"broader" poems
Dig the ground,
Deeper & broader,
Large enough to accommodate,
And peacefully lay us,
The commoners to rest,
Without causing any disturbance,
To the Clout-clad looters.
Don't rest till you collapse lifelessly,
Into the mud extracted for digging,
Digging their trap deeper enough,
Deeper enough for all the clout,
'Cause you wouldn't even want,
Their zombies to be turn-out,
Escaping out stark naked,
Out in future to plight,
****** and blight,
Pester and fester
The future generation.
Oh but do we not know,
They will survive and flourish,
Indian or Russian or American or British,
The clout will always be there to suck/eat,
**** blood and eat meatballs,
Why they will survive,
And why the civilians suffer isn't riddle.
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 1:56 PM UTC
Either too young or too old to call your own
Experience has made it hard for you to roam
I wana know a little bit about loyalty and love
Loyalty and love for you and me
Not going to fix the heart to see it tear apart
While you keep lookin up
When will you see
It's half full your cup
Home is where the heart is
Don't wish for a lighter load
Wish for broader shoulders
To bring you home, once again
I wana know a little bit about loyalty and love
Loyalty and love for you and me
It’s not that hard
If you look directly in the sun
You might get blinded
By its light
But that intense heat
Is what makes us feel complete
I know it’s possible to dream
Isn’t that what makes us a human being
I wana know a little bit about loyalty and love
Loyalty and love for you and me
Don’t write it off like you’re scared
You know it’s the only path home
They say life is better when you’re paired
So if you agree
Would you take my hand
And tell me you’ll forever be my man
I wana know a little bit about loyalty and love
Loyalty and love for you and me
Let’s set each other’s hearts free
Let them grow to what they should be
A little bit of loyalty and love
For you and me
D,G,A,Bm9
Dec 1, 2019
Dec 1, 2019 at 1:10 PM UTC
Envy is not green but
something perhaps a little more sickening to me
than chartreuse and a spoiled ego.
Envy is when i see boys walking by,
looking down at myself again, i see my curves
and i hate them.
i don’t want them.
i want to look like the boys.
Envy is seeing other girls more androgynous
than i;
girls with broader shoulders
and with more angular faces.
why can’t I look like that?
i hear voices deeper than mine:
tenor, baritone—
and I shred my throat
day-by-day,
trying to come close to the pitch.
Envy is the aches in my body when changing
my posture from legs to shoulders;
from changing my stride
and preventing my hips from swaying.
i want to look like them.
seeing these people makes my insides feel
like they’re being twisted with a red-hot fork;
and it hurts, oh God, it hurts.
it hurts to know i will never look
like how i see myself.
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 8:00 PM UTC
I look in the mirror
and see a wonderful girl
with big brown eyes and short brown hair
I smile, what a contagious smile
I can't help but smile even broader
I muster my body
I think of all the perfect thin models
and embrace myself out of joy for not looking like them
I love all my weird habits
as well as my beautiful
character traits
and I love the fact that I'm
completely unperfect.
I appreciate everything
my life offers for me,
I am grateful for every instant
I am able to enjoy my surroundings.
I have to admit
I have fallen
deeply in love
with myself.
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 3:48 PM UTC
The firefighter explained to me
My brain was still aflame.
I have to water down my thoughts
If I am to be saved.
I focused hard and pondered on my
Faults and past regrets.
The firefighter’s eyebrows raised
And, in fear, began to sweat.
He said self-remorse would scorch my flesh,
And forgiveness is my water.
To stare beyond this choking smoke,
My vision must be broader.
And as I thought of all I’ve done,
And all I’ve yet to do,
I couldn’t help but sear a tear
For the scalds I’ve singed in you.
My head blew up, my heart explodes,
An inferno in my mind.
So he arced his axe behind his head,
And buried it in mine.
Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 9:47 AM UTC
This life **** man…
It’s exhausting..
I don't think anyone
has any idea
how tired I’ve been.
So let me explain...
I'm tired
..I’m tired..
******* I'm tired...
I'm ******* tired.
