"cheaply" poems
The burning flowers underline the sunset and
Dash before the fire (k)night catches them.
Ripe berries cheaply
tremble
but hopefully their vitality won't burst the pulp pulsating
beneath.
Crumbling flowers
crumb the floor
And Prisms of catching silver refract rose quartz and petal
and crimson
dust.
Bejewelled in Scarlet,
the air,
as the (k)night approaches, grows colder,
Unsure of whether he will bring
solace or strife.
In his chariot
he flies faster than the bees which buzzed around the fruit flutes
in the morning and among the trumpeting bluebells.
Stars fleck the (k)night
like freckles
and the milky ways resins stain his spouting steams lovely.
The (k)nights kind onyx reaches his crescendo and the floating moon danced drowsily through the cloud's spiralled tendrils
Which diminish as dawn
approaches
so their Tentilcles
droop to crinkled tissue paper sheathed in pink.
And so the (k)night
rides on into
The frivolous sunrise.
The lowing, glossy calves
in sage beside the ***** fields
cast a beloved ambience
As though
we are safe
in the knowledge
that the sky will remain
forever
topaz and the leaves
forever emerald.
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 4:05 AM UTC
kindness eats
least of all we defeat our enemies cheaply
steep the leaves in hot water gently
keep enemies close to you and weapons even closer
our friends are like sunbeams
I jump in the water
your sun-burned back is peeling
out loud you remind me
not to bend down too quickly
she hounds me with her questions
lessons on arithmetic
I’m so sick of it
histrionics and sonic lectures
his tricks are onto it
moronic manic accidents
red lions with long necks
deflect authority and wager on credit
the outcomes are certain
all will fade away indefinitely
understand this and measure your life
by breaths and not complexity
densities are hiding in visionary lightning
finding new faculties every moment
we are swift in our limitless
capacity for adaptation
a refulgent emulsion
immersed in water and poetry
under the highest authority
or just higher scrutiny
wrapped in a paranoid blanket
of heightened security
all is being watched right now
as judges redefine your beauty
if you are truly interested
in finding happiness
you must understand
that all magic is abraxas
and satisfaction unceasingly attacks this
as we collapse upon the backs
of ecstatic languages....
Oct 24, 2017
Oct 24, 2017 at 12:49 PM UTC
I neglect my friends
To what ends?
I get lost in desire
Seeking pu...
I'm ashamed to say it
That I seek woman for sexuality
I claim to be so clear
So understanding
But I let desire rob me of my freedom
I seek physical beauty plain and simple
I once followed a girl on Twitter named Dimple
Because she had a pretty picture
What kind of sick man am I
That I claim spiritual guidance
And rob my knowledge by inviting
Torrents of ignorance.
No more.
Desire is my tool
Not my master
No longer ***** is what I'm after
Rather beauty
True beauty not plastered
Nor smeared, nor cheaply perfumed
True beauty of mine
Not a girl's physique
But mine, and all that I keep
All that I save, while I wait for her
I will give it to you, and to him
And to all the children who sing
Nothing of me is off-limits now
I give to the world what I am
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 6:54 AM UTC
Still running, never ceasing, she screams silently.
the breath escapes as a wisp.
Remembering the past command:
Take the demon carefully,
his sting is heavily laden with sweet
addiction.
*** soaks through the front of her gown
and the bloodied fabrics drain rusty shades
into the tepid moon water
she spilled before.
Break her chains
she will not thank you
she will despise her freedom and lay waste to paradise
with her filthy torn wings.
Let her know of her once-natural beauty
she will hiss in derision
that she is not still stunning as the rose.
BLEED, child.
You of all creatures were fantastic in visage
You have put to waste the precious fragility of your frame
Your yellowing teeth speak volumes
your mouth should stay sealed.
We have no use for ingrate angels
that roll in the muck
cheaply selling ******* and chemical highs.
