"bolstering" poems
Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer
was leading a lonely life working nights
at the fukfoorfiffenfimmer factory
where he was in charge of loading crates
full of fukfoorfiffenfimmers, onto cargo cars destined for the city of Cincinnati.
There was such a huge demand for fukfoorfiffenfimmers in the city of Cincinnati,
poor Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer worked his hunnyhush to the bone.
On one of his few holiday weekends,
Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer went to a hair salon for a trim.
Here he was attended by a hairdresser named, Henrietta Huckhellopolis.
Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer instantly fell for the husky-voiced hairdresser.
Gaining enough gumption and gallasisgoppingguff needed to bypass beating around the bush of courteous courtship,
Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer asked Henrietta Huckhellopolis if she wanted to leerlumpaloomp later that evening.
"I would love to leerlumpaloomp later this evening," she replied, batting her long lashes lustily.
And how those two leerlumpaloomped!
They leerlumpaloomped long through the night.
They leerlumpaloomped so loudly,
the neighbours ended up sticking stuffystoils
into their sensilivities, in hopes of drowning out the noise.
Nine months later,
the lovers were blessed with a litter of lullaloonillies—wot with the loud leerlumpaloomping and all.
But, of the seven lullaloonillies, four of them had two lumpalots instead of one.
Bolstering himself against drowning in despair at the prospect of having sired freak lullaloonillies,
Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer helped design fukfoorfiffenfimmers especially meant for lullaloonillies who have two lumpalots instead of one.
As the double-lumpalot fukfoorfiffenfimmers
were Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer's idea, the owner of the fukfoorfiffenfimmer factory gave Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer
a forty percent cut of the royalties.
*Fortunately some fairy tales come with a happy ending, because the city of Cincinnati was hit with a record number of lullaloonillies
born with two lumpalots instead of just the one.
The high sales of double-lumpalot fukfoorfiffenfimmers,
enabled Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer and Henrietta Huckhellopolis
to quit their jobs and buy into the fukfoorfiffenfimmer factory.
Yes, after getting married,
Harry Heironymous and Henrietta Huckhellopolis-Huffenhoffer
lived happily hever hafter.
So did the lullaloonillies....
including those with two lumpalots instead of one.*
Sep 6, 2011
Sep 6, 2011 at 1:16 PM UTC
on the adrenalin of popularity they thrive
it pumps within their veins so inflated
if there were none they'd not survive
an accolade won't make them feel deflated
they've got to receive all the bolstering
it pumps within their veins so inflated
always gathering plaudits for a holstering
which brings unto them that air of rise
they've got to receive all the bolstering
the supporter base not going into demise
devotees keeping the pulse throbbing swell
which brings unto them that air of rise
to be the premier acts in a long spell
falling out of favour they'll not easily tolerate
devotees keeping the pulse throbbing swell
much adulation ever liking to slate
falling out of favour they'll not easily tolerate
on the adrenalin of popularity they thrive
if there were none they'd not survive
Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 10:42 PM UTC
A treacherous journey one embarks on to heal,
With unexpected turns in the path it is not linear,
Through adversities there will be triumphs,
In hardship you will prevail,
Keep going in the direction the universe has set for you,
Keep growing at the pace that is right for you,
Individualize your experience and embrace your process,
You are deserving of the kindness bolstering within.
Jun 5, 2021
Jun 5, 2021 at 1:44 PM UTC
Angel trumpets pour out blessings from their jail of vines,
Graceful beings so lovely they needn’t dress to the nines,
Breathing stone elephants batting their eyes dark and grand,
Vast windows are thrown open looking out at distant land,
Hues of purple and shades of pink distort the midnight sky,
At the center of the room stands a twisted bonsai,
The warm breeze carries the many natural perfumes,
And the masquerade tramps in wearing outrageous costumes,
Flamingos and candles in unison glide across the black lake,
Not one diamond star shall the reflection dare forsake,
The finest wines and bolstering laughter are enjoyed together,
Whilst people reminisce and gift one another with white heather,
You shall be my mighty King and I’ll be the Queen,
Arm and arm or dancing only will we be seen,
I’ll make sure there is no rip or doubt in any seam,
Please darling won’t you join me in this fragrant dream?