Tired of life.
Tired of crying.
Tired of whining.
Tired of trying.
Tired of trying to try
only to fail
to keep trying.
Tired of feeling like
the only reason I'm alive
is to try and avoid dying.
Tired of being the only one
that thinks I don't deserve
the talents that I have
that I constantly keep denying.
Tired of thinking that even if
I were to show my talents
then you people
would think I'm lying.
Tired of keeping everyone else
motivated accidentally,
when I can barely stay inspired
I'M TIRED..
…
Tired of thinking I dream too big
because everyone else
is thinking smaller.
Tired of being different
than anyone else that I'm around
and feeling I don't belong here.
Tired of all my goals
being too big for most to grasp
because my thoughts
are always broader.
Tired of my own dreams
always being out of reach
and making me feel alone and awkward.
Tired of being annoyed and peeved
and on the edge at any little thing
that makes me bothered.
Bothered at the fact
that I'm tired of being tired
and can't stop my thoughts
from wandering.
Tired of losing sleep
over trying to catch some rest
and can't seem to catch my breath
or take a break
even if it's offered.
*I'm ******* tired.*
Tired of not being on top
and feeling like quitting.
Tired of everyone always
Seein me dry my eyes.
Tired of feeling like
I'm a walking relapse.
*I'm ******* tired.*
Tired of working my *** off
non-stop,
and drowning in pity.
Tired feeling like all I do
is complain and whine.
Tired of thinking negative
when I know I don't need that.
******* tired.*
Tired of having four ******* items
in three different pawn shops
in two different cities
and one ******* thing on my mind
with zero positive feedback.
******* tired..*
Tired of people thinking
that I'm thinking
that I'm ******* special
even though I know
I'm not the only one
that's lost in doubt
or stressed the **** out
in life.
Tired of venting into
these notes in my phone
like it's my only revival.
But it seems to be the only way
that I can confess and unwind and
get this stress out my mind though..
So thank you for letting me lay down
these lyrics that I’m writing
So I can finally
put these thoughts to sleep
and actually rest them in peace
to expire
so I can stop being tired.
… Peace ✌🏽
Aug 5, 2022
Aug 5, 2022 at 4:49 AM UTC
A GLEAM -- a gleam -- from Ida's height,
By the Fire-god sent, it came;
From watch to watch it leapt, that light,
As a rider rode the flame!
It shot through the startled sky,
And the torch of that blazing glory
Old Lemnos caught on high,
On its holy promontory,
And sent it on, the jocund sign,
To Athos, Mount of Jove divine.
Wildly the while, it rose from the isle,
So that the might of the journeying Light
Skimmed over the back of the gleaming brine!
Farther and faster speeds it on,
Till the watch that keeps Macistus steep
See it burst like a blazing Sun!
Doth Macistus sleep
On his tower-clad steep?
No! rapid and red doth the wild fire sweep;
It flashes afar on the wayward stream
Of the wild Euripus, the rushing beam!
It rouses the light on Messapion's height,
And they feed its breath with the withered heath.
But it may not stay!
And away -- away --
It bounds in its freshening might.
Silent and soon,
Like a broadened moon,
It passes in sheen, Asopus green,
And bursts on Cithaeron gray!
The warder wakes to the Signal-rays,
And it swoops from the hill with a broader blaze.
On, on the fiery Glory rode;
Thy lonely lake, Gorgopis, glowed!
To Megara's Mount it came;
They feed it again
And it streams amain--
A giant beard of Flame!
The headland cliffs that darkly down
O'er the Saronic waters frown,
Are passed with the Swift One's lurid stride,
And the huge rock glares on the glaring tide.
With mightier march and fiercer power
It gained Arachne's neighboring tower;
Thence on our Argive roof its rest it won,
Of Ida's fire the long-descended Son!
Bright Harbinger of glory and of joy!
So first and last with equal honor crowned,
In solemn feasts the race-torch circles round. --
And these my heralds! -- this my SIGN OF PEACE;
Lo! while we breathe, the victor lords of Greece
Stalk, in stern tumult, through the halls of Troy!
