"cheekiness" poems
We are the kids – beautiful blank canvasses ready to receive the joy of life.
We are the kids – hope & love consuming our souls, grasping at the shiny & new.
We are the kids who played in the fields and danced in the sun.
We are the kids with innocence in our hearts and a cheekiness in our soul.
We are the kids who believed in a benevolent God and the generous teachings of Jesus.
We are the kids whose imagination was an infinite resource - bounteous, diverse and effervescent.
We are the kids who reveled in the fancy, the nonsensical, the romantic and the wild.
We are the kids that couldn’t wait to grow up,
We are the kids who believed in our future.
We are the kids who never saw it coming.
We are the kids who lost our innocence as soon we walked through the big school gates for the 1st time.
We are the kids who were told to “think of your future” and to suppress creativity.
We are the kids who were forced to grow up very quickly.
We are the kids who didn’t know we were “different” but there were plenty out there who did.
We are the kids who had to pretend to be what “they” wanted us to be just to survive.
We are the kids who came home with scars every day – both physical and emotional
We are the kids who endured the obscene words of Neanderthal hate every single day.
We are the kids who were screamed at by our parents to fight back even when we really didn’t have the capability to do so.
We are the kids who were told crying was a sign of weakness.
We are the kids whose so-called classmates stayed silent when they did their worst.
We are the kids where the school gates were no barrier to their lynching.
We are the kids who turned quickly from being wide-eyed & hopeful to being terrified & desolate.
We are the kids who dreaded every single weekday from first term to last.
We are the kids who fruitlessly prayed to a God who had deserted them.
We are the kids taught by teachers who were found wanting.
We are the kids who suffocated in sheer hate.
We are the kids who took our own lives or at least tried to.
We are the kids who self-harmed.
We are the kids who sometimes never came home.
We are the kids who survived but never really left the school yard behind
We are the kids.
Your kids.
June 11, 2018.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 6:10 PM UTC
My ankle is naughty
yet I know not how to deal with it
I guess I'll leave it to its cheekiness
and hope it doesn't revolt
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 9:15 AM UTC
At night, my dreams are wrapped around you.
Silken sheets,
Sweat,
Sweetly sworn promises.
When I wake,
I seek a reasonable existence,
And you are nowhere to be found.
Lover, I know your hiding ways.
Your solitary existence can never include me.
And I know my dancing dreams can make no sense
In your tragic, melancholy world.
Still, I dream this silken, sweaty dream,
Where your lonely tears warm my cheeks,
And my cheekiness tears into your loneliness.
I pray this prayer:
That we will both wake up before it is too late.
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 5:50 PM UTC
This is a special typhoon of sorts.
It revolves and turns;
A windy conch-shell blowing in a
Random, disorderly manner.
The patrons that travel in them
Are enviable. Unclothed and unashamed,
They are useless to be reminded.
They remain oblivious throughout this
Journey, that demands so little out of them.
They get a whole world of ***** love in return.
Yes, it is love, the sick purity of it
Makes them feverish. It’s like being
In the middle of a tornado of
Hot-coal, with no control of the temperature.
It is quite a traffic in there, with hordes of
Turned-on traffic looming together
With the cheekiness of rotations.
Clockwise, counter-clockwise,
Either way, they look comfortable being
In their own skin.
This twister are more like telephone cords.
Not so black, but with the same
Terrible, manic curls, each concocting
Its own love story. The lovers are wind-bathed
And pampered. The flawlessness that resides
In their hair, faces, bodies! They are so white,
They’re almost perfect. It is so pure, so magical
In there, it is heaven!
If only the wind lasts forever
In this eternal sea of people,
The world would start
To utter more sense.
Shalini Nayar
© 2002
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 8:27 AM UTC
I like the way you giggle when we talk
When you slip your hands into mine through our walks
The blush on your face
The cheekiness in your smile
They way you pull me closer
Your emerald eyes meeting mine
I like the way you tickle me
Making me laugh till it hurts
The tears rolling down my eyes
A smile that's a gift of your love
I like the way you make my heart feel
Younger, livelier, skipping a beat
I love your embrace
That feels like home
Your stoic gaze
That becomes my sanctuary
But most of all
I love the smell of your skin against mine
The way you slowly arouse my senses
As our souls entwine...
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 12:29 AM UTC
Would you listen to me if i sang the same words in different melodies
or if sang the same melody and different melodies?
Would you care if i told you about how you influence me?
I have a riff stuck in my head, care to write a song out of it?
It's all you,
with your cheekiness,bluntness and rage.
It's all me,
with my anger,awkwardness and determination.
Would you care to sit beside me and look at the stars?
Would you care if I told you about my past?
You wouldn't.