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 1:02 PM UTC
It begins with a soft bite
That quickly forms into a leech
Beseeching my thoughts...
Controlling my speech..
Preaching important matters
Carrying potential to teach
All their essential condescending
Never-endings out of reach
Yet the pitfall arrives
When I choose to listen
With sighs and ghosted thoughts
The result of some or other condition
Bolstering a vision with apt precision
When every remission indicates
The necessary revision
Envy stifles a stern conviction
Jealousy trifles within final prediction
Anger endangers calm
Making strangers within this perdition
Bring it all in as I wriggle and writhe
Because I am to blame
For all of my pride
...It stays inside
As soon as my cards were shown I decided to fold. I can't keep this under control while I'm so vulnerable. Yet another rapport thrown in the fire and tossed out the door... And I'm so **** gullible. I watch this bridge burn from a distance before it will mend. Yet again the result of desiring you-
More than a friend
Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 11:28 PM UTC
Farewell, no—
Not a crow,—
But a lapse of lightning,
Flashes in films— with rocks thrown on a brim—
Creating verges on waters,
As it expands,— a mirror was formed
But shrubs are sobbing,— As the fog meddles with the river— So blinding; Then the mirror disappears
When droplets keep dripping,—
I could not see anymore..
"Find me..find me.."
Who are you?— "Find me.."
Are you a wolf from another pack?—"find me.."— Were you buried? — A breath? Or only pieces?— "find me.."
To be revived below the tree is a befuddling been..
"Find me.."
Somewhere, you are;
Somewhere, you will be—
I will find you..
In the misty voids, I followed you— and submerged to your world
The assuage of none,— oh, 'tis an eerie coldness—
Of belabouring sorrows and haunted dreams
The maze of narration leads to this path—
Summons the whispers of bushes that kept breathing and moving..—
Closer and closer..
In the silence— I sneak;
Someone screams,
(AAAAAAAHHHH!!!)
—Run and run; Never look back— For shadows are treacherous trolls,— Seducing temples—
Enshroud the wilderness to frighten the all grown..
—"I shall call you once more."
Suddenly, I tripped to the quarry
Serpents hissing; The Arachnids are stalking—
"Where is my fire?!"— I rattled to tend
One foot back— Murmurs chanting rituals to this goose
Spill embers! Spill embers!
Fiery torches cast my foes!
Now, I could escape.
No!— The ravens,
I shall not be abducted
Hastily, I blew my feet—To leap in sleek,— As to surpass the endless drear—
I am not a kin to your lair..
—
Hence, I was a fool
Befallen is me,—
When I stepped to the end side of knoll
This rebel is a victim of sheer torn scheme
Help me..
I need to find you..
Help me.. Please, help me..
Please..
A nowhere eagle swooped me from my lore
Bounce away from this pity storm,—
And let these wings fly to the morn
The lenient Stratus Clouds— Bolstering my spirit— Up here, there are no hostiles and skulls
That it declared to me, as well,— "Away from your madness— Perpetrators are attracted by insane vigor. Cease grubbling illusions!
You must seek to believe that it is there, and not unknown."
I conformed to my Savior.
"Find me..find me.."
It was more vivid and louder..
The glimpse of gables, I see now— with a Cross at its top
"My eagle, nest me here"
—"You are here..Enter within."
(GASPS)
Where am I?— I remember there were smoke and mounds;— Above me were clouds..
Wait, why are you smiling?
I shall pant— for I am petrified by all those obscured hollows,— Quite absurd?— Shake me instead
Now I ask you,—
"Who are you?"