3.7k
My love for you is,
Brighter than the sun,
Deeper than the sea,
Broader than the oceans,
Bigger than the universe,
And stronger than your love for her.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 8:04 PM UTC
Lo! where the rosy-bosomed Hours,
Fair Venus’ train, appear,
Disclose the long-expecting flowers,
And wake the purple year!
The Attic warbler pours her throat,
Responsive to the cuckoo’s note,
The untaught harmony of spring:
While, whisp’ring pleasure as they fly,
Cool Zephyrs thro’ the clear blue sky
Their gathered fragrance fling.
Where’er the oak’s thick branches stretch
A broader browner shade,
Where’er the rude and moss-grown beech
O’er-canopies the glade,
Beside some water’s rushy brink
With me the Muse shall sit, and think
(At ease reclined in rustic state)
How vain the ardour of the Crowd,
How low, how little are the Proud,
How indigent the Great!
Still is the toiling hand of Care;
The panting herds repose:
Yet hark, how through the peopled air
The busy murmur glows!
The insect-youth are on the wing,
Eager to taste the honied spring
And float amid the liquid noon:
Some lightly o’er the current skim,
Some show their gayly-gilded trim
Quick-glancing to the sun.
To Contemplation’s sober eye
Such is the race of Man:
And they that creep, and they that fly,
Shall end where they began.
Alike the Busy and the Gay
But flutter thro’ life’s little day,
In Fortune’s varying colours drest:
Brushed by the hand of rough Mischance,
Or chilled by Age, their airy dance
They leave, in dust to rest.
Methinks I hear, in accents low,
The sportive kind reply:
Poor moralist! and what art thou?
A solitary fly!
Thy joys no glittering female meets,
No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets,
No painted plumage to display:
On hasty wings thy youth is flown;
Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone—
We frolic while ’tis May.
3.1k
[Dedicated to Allan Bennett]
I
Hail to the golden One
Seen in the midmost Sun !
Hail to the golden beard and golden lips,
His whole lige golden to the finger-tips !
Hail to the golden hair in golden showers
Hiding the eyes like blue blue lotus-flowers !
His name is Ut, for He
Hath risen above all things that be.
II
Ardent and white, the Lord
Whirls forth a strident sword.
Its blade is broader than the great World-Ash ;
Its edge is keener than the lightning flash.
Brighter than all the lights of heaven, it whirls
Out in a chaos of creative curls
And sheathes itself in Me,
Arisen above all things that be.
III
Even as the burning tongue
Og God to God that clung
Dissolved his being to a nameless naught,
Brake all the wings and waves of time and thought,
So in the quivering flame that hurled
Its founts of life to the remotest world
Supreme stood Death, and sware
Destruction to all things that were !
IV
Child, father, warrior,
I worshipped thee before ;
Friend, bridegroom, now I yield me to the rod.
My God, and very God of very God
As breath, as death, as all, as naught, unknown,
Known, is there not an end, when one alone
Stand I, and thou, and He
Arisen above all things that be?
2.4k
An art movement is a tendency or style in art
with a specific common philosophy or goal,
followed by a group of artists during a restricted
period of time, usually a few months, years
or decades or, at least, with the heyday of the
movement defined within a number of years.
Art movements were especially important in
modern art, when each consecutive movement
was considered as a new avant-garde;
According to theories associated with modernism
and the concept of postmodernism, art movements
are especially important during the period of time
corresponding to modern art. The period of time
called "modern art" is posited to have changed
approximately halfway through the 20th century
and art made afterward is generally called contemporary art.
Postmodernism in visual art begins
and functions as a parallel to late modernism
and refers to that period after the "modern" period
called contemporary art. The postmodern period
began during late modernism, which is a contemporary
continuation of modernism; and according
to some theorists postmodernism
ended in the 21st century. During the period of time
corresponding to "modern art"
each consecutive movement
was often considered a new avant-garde.
