"buffs" poems
I do not see the hype
with High School Stereotype.
Why does it receive such attention?
It doesn't need the press's mention.
We all know of the smokers by the bike sheds,
Who have nothing but fluff in their heads.
Or the girls with skirts far too short
Who's think of *** as a competitive sport.
The sport buffs, we've all seen,
Full of life and far too keen.
Always poised and ready to go,
Every muscle toned from head to toe.
Young student teachers are here,
Enthusiastic about Bill Shakespeare.
Attempting to teach thugs to spell,
Whilst shady Heads make their life hell.
But do not forget, those you call friend.
The ones who stay by you until the end.
Making you laugh, Keeping you sane
Through rough times they remain.
These companions fit no mould
Therefore their tale is never told.
For the greatest things in teen life
Do not need the media's strife
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 4:42 PM UTC
Observe the dents and the bents
This barbell is sitting alone in the alley
How long has it been there you ask?
It has been years, but it is a forgotten story
The barbell was rusted and old
But doing its day, trainers knew how to take hold
The barbell was outside a once very active Gym
The owner’s first name happened to be Jim
The Gym’s name was called “Fitness Theory Gym”
The members were all Fitness Buffs and Bodybuilder’s that were massive and muscular
The gym was strictly ********
All about fitness being the core
Yet all the trained was centered around barbells with an uptown grade being called weights
Walking pass on any given day, you could hear the sounds of moans in lift
Catch my drift?
But a Financial Crisis at the gym slowed business down
Little by Little, the members could no longer be found
In fact, it was next to none
So the gym had no choice but to close down
But then again, gym after gym was no longer bound
The end of fitness and ******** not being the sound
So one loss barbell that was left in a forbidden alley
Rusted and no place to go to be lifted
The barbell stayed in the alley until sanitation arrived
A barbell being old and no longer in use
Also a barbell no one could see
A ******** past with what used to be
Aug 7, 2020
Aug 7, 2020 at 3:48 PM UTC
Hi . . . This is about the kinds of people who work in corporate big money office buildings . . . Imagine them at lunchtime, how they interact and picture the scene in any . . .
Busy little bistro
Sharp - sharks - circle - the - pack
Pinstripe finned and eager
Snapping their snacks back with ease
Points to prove with nothing to lose
No cracks in their creases
They're keen to return to the fray.
These boys play with girls
Aren't yet uncles with nieces
Just unproven throwaway pieces . . .
In shiny . eat ***** . suited up . Chelsea boots
Bidding for ***** with cute looks and loot
Touting with confident ***** . . .
As mobile as their smart devices
Loose
Next . . . ?
And fresh from a mornings abuse
And fifteen years of fear . .
Beleaguered older shirts sit . .
Flogged dogs with weak barks
Parked packed into packs.
Tongue tied ties tied together
Safety is numbers
Get each others backs
These partially satisfied cats
Know today is NOT their day . .
That was yesterday . . .
Obliging lives and mortgages
The reasons why they stay
Passing Cabs cruise . . .
Seen it all before.
Sat in the back a high class *****
Glazed eyes glancing away
From her play-away payday
Nibbles in the boardroom . .
Napkins . . for the dribbles
A working lunch for this Girl
Her money-shot a wrap without applause
Was just a . . . pause . . . between paws . .
Then Dora on reception
John, who minds the door
Evie in the IT room
Or dave . . who buffs the Marble
Sparkles glinting in the floor . .
And the guards . . who guard . . what exactly . . ?
All of this . . ? Networking . . !!!
Everybody's selling something
It doesn't quite stink
But it definitely smells
A little high
As time whiles by
Seems this
Is the state of our nation
And in this state
Defines our aspirations
And yes . . this state's a splinter
Taunting my imagination . . .
Do I stake my place within this game
Or sit in observation
Commentating on a race
Where human nature fakes it's place
Where people sit as players
Yet no one wears their own face
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 12:20 PM UTC
Mountains hold amongst themselves,
in each of their valleys,
shared between their neighbors,
an air of majesty.
