"caters" poems
A capable wife is far more worth than treasure
She lives for the good of her family
She works hard for her own
She is independent but still dependent upon the Lord
That is a woman you need in your life.
She will stand by your side and honour her vows
She caters for all, even the poor.
She is generous by heart
She is everything and more
She is wise
She is appreciated
She is respected
She is loving
She is not shaken but mere earthquakes, instead she embraces the beauty in faults and the lessons in mistakes.
She will stand with you through thick and thin, through sickness and health and through this miserable life.
Man, when you find a woman like this treasure her with all you have. Appreciate her insecurities and love her through everything you will put her through
Charm is deceptive and beauty fades but a woman who honours the Lord should be praised.
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 9:55 AM 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
each time her bare front
is full with illumination
she is defined by the mystery
of infinite black behind her
and at her most enlightened
is dappled with caters and scars
ensconced in darkness
lined by an aphotic slivered edge
shadow speaks
most deeply
of the ways
in which
she moves
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 7:15 PM UTC
Figures Dance Across My Memory,
In An Erie Ballroom,
Lit Only By The Light Of Vanilla Scented Candles,
The Light Of The Moon And Stars,
Glaring Through Transparent Windows,
Congregate In Creamy Daffodil Colored Flames,
Every Women I've Cried Over,
In Extravagant Ball Gowns,
Stitched With The Misery They Brought Upon Me,
With Them,
Every Man Which I Have Bawled Over,
Wears A Tuxedo,
With A Withered Rose In Their Pocket,
To Symbolize My Pain,
And A Tie Laced With My Own Tears,
The Ballroom Of Horror Caters,
The Party On The Top Floor Too,
Everyone Who Has Made Me Smile,
Dances Erratically,
Singing Along And Laughing,
Though The Demons Beneath Their Feet Houses,
Barbaric--Criminals--Found Guilty Of Heartbreak,
And As They Slow Dance To Rhythmic Beating,
Of A Broken Heart--That May Never Mend,
Something That Rips The Gauze Wrap,
From My Wounds,
They Smile,
As They Masquerade In My Ballroom Of Horror
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 10:59 AM UTC
Yeah it's one shot one ****
Plottin' against my enemies will soon to be killed
Bullets feedin' ya last meal
Dope rhymes sedatin' like pharmacy pills
Since hataz got no chill heads I'll drill now you leakin' out like oil spills
Or a radiator angelic caters none could create a
Flows nasty as mine poppin' a multiplicity of shells I'm one of a kind
Thoughts intertwined
****** into a demons intervention contenders in suspension from the soul lynching
Caught in the realms of heaven and hell & you can smell
The ashes burning fermentin'
time runnin' slower than molasses
My murders be classic enemies dramatic causin' static
Shoot more than Bird combined with Magic
Workin' my Johnson on the tracks tonsils sittin' as a hip hop consul underground magul
**** longer than Repunzels hair follicles
Cookin' up sigils into a *** of gold no rainbow snortin' sir nose
D'void of Funk rattlin' the earth from the bass in my trunk blazin' skunks
Abraxas I'm embracin' one of my goetias when facin' ain't no replacin'
Fools givin' chase
and to tastes of demonic faces
My flows replenish like **** laces
Blunts turn into ashes dump it out on the masses
Epidemic mase deaden your pace hazardous like toxic waste
Adversaries don't wanna face
Off like Nicolas to Travolta livin' in an ultra violent culture
Cleatin' into ya flesh I be the stalkin' Vulture mulchin' ya
'til ya
A dissembled particle blank photo in the article from curvin' emcees with my surgical
lyrical sickle stare into ya eyes as the blood trickles
Down ya body you easily brickled rhymes artificial
My soul sour as a pickle no tickles
Could move me or influence thee my legacy
Lay cinematography like A. Hitchcock in the 50s huh
Ya soon to be a death reel for thrills
Rememeber
All I need is one shot one **** forreal!!!!
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 4:57 PM UTC
American city, your roads make me gasp,
Hold my breath with cancerous anxiety.
Your sidewalks,
Ancient ruins of time passed: A failed optimism for Utopian desire:
A house, a yard, a car for every person.
Now derelict, termite infested, but rented.
Chlorinated chemical water runs through rusted, moldy spickets to
Rinse pesticide seasoned vegetables.
And yet they remain so tasteless.
But who cares?
Suburban middle class zombies?
Created with media placed propaganda.
Born and inoculated with DisneypepsiMccocacola ideologies.
Oh Wal-Mart,
how we love your homogenized Chinese products.
Oh America,
how we love your multi-million dollar cathartic films,
They bring my mind to no place and inspire nothing.
Your theme park inspired retail caters to any identity I desire:
I am a professional,
My wallet lined with the best credit cards,
SUV, Hummer, Super boat, designer label, mall bought,
bleached teeth smile, with slick greasy hair style.