—You found Me!—
May 19, 2020
May 19, 2020 at 3:10 AM UTC
Look at her, midsection lines blazing
Heaving prow swollen with glittering ion beams
Her aft sections tight and proud
Bravely bolstering her posture as she surges into the fray
Battle joined, she calls the hunt with thunder
Heralding fell sensors' unerring gaze
For none in the skies who've caught her eyes
Have survived her deadly rays
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 7:23 PM UTC
so I surrounded myself with stuff
it made me feel better
worthy, an achiever
bolstering my confidence
stuff came through the post
parcels to open everyday
it was like Christmas
stuff was in shops
where people were happy
to help spend my money
it was like they were jealous
wanting to live through me
getting the stuff they wanted
but I was paying
then I began to worship stuff
exclusive stuff
one of a kind stuff
then I woke up
literally opened my eyes
and saw all this ****
how I had coveted it
no friends, no relationship
no emotion, no soul
I was effectively dead
some Egyptian mummy
preserved in a living tomb
full of all all the ****
I'd need in the afterlife
because I had no time
to appreciate it all now
so I sold my ****
to people who were like me
and I looked at them
slavering over my old ****
and I hated them
like seeing my image in a mirror
they were so pleased
carrying off their prizes
not realising it was all cursed
they never owned anything
just stuff someone would
someday
prize from their cold dead fingers
Dec 25, 2021
Dec 25, 2021 at 6:53 PM UTC
Feed on your ego, gorge on your pride
till you swell all up inside
You'll be like an over filled balloon
But very very soon.........
Someone will take the sharp tip of truth, pop the bubble you live in
Because all your bolstering and self praise is a very deadly sin
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 11:29 AM UTC
Gasping relentlessly
praying for air
I leave my body
as though I'm not there
I look upon my mangled corps
barely breaking
overwhelming
force
Blood paints the arena
I fear my time is neigh
I slowly slip away
blinded by the light
In this time of vicious onslaught
Memories flash before me
bringing me away from here
shrouding me with inner peace
Strings of familiar words
begin dancing in my head
tonged by those
who have always lent helping hand
"What are you doing?"
"Get on Your feet!!!"
**" **** it up and drive on!!"**
"FIGHT!"
The moment is now silenced
beget a ringing in my ear
my vision fades to grey
the man that stands before me prey
I reanimate
as a legion of the dead
my lungs no longer draw breath
nor thoughts within my head
A smile bares
As I throw him off
My reddened teeth
lead my assault
ONE TWO
AGAIN AND AGAIN
Enraged fever
bolstering my hands
A shadow of a man
sways and drops
my thirst is quenched
my furry paused
I reflect a moment
as I hear the ring
Again I stand
In Victory
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 9:54 PM UTC
For the love of god!
A battle cry for those of the faith.
Bolstering the forces of religion.
Warmongering and prejudice, Nectar of the lord.
For the love of god!
The battle cry echoes this day.
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 5:32 PM UTC
Dear Bukowski,
I can imagine my embellished rupturing fondest of your works makes you feel sludged with rancor. But I do assure that my adoration only spawns from your purity of disdain and fervor. All things rise together in epic sanctimonious swells. You are not the midwife to poetry nor is poetry the bolstering mother of your life. You are as impenetrably intertwined as the first fickle breath of life writes the verse to our poetic life. While this is true, you acknowledge the infallible doom that consumes our world as people search for definitive answers. As you tackle the affronts of our world you embodied your poetic sinew accepting the fact the world could readily eradicate you with slight cadence alteration of the wind. Bukowski I do not grovel to you, but I will endlessly cherish your paper encased testaments of life. You aren't afraid of painting the inner creasings of your mind you are the midwife and the executioner you are poetry you are life.
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 10:22 PM UTC
Drawn serious, spelling synonyms in cereal.
Taking the meaning as literal.
Its poison's lyrical
Bolstering concern in the trivial.
