew from my concrete
Why a rose?
What about a sunflower?
Roses show beauty; sunflowers show joy
You are inexhaustible joy
Roses are fragile; sunflowers are bold
Your boldness drips like honey from your lips
Roses are elegance; sunflowers radiate
You are exuberance
My light, My vitality, My sunflower
Nov 17, 2018
Nov 17, 2018 at 5:47 PM UTC
*She dances, possessed by the haughtiness
That inhabits the children of pureness.
She spreads her locks over her heart,
Eglantine and amber, equal in parts.
She cries for herself, in a cruel ******
Her tears, flowing daggers in her soul of wax.
What are these insolent games she plays?
Teaching her shadows irreverent ways
And nurturing a hectic stillness.
What voices haunt her murmured boldness?
Her lullaby, pillowed by destruction
Hummed solely out of her own compassion.
She waves to her cousins, the silver lights,
Painters of the robe of the summer nights.
She burns ,as them, freckling the darkness
With a light, a fragrance, and a caress.
She is passion, a witness, a deity
Existing, not for light, but for beauty.*
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 12:51 PM UTC
Raise slow
or
Raise fast
Raise step by step
Reach to love
I'm here
The Moon said
In her shyness
Too fast can be I
Too slow can be you
Let's get together as
Synchronize soul
The Sun replied
In his boldness
Believe me
You were the witness
Dec 10, 2018
Dec 10, 2018 at 10:54 AM UTC
i hail from heat, heat
in the heart and in the home, in the head and in the heel of the
sword that swings for both justice and action.
i inherit this love, this life and these virtues like heirlooms.
i inherit this boldness from you
i inherit the air of a highborn lady, while not without the humility of a low born daughter from you
i inherit gentle hands of craft into fists of rage and fire that melt away sorrows from you
i rise and fall, for from you
i breathe.
unspoken it was passed down, and yet it stirs and whispers to me in my bones of
ancient thought and force,
passed down from kin to kin, from one blood to another of
temperance and will
that flow like tradition—
a book written on age-old sandstone pressed eons below the earth,
text mapped in bloodlines over a body, not alone. never fading.
you bid me to rise from dust and ashes into the woman of your forging,
and so with a kiss between my brow for
farewell and fortune
i may live with your light tucked into my heart,
because my inheritance lives within me.
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 11:51 AM UTC
the moon through the tree
peeking through like a ******
shining full on naked bodies
staring back at her
the illusion of division
everywhere the center of her
smoke and bare dimness
where did the moon go
time doesn't quite stop here
but don't look past your self too far
it is here and now
the balance of fools
the boldness of orange stripes
the old lion moon rises
the flight of hawks
above clouds and thought and fear
outside the game
writing the subscript
taking the leap
the lion's head opens
sand and soul
warm smiles and beauty
i can see where the moon is going now
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 5:54 AM UTC
VIII. TO ARES (17 lines)
(ll. 1-17) Ares, exceeding in strength, chariot-rider, golden-
helmed, doughty in heart, shield-bearer, Saviour of cities,
harnessed in bronze, strong of arm, unwearying, mighty with the
spear, O defence of Olympus, father of warlike Victory, ally of
Themis, stern governor of the rebellious, leader of righteous
men, sceptred King of manliness, who whirl your fiery sphere
among the planets in their sevenfold courses through the aether
wherein your blazing steeds ever bear you above the third
firmament of heaven; hear me, helper of men, giver of dauntless
youth! Shed down a kindly ray from above upon my life, and
strength of war, that I may be able to drive away bitter
cowardice from my head and crush down the deceitful impulses of
my soul. Restrain also the keen fury of my heart which provokes
me to tread the ways of blood-curdling strife. Rather, O blessed
one, give you me boldness to abide within the harmless laws of
peace, avoiding strife and hatred and the violent fiends of
death.
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It’s true; I can never be separated,
from the eternal Love of my Lord.
No possible form of earthly trouble,
can take away Salvation’s reward.
The times of tribulations will pass,
be it suffering, calamity or distress.
Christ’s seed of righteousness in me,
brings forth the joy of sacred rest.
With my faith, I will persevere,
moving through today’s affliction.
Since I belong to Him, victory is…
already promised, under His horizon.
When the date of my final judgment comes,
I will stand before Him and be embraced,
with assurance, confidence and boldness,
seeing myself… in the brightness of His face.
.
.
.
Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
Rom 8:35-37; 1 John 4:4, 17; Eph 1:17-20, 2:6
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2013, All rights reserved.