Sit upon the peaks, peering into unknown forest
as the wind buffs your face clean of all obligations;
carpeting your thighs with a buttery smooth gentleness
that caresses your mind into relaxation.
Regal pines strike back against
the enormous pressure at sea level,
raising up to thin the air
and to thin your worry.
Here you are lost
in the grandeur of something greater
than yourself,
but never greater than it really is.
In the valleys shared between mountains,
on the windy peaks,
the mountains swallow you up,
absorb you.
And share with you, too
that majesty.
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 10:24 AM UTC
Eyes wide smiling
never stop smiling
pale skin smiling
white teeth paper c u t s
Lost…..e y e s
Time is but an itch
The smiling stops
once he’s---gone
Graveyard lexicon
baffles today’s texters
--Orange peel breath
Despite lethargic lips…
Your memory is merely paper;
he’s good with origami.
Hairlessssss
Heirlesssssssss
smiling.
Harmless, but—
beware o’ the winter m o n t h s
For he is—
Cold…
Rigor mortis is afraid of smiling.
He’s….
An acid trip for the paranoid schizophrenic conspiracy moon landing grassy knoll 9/11 was an inside job the right/left control the media Dan Brown’s works have merit skull & bones society they put cancer in our foods men in black crypto zoologist buffs…
His smile; smiles.
His grin—grins.
Dresses like a pine-tree **** … … S m i l i n g, smiling….
Jul 3, 2011
Jul 3, 2011 at 8:11 PM UTC
I knew I was in the burning building with her –
and it was like Limburg, maggoty
but obliged its fortress of a rowboat life.
Without its ice, I am in pine-high, to dull selves
which will later stiff upon these floors.
He was hell. He did this to us.
Not even a masked ****** shown needles
for his dog expression, and I am prodded
rather with teeth than a nose drill.
But she did dissolve before I could have,
must have had thin bones,
of maturity, an osteoporosis ache.
It saved her, perhaps, although she passed:
a kidney stone philosophy book,
these death-doctors will read numb.
I do wonder if it were their hips in fire,
why could they not sit in a mausoleum place.
Just how we did so many instances –
practicing a routine in the bathtub, like knowing.
Had the correct arrangement, too,
I pretended I was in a womb with you.
And mother’s was like that claw-tub so
we, fetus, sensed like castle buffs, carrying
the rings of gold and lockets of princess blood.
Then, she became papier-mâché statues
before a meadow of hell’s dust: I had to kiss
each curve because one ash was not enough.
I knew I was in the burning building with her
when I could not recognize her stumps.
She was an emblem of past upon fair carpet,
or the haze I inhale to shadow –
knowing that he sees our wallpaths and
catches the hum of infernos taking bodies,
then say that he is a monster even more than I.
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 5:30 PM UTC
No matter how much she tries
Blushes and buffs
Dips and foams
Softens or scuffs
The resounding feedback is:
You’re just.. not good enough
Mar 14, 2019
Mar 14, 2019 at 2:25 PM UTC
Maids see it all
But they hardly ever tell
Well...
Occasionally one might sell
A juicy story
About you in naked glory
To add to your fame
And your shame
It's all part of the game
Who can blame
The person who buffs
And fluffs
Your stuff
On minimum wage
For making some cash
As you hit the front page!
Feb 7, 2020
Feb 7, 2020 at 8:54 AM UTC
she got on her knees again [how many times this week?].
she whispers to herself, to a god, to anyone that'll listen.
she can't stop.
she's spinning circles around topics she can't avoid.
head-on collisions using nouns and verbs.
swallowing pride and trying doors,
searching for keys and answers.
she's on her knees, whispering again.
she's spitting into palms,
because it's better than holding nothing.
she's choking down drinks and god knows what else.
she can't stop.
she's writing equations in chalk
and diagramming sentences,
just trying to figure out how it's supposed to work.
it.
life, or love, or religion.
purpose.
she's dragging feet, leaving black scuffs behind.
trying to make some mark on the world
until someone buffs it away,
on their knees again.
never ending cycle of submission.
knees scarred and ***** from begging, from laughing,
from imbalance.
until we're flat on our faces,
flipped only to be dolled up in caskets
or kissed goodbye before we
kiss furnaces.
she can't stop.
