"cater" poems
Lets take the day off and chill out, not stressing soaking up the lords blessings, let's go out tonight enjoy a nice meal unwrap ourselves expose our fun side peel the layers off, relax by a waterfront getting high off the emotions of us, watch fireworks toast a glass of strawberry and cream champagne to celebrate nothing bothering us
Just a night off lets communicate with our bodys flirting with the slightest touch temptation not asking for much, the night is still young so juvnille, let's make it worthwhile no dollar amount a value deal of us just enjoying us do wild stuff like we don't now how to behave ourselves, radiate is our smile viberations of our laughter makes the valley's of our heart shake, sweet lovers a savory taste
Take the time to enjoy us we been working so much not taking breaks convicted to the grind like tired slaves, not tonight it's date night we haven't had this feeling for a while now, let's takeoff day cater to each other feed both of us grapes do you want to split a cheesesteak?, nothing much just you and us it's date night take the load off
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 9:47 AM UTC
Oh no
it must be *****
After we ******
a bit
and she
said
I ****** at it,
deflated
I wandered off home.
But I realised much later
she needed me to cater
to everything.
Shaft me side on
with a tuning fork
she's long gone,
destroying some
other
poor soul.
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 1:12 PM UTC
Which algorithm is going to understand me
understand sentiment behind what I do
It is coded for catching the patterns
For them we are just there
to generate the data to process
What insights will they create
about me when I'm just the outlier
they will remove me to get cleaner results
Generalise the problem
that it won't cater to me
technology is not the slave
they make us dance to their tune
We change, as much as they advance
Develop worse habits
change our routines
from when we were in the more happier place
to a place which comes with waves of sadness.
Dec 17, 2018
Dec 17, 2018 at 12:48 PM UTC
I am the flightless pelican.
I’ve found myself with my mouth full,
my stomach full, and so much still on my plate.
Possessed by an inhuman hunger,
I will gorge upon pure potential.
I will yowl on and on, without sleep.
-
I have sand between my toes.
My shoes are glued to my feet.
Keep on running ‘til the calluses come.
There has to be a point where I stop to sweat,
and I’ll finally get my sigh of relief.
I have one ride left on my bus pass.
-
I have a tendency to ramble
and languish in my own stench.
People tend to forget this at first;
lured in by the false face of a genetic fluke.
They want to know the impression I left,
not the procrastinator; the cud-chewing goat.
-
I can’t sleep being held,
or if I feel someone’s breath in the still.
I start to feel the urge to burrow
into the quiet quilts; patchwork Promised Land.
I cater to the crowd that caters to themselves,
but I’m no Utilitarian. Fox and Lion.
-
I have cousins like brothers,
and I have brothers like strangers.
Stray cats with names
and a copy of The Mahabharata that I stash my money in.
I’m sitting on a sunny pier with my hook in the water;
avoiding conflict with no bait.
-
Paper cuts from the gold leaf
on the edges of hymn book pages
with burgundy leather covers.
These guilty cuts, bleeding for what seems like hours,
while we steadily forget that anyone was singing.
Alone with our thoughts in the crowd.
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 9:54 PM UTC
I'm not attracted to people. Never have, never will. See I might get aroused; it's like my body is rejecting my decision it doesn't care it acts on it's own, but I'm fine with platonic relations. We don't gotta touch just cuddle and kiss and I'd be more than fine, but I'm a pleaser so ill subject myself to such acts, In accordance to their needs.
*** doesn't come to mind when out on dates unless it's been made clear that ****** activity will be in place. When *** comes to mind all I can think is *** ugh no" The only *********** in my life comes from my partners needs. I'm their bf I'm supposed to cater to them. I don't mind it but I also don't like it.
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 11:00 PM UTC
I have a strong dislike for you.
At first it was fine.
You tried to cater and be kind.
Make me feel like your home was mine.
But now I must express why I hate you
half of the time.