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 5:13 PM UTC
For One brief moment I found this love
This love that I had heard of
This love that heals all things;
This love that floods my soul
Like the water it finds all of the cracks
It breaks down these things I try to hold
Giving me the strength that my being lacks;
A boldness that drives through bitter cold
A bitter cold that I could keep
The one that my soul longs for, for me
So I can make excuses and stay asleep
But He took that away from me
For one moment I am free.
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 6:26 PM UTC
Beware the bitter idiot--
That fellow with the sour
Mind,
Cankered by disillusion,
And feelings of
Left behind.
So life may not be everything
As planned--
It does, after all, arrive in
Installments called the day.
One of these is enough to try
To understand,
One enough for this thin
Vessel of stardust clay.
His voice is but a drone,
Nothing but rancor and filth
Ride upon his tongue.
Complaint the engine of his
Tone,
The wormwood ballad of
Pitiful woe he sings and has
Ever sung.
He will not be mistaken,
For the street tough is at his
Very core.
He will not allow to awaken
The malleable man of his
Youth and yore.
And so this fellow who has
Shut his soul off,
Stands in front of his mirror and cries.
He's too proud to unhand the
Lance of the scoff--
Boldness is his favorite lie.
Apr 19, 2018
Apr 19, 2018 at 10:08 PM UTC
i bought a pack of cigarettes tonight, even though my lungs don't work quite right.
i sat on the stairs in the yard of the old house with its walls crumbling,
with its facade turned to dust.
the air was so cold it stung my fingers, frost licking my face,
turning my cheeks blood-red but nothing hurt
as much as you do.
i smoked a cigarette tonight, even though my lungs don't work quite right.
the smoke filled me up and i feared
it would leak out of all the holes you punched in me.
it didn't. i choked and i coughed and it felt a little like drowning.
like your mouth on my mouth, like your teeth on my neck.
i choked and i coughed and it felt a little like you
so i liked it.
who cares i almost died.
i smoked a second cigarette tonight, even though my lungs don't work quite right.
nicotine ran in my veins,
blue rivers along my pale skin and it felt, it really felt
a lot like love. a lot like you. a lot like us.
galaxies scattered across my skin, poison running in my blood,
yes, it felt a lot like us.
i didn't choke this time, but i think you would have laughed
at the way i ******
on the cigarette ****
i smoked a third cigarette tonight, even though my lungs don't work quite right.
i swallowed cancer like a drug and it stung
at the back of my throat, and it burned and it burned and it burned
as ash gathered at the burning end
and fell to the ground like snowflakes,
little flakes of ash on my sneakers
and it reminded me of your kisses a little, i didn't choke this time.
i laughed. a bitter laugh.
you hurt at the back of my mind as i put
the cigarette out and i thought about the way
you'd look at me, boldness in your eyes, hair a little all over
the place and your mouth
shaped in a little "o"
as you blew circles of smoke out.
i smoked a fourth cigarette tonight, even though my lungs don't work quite right.
the cold stung but not as much as my lungs burnt and my brain burned
and you hurt.
i blew smoke out but never quite like you did,
and i thought it looked and was a little
ridiculous maybe
to burn the leaves of a plant wrapped in paper
and fill our fragile bodies with the exhausts
we breathe out smoke like broken steam engines,
ain't it funny, haha.
you'd laugh, harshly, you'd bite me, you were always
a little rough.
i smoked a fifth cigarette tonight, even though my lungs don't work quite right.
it's not half as venomous as you were, i decided.
i put it out.
cigarettes are so not worth the hype.
you were.
you are.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 12:39 PM UTC
I have hands that won’t keep
to themselves.
They are always rummaging
and dancing and clapping
and snapping and opening
and closing and trying to fix
every
single
broken thing they can find.
And that includes you.
My heart is a bottomless pit for aches.
Not mine, but yours.
It’s almost a cursed thing, how
despite its size being only that of my fist,
my heart always finds a way to squeeze in
some new hurt into the spaces that
before you,
I never knew existed.
There they stay;
and like all things that stay,
with enough time,
become part of their surroundings.
I can’t tell whose cut is whose anymore.
Put me in a room full of people.
Blindfold me.
Spin me like a tornado.
Make me stop.
My outstretched fingers will be reaching
for the most broken souls in the room.
Call it compassion. Kindness. Empathy.
Whatever you like,
but there is a fine, fine line between that
and the way I bleed.
Oh,
how I bleed.
Forgive my boldness when I say
I won’t even try to make you understand
the fact that I do
somehow
understand.