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 1:58 PM UTC
There is magic in live theatre
It can't be understood
For even watching a bad play
Is really something good
The footlights and the curtains
The sound of actors on the boards
Of orchestras and the sound effects
Of cheaply painted swords
The theatre is a special place
It excites me to no end
It's a long lost brother coming home
It's a warm and welcome friend
Sitting in a theatre
Waiting for the overture
Is an illness I suffer happily
And one for which I wish no cure
Good theatre is transporting
Takes you where the actor lives
You sense it in the speeches
That every actor gives
You get lost in what's going on
You feel hurt and you feel pain
And when you get another chance
You splurge and go again
Live theater is hypnotic
It's a world that stands alone
It's a place inside your being
You learn how love is shown
It's where you listen to great music
Played by artists never seen
Where you hear the actor's heartbeat
Unlike on the silver screen
Live theatre is true magic
I can't tell you how I feel
when I see a live performance
I know exactly what is real
The lights are slowly dimming
I hear them closing the lobby doors
Shhhhh....the orchestra is ready
Here comes the overture.....
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 11:33 PM UTC
You
A diamond
Cheaply sold
Costume jewellery
Adorning glimmering shimmering
Another neck, another ear to hang, to grasp
Tempting, flaunting, translucently haunting
I wonder still that he doesn’t question
Your advertised diamond heart
You define your worth
Don’t let him know
Don’t show
You are
fake
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 8:19 AM UTC
In the twilight night
That casts shadows to the day
The cold creeps at the October edges of my single pane windows,
And seeps into my cheaply heated home with newspaper insulation
It catches my toes, and walks up my white hands and grabs my face and nose
The cold grasps firm and goes deep
And in the chilly dieing light
I found a picture of you laughing, tucked into a book I was going to give you
Suddenly I am dragged back to the moment when I fell in love with your soft native eyes.
And your freckled cheeks drawn in an eternal smile
I loved your black hair and your carefree way
The cold is not cold enough for this,
I open a window and the back door.
I finish my drink to the whiskey sharp bottom,
I cast off my blanket and sit as wind comes in.
The cold is not yet cold enough
I add ice and ***** to my glass
Hoping for Russian absolution
But in the freezing flesh core of my sad meat suit,
As the temperature drops to negative numbers
My stupid heart still beats for you
And the cold is not cold enough for this.
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 12:57 AM UTC
Freedom is premium priced,
At the casino of the world nations throw the dice,
The tables are rigged by the fat rats and mice,
Girls in curvaceous miniskirts on poles entice,
***** laced drinks and cancer sticks merrily fleece,
Fizzy burgers are served filled with crucified cheese,
Layers of salt and blood and veins congealing with grease
Are the fillings inside the consumed meat,
Come to the sale of the century and let your life be diseased,
Take whatever you want and still you will never be pleased,
Remember, one day all will be held to account, so all evil immediately cease,
Do not make the mistake to ********** the legend of glorious Hercules
Or pollute and sell the message of almighty God so cheaply.
©Rangzeb Hussain
Apr 16, 2010
Apr 16, 2010 at 3:40 AM UTC
I want to sing love songs to you
And recite poetry all I can
But I must not and I won’t
Because you are a Republican.
I want to sit at the shore;
Watch the gulls and pelicans
But that isn’t going to happen
Because you are a Republican.
We could go out to a bar
And sing old favorite songs.
We could sing and dance
Our friends could sing along.
But that won’t happen for us
Because hope for it all I can
The bottom line to all of this
Is you are still a Republican.
If they took a twisted family tree
And put it into a cheaply built can
Then added some bile and lies
You’d have canned Republican.
You could open it and pour it
Away from good, decent Americans
Because we’ve had it hard enough.
We don’t need more Republicans.
There’s a brand of human mutant
Arises when times are better than
The starvation and degradation
When the nation went Republican.
These mutants make war with poor
And unemployed and dependent man;
Blame everyone else but themselves
Mutants mentioned here are Republicans.
I want to sing love songs
And recite poetry all I can
But I must not and I won’t
Because you are a Republican.
I want to sit at the shore;
Watch the gulls and pelicans
But that isn’t going to happen
Because you are a Republican.
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 10:21 PM UTC
Spending Nights cheaply,
television doesn't work,
rats or moths,
have chewed the wires,
now a black square,
sits quiet,
Monk like,
Enlightened,
reflecting me,
dust layer,
my plastic texas radio,
calmly,
oozes,
discharges,
Jazz,
my final cigarette,
silently waiting,
like the television,
like the *****
patiently watercoloring on red lipstick,
seducing not me,
but my lungs,
the ego.
And I fantasize being in an Italian cafe,
smoking,
with low eyes,
like a hill,
with a Gold hungry man
excavating for Fortune,
or bones of Glory,
and maybe a leaking pipe line,
dripping wisdom.