I'm cool, I pay for the gas.
Beep your horn, and rev your engine.
We are at war with each other.
Everyone get out of my way: road rage lifestyle: compete or die.
Big screen television dream.
Bought it at Target.
Open my cupboard: Macaroni and Cheese, delicious.
Ambian, Prozac, antibiotic, Listerine.
Collagen bovine beauty:
Manicure, pedicure, dye and wax
Acrylic nails, hair extensions
And silicone sacs.
Oh, American city
How we want to steal your money and **** your blood.
Chop your trees and cement your grass.
American city you are dead.
Jan 11, 2010
Jan 11, 2010 at 6:22 AM UTC
Maybe your mothers and fathers do not know right from wrong
Maybe those that birth you cannot tell real from unreal
The apples do not fall far from the trees that we know all along
So no surprise when off-springs and all fall into the reel
Unable to decipher the lost and damaged from their midst adorn
My mother washed me in truth, honesty, sincerity and real love
That's the only path that graces the soul and makes humanity
So all my life I know what's real, true, honest from all else above
You walk your path and serve your gods in all their profanity
Your festered minds and putrid brains is not like mine thereof
In superficial abodes, your falseness lies fakery has confused you
No truth or honesty exists all around only deceits and raw fear
You rot from the inside and feed from poison not breastmilk too
from start you're ****** your brains from chemicals they rear
Spooks with semblance no substance, serving satan them born fools
I know what's real what's true what's honest and sincere or not
That is me from real bosoms raised in edifying values not falsity
Come in thousands you stink from a mile off satan demons squat
Sincerity truthfulness if erred makes amends not sit discordantly
Real Humanity embraces love and peace not mortal duels that's fact
From negativity you drink in darkness lies your bread and joy
miseries and fears you seek to share cause your souls lies in pain
In cancerous fears you scheme and plot your ****** evils ploys
Cause it destroys you to see goodness whilst your souls' in chain
Weak corrupted dark and damaged subjugated to lucifers noise
Gnarled old wrinkled before your years you envy my young looks
Borne of inner joy and unafraid pious calm pathetics spit zombie
Too sick to know a clear conscience never pines or fears like crooks
Pure and noble emotions caters no dirt or negativities like loonies
Dignity and integrity offers granite to malevolent duds and hooks
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 10:16 AM UTC
He is everywhere at once, yet a total mystery
He get's through any lock, yet never has a key
No matter where you go, there is nowhere to hide
He'll be there in the snow, he'll search far and wide
He's the shoulder for your tears
He's the blanket for your fears
He's the voice that no one hears
Yet always there all these years
He is sensitive and caters to all your needs
Where the others fail, he always succeeds
Your every hungry urge now finally feeds
He is the tourniquet for thy heart that bleeds
He is always there for you
In each and every single way
Until you find someone new
And you call him Mr. Yesterday
And now you know who this is truly about
But you may not yet know his very name
Yet you've met him without a single doubt
Because in this game we are all the same
So please, without any further delay
It is and always will be to my dismay
Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Everyman
If a girl is in need, he will be there...if he can
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 10:24 PM UTC
The convenience of crying,
It caters to the wondering
Presumptuously, others convince us of dying
Nothing is relentless nor meaningless
I find myself following the trendiness,
In a puzzling quest for happiness
I pass the time reading articles predicting my life
A destination we described
Predictable knowing is demeaning
I lost my appetite
What is the price
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 12:41 AM UTC
It uses the seatbelt as a vesicle
Slithers across your shoulders,
prickles your chest
With every beat
It pounds into your heart,
wiggles into your veins
You're infected
But it feels so good
Your blood forgets oxygen
and caters to the pulse
flowing throughout your systems
At once, Gravity remembers it's job
angrily it sinks to your feet
pools and tenses
Wearily it exits through the sole
spiders into the floor
the music has left you
You are forever infected
And it feels so good
Oct 17, 2011
Oct 17, 2011 at 11:35 AM UTC
She's there on the corner this morning, as she is every morning.
A bundle of newspapers in her arms.
Her bundle of joy swaddled snugly on her back.
Her face time-worn, flush with the creases of a life insecure.
Her clothing time-tested, warm in the cold, cool in the heat.
Seemingly devoid of emotion, her face now and then reveals an inner light
– an inner light that flickers with the sale of a paper,
then comes to full beam with the coo of her son.
She probably doesn't — or can't — read the product she pushes
it serves merely to feed the mouths that call to her for sustenance.
Reports of pestilence, the day's corruptions and the growing war dead
are forgotten amidst the smiling innocence of her hijo.
Her son may never know material wealth, or even a life of plenty
but he'll know the love of his mother.
He may never ride in the fancy cars to which she caters, or vacation at Disneyland
but he'll understand the value of family.