Think of it this way: ripples.
And I always get the last one.
I’m still a child.
I like to play pretend.
I’m a doctor.
I’m a superhero.
I’m the one with all the answers,
all the weapons,
all the magical cures.
Take that!
And that!
Ha! Aha! Ha!
Ha…
Ha.
As the years wear on,
I see that my tools aren’t right,
and that my cape is too tight around my neck.
I don’t have all the answers.
No weapons.
No magical cures.
I’m just a girl trying to play the part that was never hers.
And it’s taken me three volcano boys,
a couple of glass-bottomed hearted girls,
and just about the rest of the world to realize that I
am not
the Savior.
My hands were not made to heal
every heart they rest themselves upon,
or to fill that vacuum inside every man,
one that nothing,
nothing,
nothing in this world will ever
make
whole.
So here.
I let go of every burden that’s been
causing me to stoop and to stumble,
every pressing weight that’s been
keeping me from keeping faith,
every heavy yoke that’s been
causing me to choke on things
I never should have let in
in the first place.
Yet I will continue to love you.
I have come to learn that love
has a lot of ugly before it becomes beautiful,
a lot of hurt before healing’s arrival,
a lot of you before any of me.
My part is done.
These fidgety fingers no longer carry suffering.
Here, let me see yours, though battle scarred and bruised.
You’ve been bearing more than you were built for, beloved.
I think it’s time to surrender.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC
Kindness is not nice.
‘Nice’ is soft and inoffensive
‘Nice’ is careful and non-assertive
‘Nice’ is easy and effects no change
she’s cotton wool trying to soften the pain
but not stuffed tight, just resting on the surface
ready to be blown away or pressed
under a muddy boot of disinterest
‘Nice’ is a damp whisper
a mouse cowering in the corner
hoping you will blink and miss her
lest she attract your notice
lest she presume too much
and cause a whisker of offence
Kindness is not like that –
Kindness pushes in, quick and nimble
a hero with no mask, unasked
unexpected, dodging the turmoil
leaving nothing unsaid and little undone
in her pursuit of creating a counter-disruption
Kindness defies convention
Kindness carefully aims her weapons of choice
and advances relentless and regardless
of any and all obstacles in her way
Kindness perseveres all the love-long day
Kindness doesn’t delay
Kindness is gleeful for the chance of invasion
ready to disarm with expert compassion
with her regiments of patience
armed to the teeth with gracious
placing tanks of good faith on all fronts
Kindness confronts
Courage is her currency, boldness her language,
trust and hope are her passports to lands long unexplored
happily wearing all-weather clothing
for any and all unexpected storms
Kindness transforms
Kindness weakens all defenses
and challenges all camouflaged pretenses
Kindness pours itself out to fill unhealed wounds
and on shrapnel-seeded battlefields
she - blooms
Kindness is not 'nice'
Kindness isn’t in this for the likes
Kindness bites
She’s a take-on-all-comers, undefeated delight
Kindness never bails from the fight
never fails, never takes flight
Kindness is nothing casual,
nothing incidental
This Kindness is elemental
She is Avengers-Assemble,
End-Game-level
monumental
Kindness is not 'nice'.
Kindness is loving awe-ful.
Oct 12, 2020
Oct 12, 2020 at 8:45 AM UTC
A soft spoken lady she was not
Neither timid nor fragile
Alone she tarried with six girls in tow
She set up home while around her was gloom
With boldness and courage, she always moved forward
Head always held high with dignity and pride
She raised her daughters much like soldiers in the army
Some fell through the crack but back to her fold, they always hurried
She was never sweet or smiled too much
It was not for lack of love but more of a disciplined lifestyle
She however mellowed once her first grandchild arrived
Loving became easier and perhaps she learnt how to smile
She taught us to work hard and stick to a schedule
If you want to do something, do it to completion
Cleanliness was next to godliness or so she reminded us
Her hands were always busy minding the flowers or some vegetables
I do not miss her like how I used to miss her
It seems these days she’s always near when I need her
Her life has been rich with children, grandchildren and great grandchildren
She may be gone but she left a legacy for generations to come!
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 9:24 AM UTC
Pieces of a woman
Gloom, glee, distance and intimacy
Attitude, gratitude, strength and vulnerability
Heartbreaks, Happiness, Longingness and poetry
Calmness, boldness and a bad *** stree.