And a tall Italian goddess,
walks,
appears like a ****** magician,
into the cafe,
as the Italian Night,
dances ****
the stars like beauty marks,
and quaint street lamps illuminating,
sidewalk puddles,
like jewelry,
worn by an immortal belly dancing siren singer,
who lost her voice,
seducing Gods,
now mute,
cursed to ****** Man by her body.
And she sits down,
her legs dark like mud,
but glistens like the hot Sahara Desert,
and her scent,
is not of Cacti and Lizards,
but of Roses,
but of Rust Michigan,
over comes the roasting beans,
like a house burglar,
or a spider,
creeping up on its fly prey,
enters my nose,
and my recollection of beauty,
is warped,
simply by the way she lightly,
taps,
her fingers,
against her legs,
like a light drizzle,
on a tin shack roof,
after a century of drought.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 8:06 PM UTC
***** girl. godly beast.
I couldn't be
one of those
beautifuls
if I pleased.
tribal bones stained
with European empirico
I am black death disease,
just human trash
that learned to read
& I believe bootleg genius
is being
massively reproduced
more cheaply & as we speak
is being weakened
so as to be spoon fed
to the cool kids.
yknow they
couldn't do it
by themselves.
never sweated.
laughed instead
yes
I seen em
inchin to the edge
but
I didn't
do anything about it.
I kinda feel guilty
cause I didn't
do anything about it.
It's just a ****** up
awful sound,
a whole generation
hitting the ground
at once.
Man. it really
puts things in perspective.
kinda makes you wonder
what's coming next.
medicine medley
ineffectual
malady infectious
witch hunt etiquette,
I think in pictures
disney depictions of
apocalyptic ****
yet to be decrypted
I rip myself to pieces
every day.
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 5:36 AM UTC
The new Genre Tourist Punk
is sailing the nation.
Hawaiian shirts and white keds are lining up all around Orlando to see
up and thrifting bands like
Lobster trap,
Lighthouse tour and
Dogs welcome.
Founded in a Starbucks
by Toni and Dash,
two MECA grads one student loan away from selling out and getting involved in
the lighthouse painting business,
The Band: Lobster Trap
gave birth to a whole new genre.
TOURIST PUNK
Toni and Dash decided they needed to provide music that was expensive. niche.
Something unspeakably mundane.
With smash hits like
"This traffic is ********
And "My name still isn't Joe".
Lobster Trap is flying
up the American top 40
faster than you can say socks and sandals
Sales of "I HEART LOCATION" merch has skyrocketed with every launched tour.
Crowds of L.L. bean boots and visors are Moshing, breaking poloroid cameras over each others heads in a salmon rage.
old school punk fanatics were skeptical at middle aged middle class suits getting into their scene.
until it hit them that they could now throw punches
at every pedestrian who ever cut them off.
"Hi thirsty, I'm Dad." By Land of the Polite
Has been played more times in the last year then any taylor swift song.
Money once invested in college-bound middle class vacationlander spawn is being wisely spend on bands like "discount Polo",
and "Local Diner"
So listeners.
if you spend an obscene amount of money on travel fair, and over priced, cheaply made souvenirs;
Or Work in customer service thriving to see those leaf peepers choked out by their own ***** packs.
Do yourself a favor.
road trip into your local bullmoose
sporting your states name on your chest.
And Treat yourself to an exclusive new album
of TOURIST PUNK.
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 4:16 AM UTC
___FLUFF:___
_Frequently, I discover words with hidden meaning, shining like coins in a handful of fluff, apple seeds and other down-the-back-of-the-sofa leavings. Some are too precious to share and I secrete them away. Others I spend cheaply on rigged slot machine verbiage. Mostly they sit waiting to be written usefully. Adding insight, lending moment to my day._
§
___NONSENSE:___
_Foraging amongst the dahlias
For Cinderella’s lost slipper,
I am Barbie magic made manifest,
I am Germaine (sodding) Greer’s antifem,
I am Super Mum with gumboots on._
§
___ABSURDITY:___
_The best nonsense is always spoken in the middle of the afternoon while heading north on a train bound for a smallish beige town, and so it was that the occupants of second-class carriage BG1754 found themselves gripped by a kind of eloquent hysteria as they rattled around the final bend in the tracks before the steep descent to the weatherboard station at Claggy Peat._
Apr 3, 2021
Apr 3, 2021 at 3:51 AM UTC
Any slave that escape bring him back and torcher him.