Also during the period of time referred to as "modern art"
each movement was seen corresponding
to a somewhat grandiose rethinking of all that came before it,
concerning the visual arts. Generally
there was a commonality of visual style
linking the works and artists
included in an art movement. Verbal expression
and explanation of movements has come
from the artists themselves,
sometimes in the form of an art manifesto,
and sometimes from art critics
and others who may explain
their understanding of the meaning of the new art
then being produced;
In the visual arts, many artists, theorists, art critics,
art collectors, art dealers and others mindful
of the unbroken continuation of modernism
and the continuation of modern art even into the contemporary era,
ascribe to and welcome new philosophies
of art as they appear. Postmodernist theorists
posit that the idea of art movements
are no longer as applicable, or no longer as discernible,
as the notion of art movements
had been before the postmodern era.
There are many theorists however
who doubt as to whether or not such an era
was actually a fact;
or just a passing fad.
The term refers to tendencies in visual art,
novel ideas and architecture,
and sometimes literature. In music it is more common
to speak about genres and styles instead.
See also cultural movement, a term
with a broader connotation.
As the names of many art movements
use the -ism suffix, for example cubism and futurism,
they are sometimes referred to as isms
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 6:54 PM UTC
To many people of the world, Africa is often seen
Through a narrow lens, a filtered screen
As a place of poverty, starvation and disease
Of famine, drought, and misery
But this is only one side of the story
Most people say this out of ignorance, I’m sorry
Africa is a land of great diversity
Of vibrant cultures, of ancient traditions
Of beauty, of art, of peace
Yes, we have our challenges, it's true
But we are a people of strength, of resilience, of hope
From Algeria in the north, where ancient ruins abound
To Zimbabwe in the south, where Victoria Falls resound
Senegal is where the vibrant West African culture comes alive
And in Seychelles, the archipelago's beaches and nature are a perfect vibe
Sierra Leone has the beautiful beaches of Freetown
While Egypt has the Pyramids and other awe-inspiring sculptures
Mauritius is a paradise island, with virg*n beaches and luxury resorts
From the rainforests of the
Congo to the beaches of Cape Town
From Bijilo Forest Park in the Gambia
To the Kragga Kamma Game Reserve in South Africa
From Ghana to Nigeria, who regularly argue over which country
Makes the best Jollof, fufu and afrobeat
But the bond is as close as Arnold Schwarzenegger and guns – big guns
Look at Africa with a broader lens
And behold, you find the flawlessly faultless
The continent of countries, of tribes, of peoples
Each with its own history, its own voice, its own dreams
Its own richness of traditions, the diversity of their languages
And the beauty of their cultures
Let us dismiss the delusions
Of a continent that is backward, primitive, and poor
For Africa is a land of great potential
Of food that is spicy, soulful and sweet
Dance that is enthusiastic, energetic, and expressive
Where the earth is rich with resources untold
In doing so, we will break down the barriers
And create a world that is truly inclusive
For Africa is not a place of darkness
But a place of light, of hope, of opportunity
Africa is not a place of pity
But a place of power and pride
We are the children of a proud continent
Where the sun rises and sets with a sizzling splendor
Making it a place where every day is summer
Mar 27, 2023
Mar 27, 2023 at 12:24 PM UTC
Doctor, tell me, what's good or bad for me
give me guiding tips, health's recipe
what I should eat, and foods to be shunned
I find my years wasted, with most things unlearned!
Doctor, please tell me, do I eat more or less
show me the way, to a healthy happiness
chart for me, the most balanced diet
I find my years wasted, and little learned yet!
Doctor, tell me the secret, of staying healthy in strife
to remain in glowing health, for a rewarding marital life
prescribe me one potent pill, to make my groin burn
I find my potence wasted, with still many things to learn!
Doctor, now I seek your advice, in the matter of heart
tell me, how I keep it broad, before I depart
tell me if it's a broader heart, that's more easily burned
I find my years all wasted, with so many things unlearned!
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 10:27 AM UTC
Our Words go into the Skies,
Our Sight travels beyond the Moon,
Our Eyes go beyond the Oceans;
We Embark on a journey at Night,
Arriving a Destination at Dawn
We are strong in our Fears;
We want to know the Lengths,
We want to see the Depths
Who Knows the shape of Yonder?