You don't even exist.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 1:10 PM UTC
If putsch comes to shove,
aye ain't no doggone fraidy cat
nor chicken little
fearing coup d'état,
yours truly simply
risk averse, and more exact,
he stays sequestered
within these four walls,
cuz tis safest inside this flat
always... mein kampf,
I remember when fertilization begat
after nine months in utero...
ah dat womb dar full habitat
i.e. ****** cradled humanity, whereat
teeming bajillions primates
peopling planet Earth
couples made lovey dovey after spat
(which species among
other flotsam and jetsam),
got shot out (think) analogous
muzzle loaded gat
excellent marksman aimed
then squirted packed heat hot
as summer temperature
gets within Gujarat
recorded courtesy, thee
oldest functioning thermostat,
albeit microcosmic primordial vat
testy sea men don
(May comb hairy
gah great again) conical hat.
I surmise proto humans
especially storied hall
(conjured in Peer Gynt
by Edvard Grieg
of mountain king)
trumpeted, tooted thwacked,
and announced presence
courtesy posterior primal mating call,
which vibrant cheekiness heard all
around the mulberry bush to Gaul
hmm... maybe e'en hot air
inspired Marc Chagall,
while sitting atop porcelain throne,
nonetheless scandalous
****** blasts methinks help explain fall
of Rome, whereby noxious
generated silent but deadly nauseating
noisome pall mall
felled friend and foe alike
analogous on minuscule
scale to Chernobyl
level 7 nuclear accident
also linkedin, when
Polar Vortex doth stall
across avast swath planet Earth
forcing quick thinkers to marshall,
what (mathers) matters
such as... antique pinball
machines worth a mint,
a ***** to install.
Nov 25, 2019
Nov 25, 2019 at 5:30 PM UTC
I’ve always been quite lonely, never been a ‘people person’,
Quite comfy in my own self pity, with my wall up, imprisoned.
Always had a chip, and hole for good measure,
Never been happy so only God knew pleasure.
But there was this one man, who took me under his wing,
Looked deep into my heart and knew he could do something.
You see, he offered a gift, a tiny little staffy pup,
He said I should care for her, and with her share my love.
And so I took her from him and stared deep into her eyes
Right then I named her Zena, and a bond was hers and mine.
She has never left my side and will not do so by choice
Not only does she listen but I’m sure I hear her voice.
A voice which helps me focus, this here is a new beginning.
Now, at last, I have another reason for living
It seems she gives me reason, to be grown up and safe.
To be more responsible and to pay rent for my place.
To get up each morning and take her for a run,
To make sure we have shopping in and always have fun.
I make sure she is disciplined, clean and well behaved.
That’s a mum all in itself , from that I was depraved.
I suffer with bipolar and this she seems to know,
She licks the healing wounds and nuzzles me with her nose.
She licks the tears from my face, and she lays across my lap.
Shows me her belly hoping for a good scratch,
She knows this makes me smile, the cheekiness the catch.
She is a big girl 5 stone to be exact.
Harmless yet loyal, though only fools would test that fact!
She is beautiful and powerful and I’m honoured to be her mum,
I owe more than my life to my princess, for what she’s helped me become.
I was at rock bottom, on the verge of suicide
And then along came Zena, who simply looked into my eyes.
Dedea
27th April 17
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 6:50 PM UTC
I comport myself with quiet pridefulness,
plus intellectual whimsy
aware that "FAKE" pretentiousness,
could be mistaken foreign egotistical vitae
furthering, feathering and figuratively
undermining jestingly,
poetically, and zealously
oozing, gushing, bubbling over
with faux snobbish suave re:
pulse sieve literary fatuous
haughtiness, and ludicrous narcissistic pre
ning all the while chuckling to me
self, and indifferent if
some anonymous browser
with Dutchman's breeches rolled up
upon cresting wave over Zyder Zee
disparages mine harmless
badinage, hence if ye
might qualify as such nitpicker,
who doth cavil - dee
crying wading thru
quagmire of verbiage,
a gentle reply to thee
might be more wise to turn energy
toward, how in many another country
the village people haint so free
spouting, sporting, and spoiling,
vis a vis intellectual sparring
(albeit innocent) black
barbs hatch chee
ving, and raising urgent
attention against he
(who **** squelching
constitutional rights) re:
pressing, rescinding, reviling,
et cetera access toward key
underpinnings within these fifty
constituent United States
of America beckon alacrity
for obliging citizens across
all points of the compass to alee
v8 his indiscriminate flee
sing, sans bedrock nation could tee
tear on the brink of calamity,
which political plug quite inadequate
to staunch hemorrhaging, viz upending
many a sacred liberty,
and foo to you reprimanding
against any agree
gee us objection to pen about polly lee
ticks and/or religion!
Dec 31, 2018
Dec 31, 2018 at 2:45 PM UTC