Strange, but mostly true were slave masters mentality.
So it's amazing, we still, have these slave matters today.
Oh, I forgot, we call them business owners of professional teams.
Who?
Have dictated to their slaves?
I'm sorry players.
What required of them?
When the national anthem is played?
Oh, yes it's America.
And we have the first amendment as freedom of speech.
You BETTER stand during the playing of the national theme.
No choice!
Yes, your master has spoken.
You better listen?
Wait!
Do the players realize the power they posse?
Unions, years ago brought manufactures of product to a halt to settle deals.
Players, especially the National Football League African Americans can HALT any season from being played?
Power in numbers.
Who?
Would be hurt?
The masters of the slaves.
They business owners.
Many locked into deals with a various organization to make a profit.
Cities, the economy will suffer.
All those tax breaks that cities cheaply gave to get the team.
All those soda, food businesses that make money during athletic seasons.
Sure, you lose some fans than many are like fair weather friends.
When winning, they there.
When suffering you can't begin to see them.
In modern time, the slaves have the power.
Oh, my fault, the players has the strength.
And forget about threats from THIS president.
Years, ago.
He played the owner of a franchise in a sub-par league.P
Probably, still holding a grudge cause we see many present owners gathering up to him.
And, what if?
The NBA players throw ALL their support to their fellow group.
Heck, imagine the thunderstorm of losses.
Only ones safe is the baseball owners.
The odds of these players supporting them is slim.
And that based mainly on the racial hue.
So just think of the power that players got in the NFL/NBA?
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 8:42 AM UTC
Cheaply manufactured in India
Its fake marbled cover fakier than ever
But not as fakey as this assignment
“Grendl symbolizes existential…”
Cross out cross out crossoutcrossoutcrossout
“Grendl symbolizes…” my senior year
Nobody understands why I don’t want
To go to college, why I quit the band -
Grendl and I are both exiles, okay…?
Cross out cross out crossoutcrossoutcrossout
I love my fountain pen; its deep, dark lines
Just like me
Refuse to be MLA marginalized
“Grendl symbolizes…”
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 4:12 PM UTC
Scintillating depth paints the luxurious fabric
In a vista that drowns in
Its own sophistication
Thick, spicy flavor drips from the petals of
Soft indigo ink
Wetting the paper (that sweats with
Hard work and furrowed concentration,
Eyes do not waver
External cacophony mutes
The only tunes being the hymn
In the skilled artisan’s mind)
Art materializes into
Real beauty- an irrational, existing,
Hypnotizing magnificence,
A piece of pure worth, ready made-
To be sold cheaply in the local market.
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 6:02 AM UTC
OH, TOLERANCE!
Imagine a world filled with various attributes of tolerance
The somewhat cheaply expensive substance
Exuding from the spirit of acceptance
Giving the assurance of living and interaction
Oh, tolerance!
Imagine the impending disaster or menace
Evidence of living in this world without tolerance
If we could reminisce the possible chaos of its absence
Then acknowledge the need to seek for its protection
Oh, tolerance!
Imagine a city filled with the fragrance of tolerance
The acquiescence of human coexistence
The aura of the essence of our existence
In a city of unity and strength
Oh, tolerance!
Remedy for our shortcomings and ignorance
Enhancing strength and resilience
Giving us evidence and endurance
To forge ahead and be hopeful that we can make progress
Oh, tolerance!
Antidote to our offences and weaknesses
Exuberance and mistakes
The consciousness that you are with us
Gives us reason to accommodate all and sundry
Oh, tolerance!
You romance our ego
Showing us reasons that we are not perfect
The remembrance of your tenets
Increases our stimulus for acceptance and coexistence
Oh, tolerance!
