"capon" poems
When A Man Loves A Woman, He Will.
Let us end this weekend by talking about the love between a man and a woman. To the ladies who often ask, “How do I truly know a man loves me?” this is for you. When a man loves a woman, he will never cheat on her. Never! He will find other women that throw themselves at him repulsive, however beautiful, they might be. That does not mean he has to profess a zillion times in a day how much he loves you. A man who does that is often a player.
Talk is cheap. To a man who loves, actions speak louder than thunder, even in his subtlety! If you are an intuitive woman, you will know how much you are loved without even hearing the “three magical words.” There will be love in the way he looks in those lovely eyes of yours, in the way he holds your hands, in the tenderness of his text messages, in the attention he gives you, and in the care he takes in choosing the gifts he give you, and in the way he speaks to you.
It is widely acknowledged that men love *** If a man says he does not love *** he is a shameless liar or a capon. God, we love *** Yet, paradoxically, when a man truly loves a woman, *** with her is the last thing on his mind. His interest in her is holistic, not just the apple she has to offer. He wants you for the rest of his life, and his single preoccupation from the moment he meets you, will be to put a ring on your finger so you can carry his name as Mrs…(Insert your man’s name) as a badge of honour.
A man who truly loves you knows you meticulously. He knows what puts a smile on those rosy lips of yours. He knows what to say and what to do both in the good and bad times. He knows your kind of music or your kind of book. If you are a chocolate lady, he knows your kind of chocolate, if you are the romantic type he knows when to take you for moonlight strolls. Basically he will love you like you have never been loved before.
In all, a man who loves you will do anything. I mean ANYTHING for the woman he loves.
Jul 23, 2015
Jul 23, 2015 at 7:52 AM UTC
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 5:24 AM UTC
I watched her write Love on her arms
it flowed like lava as the meaning was felt
ripples of hardened flesh
with hot plasma and her cooling kiss
scratch that one off the bucket list
(codetta)
To tattoo love on my lids
finding you between the highs and mids
when the lights go off you are there
then you reappear
in the strobe and LED atmosphere
All I can do is wish... you were here too
unravel the shutters of my soul (segno)
to embrace you in a place more real
animate my memories to simulate surreal
stimulate thoughts my body can not feel
till my lids reopen to reveal a deck
used to project a black massif sunset
platters pressed with disco tech
soluvum's spun to some rung of heaven
I's reflect; eyes ***** to mirror mystery
celadon mandela murals and memory
a nebula of history (fine)
When eyes see you come (:l)
Below the surface afraid you'll run
yet steady marching to a heart shaped drum
echoing the song of the lord god capon
we've gone deaf to the celebration
Eyes close when kissing to lock in what's missing
maybe to hear the rush of blood hissing
maybe to capture the sound of oceans shifting
maybe to feel the steady rise of hills below our feat
maybe that's why we hum synchronizing our meditation
Maybe to become one symbols like wedding bell vibration
(dc al fine)
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 8:34 PM UTC
Le monde attend un nouveau Dieu.
Joseph de Maistre.
Je m'adresse à tout l'Univers,
Après David, le roi psalmiste.
Oui, Madame, en ces quelques vers,
Je m'adresse à tout l'Univers.
Sur les continents et les mers,
Si tant est qu'un athée existe,
C'est moi, dis-je, à tout l'Univers,
Après David, le roi psalmiste.
Je me fous bien de tous vos dieux,
Ils sont jolis, s'ils vous ressemblent,
Et bons à foutre dans les lieux.
Je me fous bien de tous vos dieux,
Je me fous même du bon vieux,
L'unique, devant qui tous tremblent ;
Je me fous bien de tous vos dieux,
Ils sont jolis, s'ils vous ressemblent.
Je ris du Dieu des bonnes gens,
S'il en est encor par le monde ;
Avec les gens intelligents.
Je ris du Dieu des bonnes gens.
Sacré Dieu ! quels airs indulgents !
Quel gros cul, quelle panse ronde !
Mais... pour les seules bonnes gens,
S'il en est encor par le monde.
Je me fous aussi de celui
Des grands philosophes, très drôles,
Qui parfois se prennent pour lui.
Je me fous aussi de celui
Dont l'incommensurable ennui
Voudrait peser sur nos épaules.
Je me fous aussi de celui
Des grands philosophes, très drôles.
Je plains fort, vous entendez bien,
Tout homme qui dit : Dieu, sur terre,
Indou, musulman ou chrétien,
Je le plains, vous entendez bien ;
Le déiste aussi, qui n'est rien
Dans l'église ou le phalanstère.
Je plains fort, vous entendez bien,
Tout homme qui dit : Dieu sur terre.
Je suis comme le vieux Blanqui
Je dis aussi : « Ni Dieu ni maître. »
Ni maîtresse... c'est riquiqui.
Je suis comme le vieux Blanqui.
Je me fous de n'importe qui.
Je jette tout par la fenêtre,
Et je me fous bien de Blanqui,
Comme de son « Ni Dieu ni maître. »
Je n'en ai qu'un, mais assez bon
Nom de Dieu ! pour que je l'écule,
Votre vrai Dieu, Dieu sans... rayon.
Je n'en ai qu'un, mais assez bon :
Le monde entier, ce grand capon,
Vit dans la peur de sa férule.
Je n'en ai qu'un mais assez bon
Nom de Dieu ! pour que je l'écule.
L'un ou l'autre mot m'est égal,
Si mon langage est clair, Madame.
Être clair c'est le principal.
L'un ou l'autre mot m'est égal.
Mais l'autre était grossier pas mal,
Et... j'ai le respect de la femme.
L'un ou l'autre mot m'est égal.
Si mon langage est clair, Madame.
695
Where are the thoughtful s, the brilliants
those young Turks of mine times with tomes ablaze
the searing searches for wisdom in flights of discoveries
soaring into heightened ideas and dives in Philosophy pools
sparring with edifices of futures past and present yet to show
The magic of minds invigorated anew
knowledge incoming and endless forays in disciplines testings
midnight oils burning as brains are lit and wonders founds in old
new skills come in and in growth and understandings you dance
versatility you embrace in bloom of maturity and richness in minds
Talk Shakespeare and see Homer with Sartre
ratios and equations take on compounds and Periodic Tables
the ***** in biology makes ******* covers even more relate-able
Byron says it sweetly and Solzhenitsyn talks Gulag in Mein Kampf
one day in Imperialism while another in Totalitarianism all ideas
My kingdom for knowledge and the trained minds
oh such joy the vista of erudition and peace of understanding
the harvesting of a million lights to banish fears and shame duds
confidence of the unconfined thoughts and enamored teachers
the august seat in a world where diversity is undreaded and calm
Thus never a war of minds or feigned stances
nothing akin to the posturing fakes and usurpers dim et vacant
or them charlatans lacking gainful foundations in pretentious airs
bovine bullies coated in ignorance manifesting idiocies a la pride
sham laughable buffoons strangling Art for art sake, dopes for free
So look below and see the infertile minds in fallow
base and dank coarse and idle with the occasional sprouts
incapable in essence limited in orientations like a pack of jackals
ignorant and belligerent or puffed up in fear like a capon in anger
nothing enlightened, positive, constructive or gainful just angst
mired in the blame game with limited senses and ignorance raving
Oct 18, 2019
Oct 18, 2019 at 9:12 AM UTC