You became clingy-
and it went downhill from there.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 7:15 PM UTC
The African American Blonde Bombshell on ya TV screen. It is I, ya younger victim of the bullying you caused me to suffer in our younger years together and now I am the #WCW on ya Twitter, Facebook and Instagram. She's bad huh. Too bad you lost ya chance with her and if only you knew her top secret. Maybe I should give u a chance to apologize and give me the love and respect you wouldn't give Adrian. Now that I am Alexis you want to cater to me and get my ******* down to my ankles. You want me to be ya main chick and you wanna put a ring on it. Well little do you know I am the Transgendered Barbie I always wanted to be. Oh now your surprised. Didn't know I was born a man.......or should I say your punching bag because you loved to use me to hide your real sexuality. Now the jokes on you.
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 10:18 PM UTC
Come and hear the tale of a falling
This failure of a king, his story appalling
Come and hear of his last moment's calling
This man whom we once called our king.
A mad king anointed with power in mind
Crowned by desperation, crowned by the blind
A tyrannical king; No worse will you find
For this man is a servant of Hell.
He comes and he swears in God's holy name
To cater the people and lands that they tame
But it's I who knows of his little game
The political regime that he runs.
He sits on his throne and barks at his men
Demanding the whys and demanding the when
Slowly but surely he wears the string thin;
For the people may tolerate so much.
He works through the town, donning his crown
A hat that is envied by all in the town;
For the man is rich, the man is renowned!
This man whom all call their king.
Beneath him men die, but criminals don't pay
Put them to death, that's what I say!
This kings way is in no way the right way
But we the people can do naught but pray.
But good men exist, whom jail the unjust
Good men who work to earn the town's trust
And these good men speak out, shaking out the dust
And speak out against their king
The king starts to fear, his gate is now closed
And he starts to regret the options he chose
And now by good men this king is deposed
By good men this king is denied.
Now we call him a tyrant, we call him a fake
We spit on his image, his throne we forsake
We take up our arms, pitchfork and rake
And march to his door to knock.
Some killed by guards, but good men prevail
And blood rains down like late Summer hail
And in the end we hear the king wail
His death is announced the next morning.
Good men cheer and king's men glance back
Wondering what it was the mad king lacked
Though who didn't expect his castle ransacked
For was not the king of the wicked?
It matters not in the end, you will find
Good men un-knotted this terrible bind
They laugh and jest at history behind
And cast themselves to a new king.
But this ballad of history will soon be repeated
For in the halls of recurrence it is seated
This tragic comedy of rulers so heated
This tragic tale of a king.
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 3:53 PM UTC
I know I was never there to begin with, but will you still accept me into your heart?
I know its messed up, and everyday I wish I took those seven steps needed to confront.
You're all I ever wanted, but without the permanent affiliation.
I just wanted you to call every now and then,
Tell me that you're okay and you don't need the extra five or ten.
I'm emptying out and keeping the lies on my lips.
Inches away from you, holding tears back from my eyelids.
I wonder what kind of life I'd have lived if I would've tapped your shoulder,
Or what kind of regrets I'd have had if I would've pulled that trigger.
That's all behind me, but I always end up facing the other way.
But who's to say it's the wrong way?
For all I know, this is the world telling me to end my day.
But every time I open my eyes and wake up,
You're still on my mind, but without the make up.
You're scars are showing,
And your tears are flowing.
You're eyes are holding and you'll never understand how much you mean to me, theres no way of knowing!
You cut to conclusions and split the wrist!
I'm crazy just as much and you never ask me why I close my fists.
We're not the same yet we're making the same mistakes.
If I tried to end my life would you hold it onto me?
Tell me it's against my religion and culture and never look at me?
Without feeling ashamed, this life is so young but the time is so old,
And I might be freezing but thats because I'm so cold.
My heart is so overwhelmed and It's basically sold to the man in the black suit and a red tie.
You taught me well,
But the bad habbits are the ones that stay and dwell.
It's not your fault but I'm still blaming you.
I'm a mistake.
The small skid on the side of the paper.
The piece of dough that fell on the floor, stepped on by it's own cater.
The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, but I'm infested by worms and caterpillars,
And I might like it,
Because I'm independent and someone still wants me.
Consulting myself because I'm all that I have,
Masking my feelings because my psycologist laughed!
I'm done asking because I'm all that I have,
Don't tell me that you're there for me, just stop lying.