Pieces of a woman
Stretch Marks, cellulite, miscarriages and then bossy
Shallow, Intense, blur and then some glossy
Cute, cheerful, lazy, sane and naughty
Benevolent, bizarre, shy and much hotty
Pieces of a woman
Family, friends, kin, acquaintances
Risk, safe and then out of the world chances
Society, sub-urb,rural and them glances
Some music, some writing, some shying and couple dances
Pieces of a woman
Marriage, adoption, career and grace
Clarity,focus,concentration and haze
Red,green, black, purple and beige
Independence, freedom, self-doubt and cage
All this and endless…..
And then some and then some
Nothing can totally define
The ultimate human
The beautiful, the wonderful
Pieces of a woman.
Mar 7, 2022
Mar 7, 2022 at 2:31 PM UTC
Go, Soul, the body’s guest,
Upon a thankless errand;
Fear not to touch the best;
The truth shall be thy warrant:
Go, since I needs must die,
And give the world the lie.
Say to the court, it glows
And shines like rotten wood;
Say to the church, it shows
What’s good, and doth no good:
If church and court reply,
Then give them both the lie.
Tell potentates, they live
Acting by others’ action;
Not loved unless they give,
Not strong but by a faction.
If potentates reply,
Give potentates the lie.
Tell men of high condition,
That manage the estate,
Their purpose is ambition,
Their practice only hate:
And if they once reply,
Then give them all the lie.
Tell them that brave it most,
They beg for more by spending,
Who, in their greatest cost,
Seek nothing but commending.
And if they make reply,
Then give them all the lie.
Tell zeal it wants devotion;
Tell love it is but lust;
Tell time it is but motion;
Tell flesh it is but dust:
And wish them not reply,
For thou must give the lie.
Tell age it daily wasteth;
Tell honour how it alters;
Tell beauty how she blasteth;
Tell favour how it falters:
And as they shall reply,
Give every one the lie.
Tell wit how much it wrangles
In tickle points of niceness;
Tell wisdom she entangles
Herself in overwiseness:
And when they do reply,
Straight give them both the lie.
Tell physic of her boldness;
Tell skill it is pretension;
Tell charity of coldness;
Tell law it is contention:
And as they do reply,
So give them still the lie.
Tell fortune of her blindness;
Tell nature of decay;
Tell friendship of unkindness;
Tell justice of delay:
And if they will reply,
Then give them all the lie.
Tell arts they have no soundness,
But vary by esteeming;
Tell schools they want profoundness,
And stand too much on seeming:
If arts and schools reply,
Give arts and schools the lie.
Tell faith it’s fled the city;
Tell how the country erreth;
Tell manhood shakes off pity
And virtue least preferreth:
And if they do reply,
Spare not to give the lie.
So when thou hast, as I
Commanded thee, done blabbing—
Although to give the lie
Deserves no less than stabbing—
Stab at thee he that will,
No stab the soul can ****
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Retreating Light
You were always very young children,
always waiting for a story.
And I’d been through it all too many times;
I was tired of telling stories.
So I gave you the pencil and paper.
I gave you pens made of reeds
I had gathered myself, afternoons in the dense meadows.
I told you, write your own story.
After all those years of listening
I thought you’d know
what a story was.
All you could do was weep.
You wanted everything told to you
and nothing thought through yourselves.
Then I realized you couldn’t think
with any real boldness or passion;
you hadn’t had your own lives yet,
your own tragedies.
So I gave you lives, I gave you tragedies,
because apparently tools alone weren’t enough.
You will never know how deeply
it pleases me to see you sitting there
like independent beings,
to see you dreaming by the open window,
holding the pencils I gave you
until the summer morning disappears into writing.
Creation has brought you
great excitement, as I knew it would,
as it does in the beginning.
And I am free to do as I please now,
to attend to other things, in confidence
you have no need of me anymore.
Jun 29, 2021
Jun 29, 2021 at 5:59 PM UTC
The fair buildings that have seen the yester-years
bask in twilight.
Generations of footsteps and handprints
have worn and wrinkled them.
The wisen walls have overheard conversations
both whispered in confidence and declared in boldness,
and the floors have long absorbed
the tears, blood and sweat of characters
in their own private dramas
played out within these walls.
You and I will never see what the buildings have watched,
hear what they’ve listened to
all those years –
the stories each brick and mortar holds in secret.
And twilights and days will pass
till the impending moment comes, when,
along with concrete pounded into dusts,
gone will be these flickers of images,
the memories of these fleeting lives,
buried,
like tapes and film rolls burned
by the progress of time.