One day, limbs that now flail aimlessly upon his mother's back will toil for her.
One day, his strong hands will do the heavy work so that his mother won't have to.
Perhaps, his efforts will keep her from perching her aging body on some unforgiving sidewalk,
at the feet of passersby, hand outstretched for pesos.
If he too can only avoid the pestilence, the corruptions and war that fill the front pages of the daily news.
May 26, 2010
May 26, 2010 at 10:01 AM UTC
Fill us with mist
From a seaward assault
And look to the distance
Where the doves go to walk
A safe house of looking glass
Honoured in brine
Taking in prisoners
To make nothing of time
Faint smells of catch
For tomorrow's our feast
Father's away
On our fierce ocean deep
It caters our weddings,
Sundays, and Yule
Until the mother forgets
We abide by her rule
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 10:01 PM UTC
Quietly she creeps at night
Hoping for a another chance
Not knowing if her limbs will hold
She caters to her worst fears feast
Her heart needs not proceed to know
Rapture’s just around her lungs
Shattering her lifeless dream
Quietly she dies inside.
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 2:52 PM UTC
BE free from the church and its impositions
its restrictions
contradictions
and ungodly superstitions
BE free from all dogmatic institutions
Patriarchal truths
are only partial solutions
BE free from the coat of protection
that they fashion
A one-size fit
that impedes expansion
BE free from the doctrine
that imposes separation
Brother versus brother
Nation versus nation
BE free from the teachings
that set us apart
That caters to the Ego
not to the heart
BE free from the darkness
that controls your mind
How can you see the light
if you're asleep or blind
BE free from the ‘Book’
and its static communication
A covert operation
in the ‘divine’ proclamation
BE free from hypocrisy
intolerance and vanity
The ‘ignis fatuus’ progenitor
of the world's insanity.
Jul 7, 2010
Jul 7, 2010 at 3:51 PM UTC
It's not a physical regret.
Nothing physical to regret.
I let you do things that I don't like.
My back is all scraped up.
Because I am guilty
So I let you use me.
Because I let him use me.
Well, he didn't get to use me.
Nothing physical.
Nervous ticks and cigarette smoke.
Empty hotel rooms,
Waiting for my phone to light up.
To go off.
To make a sound.
Nothing physical.
I'm sorry I 'm so good looking.
And that I'll please anyone
Who caters to my needs
And gives me constant compliments.
Too bad it wasn't physical.
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 3:10 AM UTC
She's there on the corner this morning, as she is every morning.
A bundle of newspapers in her arms.
Her bundle of joy swaddled snugly on her back.
Her face time-worn, flush with the creases of a life insecure.
Her clothing time-tested, warm in the cold, cool in the heat.
Seemingly devoid of emotion, her face now and then reveals an inner light
– an inner light that flickers with the sale of a paper,
then comes to full beam with the coo of her son.
She probably doesn't — or can't — read the product she pushes,
it serves merely to feed the mouths that call to her for sustenance.
Reports of pestilence, the day's corruptions and the growing war dead
are forgotten amidst the smiling innocence of her hijo.
Her son may never know material wealth, or even a life of plenty
but he'll know the love of his mother.
He may never ride in the fancy cars to which she caters, or vacation at Disneyland
but he'll understand the value of family.
One day, limbs that now flail aimlessly upon his mother's back will toil for her.
One day, his strong hands will do the heavy work so that his mother won't have to.
Perhaps, his efforts will keep her from perching her aging body on some unforgiving sidewalk,
at the feet of passersby, hand outstretched for pesos.
If he too can only avoid the pestilence, the corruptions and war that fill the front pages of the daily news.
Jul 6, 2010
Jul 6, 2010 at 7:27 AM UTC
i stole six pairs of earrings today
while making small talk
in a jewelry store that caters to the masochistic
and now i am
pinning their wings up on my wall
to display the reward
of quick fingers
and plaster of paris smiles
i didn't even really want them
i took them from sets
i wanted to see the missing holes
and there was no bin to put them in
now i have little secrets
pinned up on my wall
they join others
that i took
i don't mean to steal things
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 1:31 AM UTC
Toward thinking - thinking toward that newer stuff.
Implicating a newer truth -
More meaning more than ever what meant before.
[Enter eternity]
Dry unveilings found me dripping and drowning,
Ogling the ones who did it better.
Enlightenment, apparently, doesn't come with instructions -
Sorry, Timmy - do catch me when I'm wiser.
Nit pick my tendencies to
Overcome the dumb junk -
Trippin' about all of the dirt that's piled up on my dirt, already.
Each moment that caters to forgotten smiles,
X's out all of the good times I could've spent passin' the conch shell with somethin' to say - Ha.
I'm itching to perform a miracle.
Settling for truths spilled from frigid lips just ain't my cup of tea -
Thank God.
--
Everything is happening now.
Exhale.