I'm and unwanted **** and I'm tragically dying.
I'm not a wilting rose, so there's nothing that you can say about me or boast.
Just forget about me, I'm not all that you know.
It's over, so let my memories go.
I don't want you frowning or crying,
This is how I am.
I'm an unwanted ****
And I'm tragically dying.
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 12:11 AM UTC
***The mistress of my hereafter stole me away,
As she so oft does,
To a few minutes of quiet conversation.
In her silenced voice I could read my own
Long since Christianed anguish,
So near it is - but so ****** far away.
If only in Faraway we had us a private cottage,
Maybe then we could retire to our dreams.
The dressing room there
Would always be yours.
For I make everything yours
And call it so beforehand.
Thus making you the mistress
Of my entire hereafter.
My alpha - my omega.
This “Hereafter” is but a melancholy term ‘lest
We find ourselves stole away whilst
Communicating through our spirits.
For in spirit we have already met and
Shall surely meet again.
Let the certainty of it
Brighten us with its forth coming.
Thou surely must be the author
Of the utmost of our faith.
Faith in that day of heaven’s thought where
In Faraway the cottage nestles between
Twin peaks in the sweetest valley
Ever laid at your feet while eyes
See every days' blue azure sky.
There we dine together by candlelight
In the middle of the day while we
Cater the meal toward happiness.
In Faraway, all around us lives
In a rapturous praise along with all that ever was.
And if you should ever find my wit oppressing to
Your kindness, then show your disdain and
I will surely take my leave.
As we look together through the candlelight
Let us see only the highest values in each other.
Let my eyes put your name on notice
That if I were so employed as to be a slave
In this land called Faraway, then my heart
Would be no less than the prophet accommodated
Somewhere within your walls.
There with a stool and a candlestick
I would sit patiently waiting for your unmaking.
There my soul could be at peace from this world.
I’d lean against your wall with the candle in my hand,
I’d look into your eyes as I blew out the light.
The cottage would then come to life
As would the hearth within us.
We’d breathe in each other fueling the fire.
For love is the fuel that burns here in Faraway,
Our sweet vapors rising high into the sky.
They are bless'ed fires that never end.
Come - blow out the candle once more and
Let's lose our disguises–
Later I'll relight the candle so we can
Blow it out and do it all over again.***
Jun 4, 2017
Jun 4, 2017 at 8:38 AM UTC
Our world is small
We sense content with little,
We are very small in this paradise of god!
*****
We know simply ‘how take care of sheep’
and we moved around in search their food,
Because when they become happy and grow
They bless us to prosper!
*****
People call us nomad!
But we are concern about the life with us!
*****
When summer approach and snow started to melt,
Green covers spread out on the mountain valley,
We moved from the river valley
And spent the summer there-
to cater the need of our adored friends.
******
When snow starts to melt down,
We come down.
****
Now things are changing!
Last year we were divested.
*****
We gather the information
from river water
about snow melting;
and moved ahead.
******
But without warning,
thunders come with snow followed by downpour
We have lost our children and many great friends,
Every one suffers!
*****
Don’t know ‘why weather deceives us’?
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 4:11 PM UTC
#
All of those people around you, hoping just for a glimpse of
something from the mental health care world
that could give them even just one reason to stay
.. And all around you they are dying
while you cater to your own, vain emptiness.
Credentialed now, everyone loves you.
And still all around you,
the ones you were meant to be here for, die.
**** your fake humility, oh empty one.
**** your fake friends, and self-serving peers.
**** your self centered, empty-souled vanity.
All around you, they are dying.
And will continue to die.
You were the one.
One behalf of all the fallen..
and those who sadly will one day all alone, fall.
On behalf of them all:
F U C K Y O U.
#
Nov 3, 2022
Nov 3, 2022 at 10:55 PM UTC
I live in a luxurious apartment,
She lives in a makeshift hut in the slums,
I sleep on the most comfortable bed,
She sleeps on the floor,
I have a chef and maids to cater for me,
She has her mum and siblings to cater for her,
My chef cooks tasty meals with latest gadgets,
Her mum cooks on firewood the best meals I have ever tasted,
For there is love of her mum in it.