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 2:08 PM UTC
The bolstering days pass
by like eternal
Icarus
I
didn't
enter as I
at the beginning
Love
is a poem
A poem is inevitable
act of perpetual radiance
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 7:32 AM UTC
Kyra, Dad's got some paper and pens
and that's it
A cup of tea at 1am'll
push him just a little bit further
to finish all of his scrawl
about the things in the world you deserve
and how he'll go get it all
He'll push the pen to the page
at an age that you can't read or write
But it's more about holding himself accountable
to the crawling days
and if your smile stays
at least he'll know he did some things right
By the time you read this
you'll be learning how to doggy paddle
Through swimming pools full of stuffed animals, on tuesdays
And on days that start with "S"
You'll be air lifted in a fairy costume
to the civic center
so we can see the what's it's on Ice
And i promise I'll stop smoking
and at night you'll have a team of interpretive dancers
teaching you and your 9 ponies the classics
in a better way than I can tell em...cuz I have this whole monotone thing...that I do
But I'll be there the whole time
to try to fight back the impulse I feel
to steer for you on every step, and miss step
Because I know you won't forever need me here
You been the freest spirit, since the day we first met.
And if you're reading this and I'm bald
maybe take it easy on me....I'm pretty sensitive about it.
By the time you read this,
I'll have put the work I needed in
to pay whatever school to teach you everything you wanna know
and I promise I'll quit smoking
and I promise I'l never make you feel like less than everything to me
and though your father may have been a failure when he found you
The sparks that you emitted through his heart that night,
with fingers wrapped around his thumb,
erupted seas of roaring flame around his very soul
bolstering a furnace to replace the heart you stole
the foundry drove his will that night
and has done ever since,
even when all he does have
is paper and some pens.
Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 12:12 AM UTC
i am my own fiona apple record;
choking on my exoskeleton and
bleeding into the lake. it makes pretty
whips with red and blue interlaced more loosely
than my emotional stability, and the religious faith
that succumbs to the chrome pattern cracks on my wall.
it's after midnight and i can smell the cotton clogging my
esophageal lining, secreting on my taste buds. my retinas are wired at
the lead in the corner while centipedes crawl beneath the muscles
of my kneecaps. it's only two a.m. i pretend i am a neon zebra,
reflecting light onto all my insecurities because the coffee mug
never felt so cold against my shoulder. i wonder if i am
insane. Morning time. Sunrise.
The ray of Light refracts onto the window, bolstering the
cotton breathing within me like a parasite.
i am an enemy of my Being.
But tonight passes.
Seldom passes.
Today, I am
SanE.
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 3:11 AM UTC
The thick, jet-black sky was teeming with stars,
each one twinkling to the beat of our hearts,
*ba thump,
ba thump,
ba thump,*
and danced when our hands trailed too close,
my frigid fingertips trailing across his hot palms,
trying timidly, feverishly, to reach equilibrium.
His tenacious coffee-brown eyes animated,
stirring at the very hint of my voice,
(a mere mouse squeak) as I looked away,
pawing at my arm, fidgeting my words
into mush in front of him,
letting them drop to the seat of the bench like
unfortunate jelly spilled at a picnic,
sticky and clumped, indecipherable,
languorously trailing from my lips
and dripping downward
to the cool-grey concrete slabs
bolstering us up among the night.
It was tedious.
He knew it would be
as he beamed back,
still watching my words flow
like molasses, so dense and viscous
they never came.
He kissed me.
Had I expected it,
I might've stopped him,
tried to make it more artificial,
more methodical, contracted,
mechanical, but I didn't.
I couldn't.
The feeling pressed through me
like a current,
an electric shock pulsing,
refusing to stop until it hit my core,
reverberating through my chest,
forcing my eyes open.
Taking advantage of this moment
he teased, knowing I couldn't speak,
not then,
not now,
not after this;
when I looked back at him,
his gaze was much calmer,
more delicate,
and his laughter floated off
like feathers.
I kissed him.