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 7:57 AM UTC
My lover saves his words,
he tucks them under his tongue
I chew on his serifs,
Aerated, punctuated, hyphenated
His desires, they get caught in my teeth
the boldness of them wearing on my enamel
And then,
his smile melts onto my tongue
I push it behind my cheek, our own
little secret, sweetheart
Now I’m smiling too
And he hasn’t said a word.
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 1:38 PM UTC
I belong to the wilderness
and the highest peaks
to the depths of the ocean
the same language we speak
To the blossoms of spring
and the summers’ breeze
I belong to a single blade of grass
and every rustling of leaves
To endless starlit nights
and the hope rising with dawn
With every bird taking flight
I belong to their song
I belong to the love
of a soulmates heart
and to the bitter anguish
that tore us apart
To the carefree laughter
of children at play
I belong to the fear they conceal
and their hope for a better day
I belong to the infinite yearning
of my place on this Earth
and to the unknowingness
and complexity of my timely birth
To my physical features
and the boldness of my eyes
I belong to this body
and why it keeps me alive
I belong not to my emotions
nor heartache or bliss
I belong to the intricacies of wisdom
and forever trust in its abyss
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 3:33 PM UTC
Sway seconds ecstatic bliss
The taste of lime and salt
Skin glows, criss crossed shadows
and a panic of lights.
Shifting music
Rhythm intoxication and
Shifting energy
Boldness alights
like a flock of crows gliding in at dusk,
landing on the shoulders
cast in neon-disco light
They fan feathered-dollar bills
With prospects of revelry and dancing
odes to debauchery and youth
and feigning adoration
from the swaying, neon hips.
Subtle chants and hungry eyes
We deserve this
We deserve this
We deserve--
Disappearing in her act,
She arises, in the fame of a dove
Unburdened and free
in the whitest of lights.
She thinks briefly of flying away.
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 7:10 PM UTC
The epitome of greatness, a mark in history
Of discipline remarkable, a stellar victory
Defeating the unbeaten, knock and break the mould
International heavyweight of Olympic Gold
Strike in quick succession, opponents retreat
Delivery duration, a knockout of defeat
Tactical ability, step into the range
Catalyst created, set for further change
Of the highest calibre, man who beat the man
Delivery on target, a humble champion
Of opponents outclassed, discontinued bout
Dominant performance, within and without
With athletic excellence, distance travelled far
Gym of daily training, cardio and spar
Professional perspective, stood to set the pace
Dedication, boldness, motivate, embrace
Influencing globally, rank of the elite
Rapid combinations, uppercuts repeat
Powerful formation, readiness of stance
Daily preparation, practice over chance
An honourable service, magnificence abound
Celebrating victory, crowding to surround
Continuing the greatness, strength and stamina
The world is truly grateful, Anthony Joshua
Written by Geraldine Taylor ©
Jun 11, 2017
Jun 11, 2017 at 3:21 PM UTC
This is A Faithful saying; If A Man Desire the Position of A Bishop, He Desire A Good Work. A Bishop then must be Blameless, the Husband Of One Wife, Temperate, Sober-Minded, of Good Behavior, Hospitable, Able to Teach: no given to Wine, no Violent, not Greedy for Money, bu Gentle, not Quarrelsome, not Covetous; One who Rules His Own House well, having His Children in Submission with all Reverence. For if a Man does not know how to Rule His Own House, how will He take Care of the Church Of GOD?; Not A Novice, lest Being Puffed-Up with Pride He Fall into the same Condemnation as the Devil. Moreover He must have A Good Testimony among those who are Outside, lest He Fall into Reproach and Snare of the devil. Likewise Deacons must be Reverent, no Double-Tongued, not given to much Wine, not Greedy for Money, Holding the Mystery of the Faith with Pure Conscience. But let these also First be Tested; then let them Serve as Deacons, Being Found Blameless. Likewise, their Wives mus be Reverent, not Slanderers, Temperate, Faithful in All Things. Let Deacons be the Husbands of One Wife, Ruling their Children and their Own House-Well. For those who have Served well as Deacons Obtain for Themselves A Good Standing and Great Boldness in the Faith which is in Chris Jesus. These things I write to You, though I Hope to Come to You shortly; But if I Am Delayed, I write so that You may know how You Ought to Conduct Thyself in the House Of GOD, which is the Church Of the Living GOD, he Pillar and Ground Of the Truth. And without Controversy Great is the Mystery Of Godliness: GOD was Manifested in the Flesh, Justified in thy Spirit, Seen by Angels, Preached among the Gentiles, Believed on in the World, Receieved Up In Glory.!!!
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 2:20 AM UTC