I eat mostly alone,
My family have no time ,each busy in his/her own life,
Her family eats together on the floor and her mum sometimes feeds her,
They joke and laugh together,
I sit alone in my room , busy on my computer, doing homework or chatting,
After dinner her family sits outside the hut gossiping with neighbours while she does her homework under the streetlight .
I enjoy being at my friend's place more because she always has her family who cares,
There is laughter and happiness at her place although they have so little,
They are content with what they have,
I am glad I have a friend like her and her family to share.
24/8/2019
Aug 24, 2019
Aug 24, 2019 at 7:09 AM UTC
Soul like a Gunshot Wound
Take out the bullet soon
Or leave it hurting
Let it become part of you
A pain that's burning
Eating your soul for years
While you are learning
To deal with the pain that grew
To become all of your fears
It'll hurt so bad later
You will bust out in tears
To take out the bullet
That became your savior
As you worship the scars
On your skin that cater
To the pain that stayed here
With the bullet
In your Soul like a Gunshot Wound
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 5:26 AM UTC
The cauldron bubbles and sputters and pops.
Odors from a foul witches' brew
Fill the mansion. It's called the Nightmare
On Pennsylvania Avenue.
A ghoulish warlock babbles gibberish,
Spreading deceit, anger, and fear.
He summons his lackey ghouls to his chamber.
They bow to the ghastly profiteer.
Their incantations reverberate
Through the rooms and down the halls.
The din stifles the voices of reason
And bounces off the windows and walls.
Witches assisting the grisly assembly
Grovel and spew nonsensical chatter,
While friendly ghosts, horrified,
Grab all their belongings and scatter.
The leading warlock raises his staff
To silence all the ear-piercing shrieking.
"Our work here has barely begun,"
He shouts, "in a manner of speaking.
"We have a lot more poison to spread
To circulate anxiety and doubt.
All we must do is stir the ***
To give them something to worry about.
"Fan the flames of division and discord.
My techniques are tried and true.
Keep 'em guessing; then you've got 'em.
And then you cater to the chosen few.
"We have more rivers to poison,
Coastlines to alter, lands to sell,
Coffers to fill, coffers to rob,
And voices to quiet. Welcome to hell!"
The glowering sycophants dance and cheer--
Thirsty for blood, eyes agleam.
"Dishonesty is the best
Policy," they fervently scream.
Oh, it's a frightening Halloween night
When one's worst nightmare comes true:
The gruesome, macabre, spine-chilling Nightmare
On Pennsylvania Avenue.
-by Bob B (10-31-18)
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 9:53 AM UTC
The machinesed drones droning ozones
made of homogenised genes by replicants
from clinical doctrines and empirical indulgences
Soulless and efficient, bred for duties destructives
Capitalist fodder, programmed ready for earth's ****
Regulate as required, inputted subs with pigs hearts
Made followers with voracious appetite for blood
mechanised barbarians on leash with one track mix
Human shire horses in designer shods and faulty gauges
Manufactured manufacturers limited and corollated
Factories, dormitories partnered with like, watered
and bedded till tomorrow, audiod to the Sterling whip
Given ample ales, keep blinded and chained
Distract and cater to baser instincts, *** *** ***
Free 'love' free *** valueless values, what values
Enjoy kids must return to work desk seven on the dot
Time is money, clogs and production
waits for no man, do or your pleasures denied
Money, money money, honey for bees, honey for drones
Soulless, dehumanised, pale, aged at thirty, heart attacks next
Vacuous ghost programmed dunces
Malfunctioning entities devoid of humanity
Superficial plasticated robots, destruction default
Industrial pieces with industrial minds
Chemicalized drunks with wired brains
They roam around screaming freedom and power!