Dec 6, 2011
Dec 6, 2011 at 10:23 PM UTC
Could we have a moratorium
On nature poetry please
A resounding snoratorium
On meadows, lakes, and trees
A halt to poems about sunsets,
Full moons, snowfalls and such
These tickle the fancy of nature buffs
But for others - not so much
A cutback on odes to roses,
Summer's glory or butterflies
Fewer tributes to all things blooming
And birds that fill the skies
Let's take a break from winter scenes
And the beauty of an ancient sea
Try one about the human race
Think of the novelty
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 10:25 AM UTC
There are few moments when I believe in god.
Not necessarily because of moments of piety.
But right when I hear a remote jet sound of those
Big Ugly Fat ******* eight engines a piece
I realize god’s fury becomes a reality.
The BUFFs finally reach their prey
And I hear someone yell
“Boy today sure is the day!”
As we hide our heads in the bunkers
The ****** ground quivers and shivers
If I had looked up into the mighty blast
I would have seen the scorched red earth
Scarred deeply with the big ***** of fire
But the sounds and trembles are enough for me
Because what needed to be scarred was the ground, not me
The blasting jet thunder and the deadly steel rain
Should be enough to blow away Charlie
The concussions alone would waste them
So we’ve all thought
Only to be proven wrong the next day by the NVA
I sometimes dream of driving my Camaro back home
Because it reminds me of what’s left in my soul
So I tried to talk with my best buddy Jim McCole
But as I glance into his head with a big black hole
I realize once again this is hell with no parole
Nov 27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017 at 9:45 PM UTC
Oh what a high ceiling
And look how the paint’s peeling
I’ve got a wonderful feeling
That you’ll have to dig deep and pay.
Oh and the clothes want mending
Then its off to the washer I’m sending
And by the way thanks for lending
The money for me to do it today.
While you’re at it I will take a seat
While the nice lady buffs up my feet.
Then after my treat, I will eat
Chocolates upon a milky tray.
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 2:49 AM UTC
I do not see the hype
with High School Stereotype.
Why does it receive such attention?
It doesn't need the press's mention.
We all know of the smokers by the bike sheds,
Who have nothing but fluff in their heads.
Or the girls with skirts far too short
Who's think of *** as a competitive sport.
The sport buffs, we've all seen,
Full of life and far too keen.
Always poised and ready to go,
Every muscle toned from head to toe.
Young student teachers are here,
Enthusiastic about Bill Shakespeare.
Attempting to teach thugs to spell,
Whilst shady Heads make their life hell.
But do not forget, those you call friend.
The ones who stay by you until the end.
Making you laugh, Keeping you sane
Through rough times they remain.
These companions fit no mould
Therefore their tale is never told.
For the greatest things in teen life
Do not need the media's strife
Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 11:46 AM UTC
my thoughts always come back to you
a frizz-bee knew wouldn't ever be threw
like an hour glass my time is paused only when you run out
its crazy to think about how my time we've loaned out
like a bank with no credit debit or doubt
only a valley full of love that no one can live without
my time is only scarred if you find its devote
my vain only gracing the pain you've poured out
its like im struggling with the fact you are alive
a picture in a glass that fate did strive
paintings drawings and buffs, fingers grazing time is our love
its because i am what you need and you can feel it
i already know my taste that why my mouth must seal it
never gilt,
never have your two hands juggling whilst only one foots on the stilt
we will do this together,
because all of our memories can only get built
I love you
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 1:18 AM UTC