Sep 7, 2011
Sep 7, 2011 at 10:49 AM UTC
Throw your smiles, my dear,
Viewers take a crazy catch
Blush, it is all they wish
Cheer up, to cheer the peering eyes
Pep up your pleasing lips,
Veering eyes carry the sips
Laugh louder, you are allowed
Cry all out, they enjoy no doubt
Sob, nothing to feel sorry
Reflex your face, keep ready to face
Wink your eye, it sprinkles lust
Frown, you are the crown
Voice your tongue, it caters
Let the pearls in your cup of lips radiate
fragrant flowers of joy and jubilation
May your breath resonate cool
in the ears of the audience for years!
Sweeten your words, toast the taste
Sing, for an all-round swing
Synchronize your body language
With the symphony of the scene
You are the debonair in debut,
Heralding heroine of this film.
The quick buck of this movie,
Much depends on your quirk
Lens is ready to sense your synergy
Bless you my budding artist, go ahead!
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 8:45 PM UTC
left surprised
to no surprise
as kaleidoscope lights
show your skirt of stripes
& peace sign eyes
It's over 30 years ago
but no matter where or when
I'd still feel out of place
perfection
caters itself to your grace
and no matter
where I look
I see you
it's taunting the way you
move
and even worse
when you're standing alone
because try
try
try
as a might
I couldn't bear the weight
of being so
small
in your eyes
so once more
I bask
in insignificance
and reluctance
a self-defeating
sore thumb
always out of place
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 4:05 PM UTC
Ode to Vietnamese Coffee
Vietnam has the best coffee
In the **** world
Just perfect
Hot as hell
Sweet as heaven
With a kick my *** attitude
To boot
Can’t resist it
Even thought it means
I can’t sleep
Must
Have
My
****
Vietnam
Coffee
Right
Now
VC2
In Saigon
One meets
All sorts of strange characters
VCQ
VCQ he called himself
He was filled with stories
From the war
And the revolution afterwards
VC2
Was a young man
In Danang
During the war
15 years old
Recruited into the VC
Infiltrated into the base
Just another street urchin
Stole away at night
Hiding on the big air base
Stealing things
To sell at the black market
Just one of the army
Of street urchins
That became friendly
With the enemy
They called him
VCQ
And the nickname stuck
That is what he called himself
Said that he had become
A VC Seal known as the VCQ
Learned his English
From his black marketing days
He perfect the art
Of wheeling and dealing
As a street urchin
In the mean streets of Danang
After the war
he rose through the ranks
Retired as a general
Became a college professor
Later opened his own business
An interior design business
When Saigon became Saigon
Once again
Wheeling and dealing
Around the world
Always one step ahead
Of the semi-communist authorities
One day he came back with 25 bottles
Of wine
The customs guy said
That is too much
He said but I can’t drink them all
And gave him 5 bottles
Problem solved
And VCQ laughed and laughed
As the wine washed over us
And we became drunk
With his endless stories
From the mouth of VCQ
Just another night
In Saigon
Drinking the Night away
With the VCQ
Future VC
Saigon is filled with interesting characters
Filled with fascinating back stories
One could write hundreds of stories
About the people one encounters
In a nail shop
That caters to mostly Korean visitors
We met a boy of 8 years old
Who was a natural born hustler
He had wonderful English
Wonderful French
And even some Korean
And he wanted to show us around
He spoke English
Without an accent
In an upper class British style
As if he were born to the manor
How and why he learned
English so well
Would be an interesting story
His Mother was also
An interesting character
Been running the store
For five years
Amused it had become the Korean
To Go place
In Saigon
Just one of those mysterious things
They had another shop nearby
A smoothie place
And he offered to guide us there
But were in a hurry
As we left
I thought to myself
Here is a future VCQ
The fascinating character
That had wined and dined us
Late into the night
Beguiling us with his tales
From his time in the VC
Wonder what this future VCQ
Will tell his future friends
About his past life
Living in a beauty saloon?
Apr 3, 2019
Apr 3, 2019 at 1:35 AM UTC
A protest vote?° What the hell?
It really makes no sense.
Young voters can protest, but
It's at their own expense.
A protest vote? Trump over Biden
To shake up the status quo?
That's like shooting oneself in the foot:
Not voting for Joe.
A protest vote? What exactly
Are they trying to prove?
That putting Trump in the White House again
Is an appropriate move?
A protest vote? They'd rather have
A con man and a fake--
A man who caters to Putin when
So much is at stake?
A protest vote? As though Trump has
THEIR interests at heart?
To vote in an egomaniac
Wouldn't be very smart.
A protest vote? They'll find out
If off to the right they swerve,
That come November they will get
The turmoil that they deserve.
-by Bob B (3-23-24)
°Based on reports of protest votes in the primaries
Mar 23, 2024
Mar 23, 2024 at 11:24 AM UTC