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 8:28 PM UTC
*"Just the tip. Just the tip." Initiation. Fourteen years old, fourteen year olds don't know the just the tip trick. It hurt like hell but the sound of his panting was well...worth it. Just the tip, then just the shaft. Just a lick, what a champ…the other half. Gigi was born, de-flowered then flourished. Naughty by nature. Fed and *** nourished. What a **** I was, what a ***** I am.…just slap my *** grab me and pull me in. Choke me, bite me...squeeze, pull my hair, look me in the eyes, cuff me to a chair. Quiet ones you have to watch. I moan louder than I talk, nice rock in my hips....do me real good and I'll wobble when I walk. The club is my home, but not where I belong. Under my hijaab they can't see my laced thong. Taught to cater to the men and serve them martinis. Not dance ***** naked in heels and bikinis. Allahu Akbar. Don't let my family find out. Allahu Akbar. They'll **** me. Allahu Akbar. But if they do. Allahu Akbar. I'm still me.
My name is Neha,
Stage name GiGi however so complex, Stripper in silence,
And I'm strung out on ***
Feb 2, 2013
Feb 2, 2013 at 2:58 AM UTC
Bedtime Villain
Cater to your need
Predator
Stalking to tease
Needing your pieces
pleading
Tasting your creases
Seeding you
Feeding your weakness
Inches seem endless
Clichés say breathless
While clenching tear the sheets
Tongues touch toes
Fingers pierce holes
Singing lyrics with moans
I alone seek your big O.
I take you and I make u
I thrash u and bath u
I hate u with love
like **** I intrude
Though consent we agreed upon
You struggle but no escape can be seen
Till I'm done in between, and have
Used every tool
From Face, protruding mounds from the waist
Hands, legs, embraces, and beggars pledge
I want you so bad
Its like death when denied
To live in you
Is like death when it ends
To have your flesh
Is the best death
-Xin-
Oct 23, 2012
Oct 23, 2012 at 1:02 PM UTC
when that hopefully ecofriendly R.I.P becomes my final home
whether bios urn
or spirit seed
or any trendy tree from corpse to copse,
from dust to leaves
or better than
a crematorial commode --for fresher air and fuel for brighter flames
transplanted into other selves
redressed in mushroom spore-suit
seeded with the genes of generations hence and past,
piercing veils to fruit above again,
a mycophile to the last--
i will have lived with growth in mind,
that firm amorphous
ground opining green
to kindly live and die in kind
foment another view,
encompass monumental evanesce
supernal tablets branching neo-dolmen ethernexusnets beyond the r00ts
barking technoshaman psychic rings about a fiberoptic rosey,
perhaps a sappier refrain for finer silica domains
to sing along and echo Dryads doting long ago,
in threaded tones the make-remaking fold
of earthenborn rekindled kin of stars
decided to invent to cater otherworldly themes
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 11:13 PM UTC
Every time you rhyme
everything sounds the same
but when I rap exact
I find it a bit inane
so you'll find in my lines
that the sound has changed
inside your mind I'm spreading a taint
with a sound so new you get inundated
with thoughts so ******* that yours get faded.
Rap is a game and this is how I play it
chew the brain food
this the way I cater
pursue the obtuse
so I form my cadence
eschew the assumed
treat the invaders
like they’re your neighbours
accommodate new thoughts
until they sound the same as
us
Oct 24, 2017
Oct 24, 2017 at 12:21 AM UTC
I am a boomerang.
You throw me out into a blur,
of unanswered questions that reoccur.
No matter though, I turn around,
and come back to that unsteady ground.
I am the song you sang.
The one that got stuck in your head,
that you hummed softly as you went to bed.
From time to time though, forgot it,
the words would gradually lose their pitch.
I am that scarf you hang
The one so easily covered,
that suspended there amongst the others.
They cater to your separate needs,
since weather changes so drastically
from summer to winter or in-between.
I’m now an overhang
I see above everything,
and the waste of time it all did bring.
The cloud that loomed over my mind, (is gone)
can’t bring you back around this time.
I’ll no longer be the blood on your fangs,
I’ll no longer be your boomerang.
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 11:05 AM UTC
"Where literature is concerned,
I will not cooperate at all":
A mind resolutely turned
From the social crusades of fall.
Seventy-eight years later
I agree with the "dilettante";
Twenty-five years cater
To reclusion in a shanty,
"Writing frightening verse
To a straight-toothed dude
In New York." Curse
My reckless solitude!
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 2:59 PM UTC