Who knows the ethereal Measurements?
But the Oceans tells its Endlessness
Our Soul longs for immortality,
But our body will betray us
Our minds keeps wandering for the Unknown
We travel through life with moments to behold,
Arriving at a distance broader than us
What has time not told us?
What is time hiding from us?
We want to know the heights
We want to see the Realms
Who knows the world after here?
Only God knows
We are building castles in the Air,
Though we cannot see them
We have submitted our Course;
We are waiting for answers
How long shall we wait?
Where is the beginning?
Where is the end?
In our loneliness, we are stronger
We want to know more,
We seek to know more;
Until the End
We are waiting at the Gates;
And the storm is heavy,
Still the rain falls deeper
Should we wait longer?
Can we wait Longer?
Who knows the lost road to the sky?
Who knows the path leading to the moon?
Why are our shadows trailing us?
Who knows the ethereal measurements?
No one knows,
But the Ocean tells its Endlessness.
Jul 10, 2016
Jul 10, 2016 at 1:07 PM UTC
In times of turmoil
I take a look up at that blue dome
Awestruck I find,
My matters hold no water
When turbulence strikes
My mind starts to roll
But looking into the night
The stars speak of something much broader
May 31, 2023
May 31, 2023 at 2:22 AM UTC
Logical doesn’t have taste. It has circumstance. Only to be tasteful, is to be surrounded by a taste of what gradually makes a self importance greater to yourself. Proudly underestimating yourself at first. Giving closure to the surrounding areas. Taste has no boundaries here. A made-up friction. A made-up functionality. A dripping faucet without clarity. Dripping one social taste at any given time. Clarity giving rise to the surrounding areas with logical ingredients. Logical ingredients slapping taste buds without concern for logical praise. Logical praise that doubts it’s understanding of taste buds giving praise to ingredients without concern for how praise will affect it’s priorities. Priorities finishing the diversity of something logical with a taste. The taste buds feeling the diversities finalizing ingredients in their rightful places. Like shiny white plates on display for the crowd of praises effecting one’s own priorities. Teeth whitening the taste buds for greater effect. Praises finally giving the logical praise the taste it deserves. More surrounding areas include a broader crowd. A newer logical taste starts to emerge in the practice of ingredients giving logical praise to the logical priorities that govern it so. Praise from newer surroundings influencing more ingredients in the form of logical taste. More taste buds start feeling the diversities in the praise which salivates the practice of logical assessments. A reverse act giving rise to a simplified logical taste without boundaries.
Oct 27, 2019
Oct 27, 2019 at 9:55 PM UTC
One day I got to ride
a long way alone of a dusty golden valley
towards a horizon
broader than other horizons
it was the eternal dusk
days and days, years and years
still, it is goldenly glimmering dusk
Maybe it is my blood awaited her love
tamed with the time pictured the dusk in tan
every blink of light, catching up my eyes
added little more to my enigmatic love
how it could be, the dusk to be immortal
she asked musing on
why it is now strangely sudden?
I came from dawn and being riding days and nights
only the dusk there it has been
cosmos in wait, us to be known
the laws of Gods and calls of heaven
The Dawn is falling only for The Dusk
Life is going by dawning to dusk
Jun 6, 2020
Jun 6, 2020 at 8:23 AM UTC
39
It did not surprise me—
So I said—or thought—
She will stir her pinions
And the nest forgot,
Traverse broader forests—
Build in gayer boughs,
Breathe in Ear more modern
God’s old fashioned vows—
This was but a Birdling—
What and if it be
One within my *****
Had departed me?
This was but a story—
What and if indeed
There were just such coffin
In the heart instead?
1.5k
The lady's large legs
shuddered, spreading
-becoming broader-
as tears treaded
descending down
corpulent cheeks and chins
(like a rill running from
narrow eyes undulating upward)
She laughed... Oh joy!
this wonderful woman
seated shaking on her small stool
hardly holding in
chortles of cheer
palms on her plump potbelly
erupting with euphoria
as her heavy heart hurt heaving
boiling blood battling
plaque packed into
every artery to
locate luscious lips that laughed loving life.