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 5:15 PM UTC
Malignant gangrenous political cancer
corrupts, festers, and poisons United States,
thus opposition cannot wait,
especially since Gospel in accordance
with feeble minded Donald Trump
implemented wrought ugly trait,
particularly obliteration, sans progressive
human rights legislation
more or less pronounced positive
in every L ionized Nittany or cotton bowl state
and ratiocination inherent within
mine Democrat oriented mind doth rate
this forty fifth president (defect)
with sawdust packing
his noodle oven egotistical pate
trophy wife (spouse number three),
a Slovenia mate
donning "I don't care anymore"
t-shirt rousing media firestorm of late
essentially silently corroborating,
fostering, and illuminating hate
mutely bolstering the Trump anthem,
viz make America great
again, which pathless,
pithless, and pointless aim
roars like an earsplitting runaway freight
train oblivious of wailing soul asylum,
that no era meets said criteria
backtracking time machine before
rightful indigenous occupants of this land
got decimated as one after another
exploiter did inundate
(comprising a multitude
of indigenous variety of village people
indignantly subjected to Genocide,
when first "discoverer"
of new land didst promulgate
activation wrought deliberate sealed fate
vis a vis capitulation, demolition,
and extirpation, cuz
a scathing rebuke aye attest,
those murderers didst equate
worthlessness of
so called "Indians" on 1492 date,
and still remnants of storied tribes,
now attempt to create
historical documentation operate
ting with limited resources to adjudicate.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Food methinks doth buzzfeed drumbeat agog
at pyrotechnics July 4th, 2018 shared as blog
posts, a falsehood prevails which dog
gone “FAKE” brewed watered down grog
posits that the majority of Colonialists stay hog
tied to strict task masters, and mainly the scant
upperclass experienced autonomy,
no matter the under class didst futilely rant
and rave with the occasional
uprisings over time did grant
minimal appeasement to stifle violent kant!
Jul 4, 2018
Jul 4, 2018 at 1:00 AM UTC
She is the raconteur.
Her presence is boisterous,
Words lack to depict her beauty,
Or does it relish the redundancy.
She is the replica of rapture.
The eternity that is encapsulated in her eyes.
Her benevolence is bolstering,
Her gestures are sporadically jesting,
Her looks are lavish,
Her voice is tranquilizing,
Her touch is tingling,
Her walks are wallowing,
when she strolls in the street,
entangled eyes ogle at her.
(her dimpled face,her cramped dress)
................................
................................
This persuasion is to her as
She leans herself in his arms,
With her neck unbend on his shoulder,
and strand of hair leaping on his lips,
as she then aligns herself poking him passionately,
admist gazes with her enlarged engulfing eyes,
by which he is transfixed and couldn't answer her no more
when she questions him "How do I look",
With the wry suggestive smile on her visage....
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 2:30 PM UTC
and let me walk in the shadow of you,
strut in the way that you do and
sway in the sun,
be the gun and you the holster
bolstering me.
If I die when we try then we'll try once again.
I live for the living of it
be for the reason it is.
Aye,
it's a long road to travel
if you travel alone.
On the quayside beside me
we wait for our ship to come in
she,
so slim, demure,
me, outrageously sinful,
but mindful the cure for it
is in the living it for
the reason it is
Dec 9, 2016
Dec 9, 2016 at 3:30 PM UTC
When those too quick to judge and to deride,
Critics, who like the wind blow hot and cold
Extravagantly praise, bolstering pride,
Turn to abuse to stop you in your stride.
They are but loose leaves rattling in the wind,
Never settle or grow foundation seed.
Thrive on the swell and relish the rescind,
******* at life like leaches as they feed.
Never court or please those who praise or curse,
Ignore your critics as they soon disburse.
Sep 19, 2015
Sep 19, 2015 at 2:31 PM UTC
A man to some, a child to many
A disciple known, not shared with any
A man set apart, though wholly not whole
Whom run by not greed, dug no bigger holes
To others in need, a kind giving friend
And bolstering love, for others 'til end
A soul distracted, by trivial things
The many broken hearts, small wooden kings
The many people, waiting to be saved
And his face youthful still, just barely shaved
So unapproachable to most, unknown
Preparing for his life, his newest home
Of travels and love he daily did dream
Then dying, left not enough on the scene
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 8:36 PM UTC
The trees thrashed in concurrent wind
Bolstering a growing hum
Akin to mine own
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 1:39 AM UTC
'Been tripped,
Fallen, risen, dusted…
Kept walking.
Wings bestowed;
You, the wind
Bolstering to soar.
Suddenly…
My feathers,
You plucked;
Left helpless.
I’m plunging…
Unsure,
When or where
I’ll crash!
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 10:42 AM UTC