Jul 25, 2019
Jul 25, 2019 at 6:16 PM UTC
irksome thoughts spin round the moment
and they flee to where iv fled to
and they tap out strange messages on my head
and they gather dust into piles
and the piles grow to hills with the
passing hours and changing landscapes of the heartstring
strings are for kittens to play with
chase round and round
she lay in the shade of an oak tree
by the roadside
in the dust hills
sipping her long island
and watching the road with languid eyes
leaf floats down and
unattached from the dream
she wanders
the dust hills wailing for lost loves not her own
and berating thouse resposible for every
slight ever felt
headlights bath the dust hills
as eighteen wheelers truck
the empire of america ever southward
into the cheaply painted tropical sun
she is bikini clad
and is forever clutching an ice cold drink
that eternaly leaves a smile on
her forever blemish free smile
in the ***** dark dust hills
i feel so alone here by her side
i want to run away
and sleep in a feild
with the ****** and the drunkard
with the apostles of night
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 9:25 AM UTC
Its time to tell
Its time to confess
Its time for my mom to not have to guess
I will break through
Ill let go of the blame
Its time for me to exit his game
I'll speak the truth
I'll share the pain
I'll stand with survivors
Honesty will reign
I didn't deserve this
I know this now
Hand in hand, justice we vow
Twelve year old girl
Whose world took a whirl
He touched her deeply
treated her cheaply
Ripped apart
She was so confused
But I'm here for her now
Inside she knew she was being abused
'It's natural. It's okay... I've done it before'
****** assault
She thought it was her fault
'It's gonna feel nice'
That's what he swore
The little girl opened the door
He was willing to give more
or take more
Three years passed by
Every day black and white
she still felt the guilt
she still couldn't fight
'I'll tell your granny, you whore'
Sick to the core
It followed her like it was her crime
Turned out all she needed was time
The little girl suited up in armour
She now has an army, an army of survivors.
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 9:38 AM UTC
My soul covet nay diamond and jasper,
Which can be stolen or lost altogether;
Neither seek you the fleeting treasures
Of the world with their misty pleasures.
My heart desire not cars nor mansions
Alone in this earth full of constant frictions;
Neither pant you after momentary majesty,
Rejoicing in an ebbing estate of excellency
For moths and worms shall consume apace
At death, this body, and its glamour face.
You cannot the devil confront with riches:
Job would have won cheaply his challenges.
But seek ye rather first the spiritual gifts--
Coveting earnestly heaven's endowments:
For life's purposes are by them established;
Without them dreams cannot be fulfilled.
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 2:31 AM UTC
My father made me a makeshift dollhouse
one year for Christmas.
It sits in my room now, having been untouched for years.
It's cheaply made from a recycled dresser's wood
The insides are bare, lacking furniture.
When it's obvious flaws are ignored
it's sort of perfect.
Like it's patheticness has some charm.
I can't help but think that it is the perfect metaphor
for my family.
Aug 3, 2010
Aug 3, 2010 at 1:08 PM UTC
Fever tickles your forebrain
Bad thoughts dribble down your nose
Like syrup off my fingertips
Coughing up cheaply made lies
And selling them for the price
Only minimum wage parasites can ****
The propaganda of self pity
Fogging up your vision
Like car windows stained with
Frustrated ********** (or *******
Sliding straight down your legs
Where your tongue is heavy
Too depressed to form a sentence
Yet thirsty enough to swallow
Thirteen million restless presents
Scrambling around
Clawing their way up the back
Of your throat
Where the sun sets pink
between your teeth
Aug 30, 2010
Aug 30, 2010 at 12:13 PM UTC
Though, if you ask her name, she says Elise,
Being plain Elizabeth, e'en let it pass,
And own that, if her aspirates take their ease,
She ever makes a point, in washing glass,
Handling the engine, turning taps for tots,
And countering change, and scorning what men say,
Of posing as a dove among the pots,
Nor often gives her dignity away.
Her head's a work of art, and, if her eyes
Be tired and ignorant, she has a waist;
Cheaply the Mode she shadows; and she tries
From penny novels to amend her taste;
And, having mopped the zinc for certain years,
And faced the gas, she fades and disappears.
1.8k
In the nightmare
we lose ourselves
not wishing to look in each other’s eyes
left versus right
only millionaires and billionaires can afford to fight
male versus female
transphobic
Bigoted
drop the hate to relate
life sold cheaply over internet wars
our nation
a nation of locked doors
and hate driven speaking drivel
People
I love you all but your minds locked into
Facebook culture wars
media ******
ratings soar
go viral be the virus
or inspire us
it’s your choice
war is afforded to the rich
if your poor dig your grave or ditch.
May 10, 2022
May 10, 2022 at 5:00 AM UTC