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 7:34 PM UTC
Daves trowel has a hickory handle,
With a blade thats broader than most,
It could cover the **** of a Tipperary mare
Going down to the Steeplechase post.
I spin it around in my palm,
the trowel . . . not the horse,
Its old, from a bygone age,
When skill was the poor brother of force.
Now its weatherbeaten and corroded,
Every cut and nick still lingers,
Daves trowel shines as bright as day,
Im talking about my fingers.
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 7:38 AM UTC
You judge my color I judge your accent
Either way I think we’re both right
You think my color makes me dark inside
I think your accent makes you worst outside
So it ends with you and I in a fight.
Why do we seek flaws in this God-made beauty?
If my color makes me stronger
And your accent makes you wiser
Don’t you think it makes a team whose strength is broader
And it sure will please Him if we held hands and walk together ?
Why think me less human
While I see you more of a beast?
When you and I are equal before Him
Because when God made man and gave him his image,
Carefully crafted to perfection, much to His pleasing
So it is not about how I see you or what you think of me
But it’s about how the Father sees us.
He came and bled on our cause
Making obvious why He chose to die on the Cross.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 9:43 AM UTC
You have indeed connected us all together
Even though, interpersonal relationship has never been weaker
The value of a person reduced,
To just being a follower
I hear things like...
The broader your network,
the more popular and relevant you are
Follow me and I'll follow back
Oh, what a dumb formula!
Many true friend-ships have capsized
A person's worth is now measured by social media followers and likes
A number of people are now living 2 lives
Hmmm...What a life
Loss of self-worth and depression is what you've caused
Should I say we've been brainwashed, I don't know
But make sure you like this one, so I can feel better...
Nov 1, 2018
Nov 1, 2018 at 10:51 PM UTC
i the wild seed blew in my youth
floating on the comfort of any wind
that would carry me high for a broader view
and a little closer to answers of truth.
no direction is sometimes a beautiful thing
responsible for what only concerns you
not landing long enough in soft sweet earth
to put down roots that always longed to grow.
i had dreams of a constant love to put seed into
but the high winds blowing outside roared like the sea
enticing me to be carried on the easy breeze
but the easy way is often a cold hard rain.
the wild seed was called by the high winds
blowing inside warming me with wanderlust
caught between two lovers was never a hard choice
because the high wind was my first love.
i blew thousands of miles and light years away
landed in the soft sweet earth of a girl
a childhood sweetheart often remembered
partly the reason I blew in that direction.
the seed lingered too long in one place
the roots got a foothold in the soft sweet earth
the high winds tried to pull up the roots
causing pain in me and the soft sweet earth.
the germination of the seed caused more pain
seed to maturity isn't the easy way
each stage causing new dimensions of pain
though pain can also be the sweetness of love.
through decades and millions of light years
I have grown in that soft sweet earth
two more seeds and deeper love stemmed from it
as I ignored the tempting lure of the high winds.
but I still listen as the high winds call
sharing this pain with the ones I love
waiting to one day fly high as I once did
though it could never be the same as before.
she too was a wild seed flirting with higher winds
now waiting with me to one day fly again
as we watch our children sail in their high winds
both of us feeling the roots being pulled
and the winds starting to lift us to blow concordantly
in a higher wind than either of us have ever known.
Dec 13, 2017
Dec 13, 2017 at 10:58 AM UTC
Surprise her.
Shock her when she least suspects.
Serenade her, with your song of choice.
And just watch that smile on her lovely face get broader.
Reel her in that you right before her face.
Look her in the eyes and yes, be sincere as you romance her.
With her favorite song.
Some know, we can or can't sing.
But at this moment this should be the last thing concerning her.
While you reflecting on her all your undying love.
Serenade her with a known song.
Or be creative and makeup and original.
As you serenade her.
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 12:33 AM UTC