"cheep" poems
The world farmers day
We are celebrating valentine and friendship day
It is the time to celebrate world farmers day
farmer o farmer you are the great worrier
you feed the world
you make the world better and you are the great !
Today it’s the time to honor our farmers
It the time to say jai jawan jai kissan
It’s the time give honor to our farmer
Who work for us to get better food .
Today nobody wants to be farmer
Because farmer job people fills cheep
But we have to under stand
Without farmer we cannot live ,
Farmer o farmer you make the world better
You work under the open sky
Today is the time for celebrate world farmers day .
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 10:11 AM UTC
When I see you
I tend to smile
Not all day
But for a while
I watch you as you turn around
I remember every single sound
I watch you as you look at me
That’s when I see your beauty
I start to frown when you look away
I guess away is where you’ll stay
I go into a dreamy gaze
In my dream I was in a maze
Having you would be my prize
If I get you is a surprise
Right, left, forward and back
Trying to trace my every track
Boundary here boundary there
Boundaries located everywhere!!!
I touch the side I touch the ground
I try to locate every sound
I hear the birds start to cheep
I only hear one other peep
“Help me, Help me” I hear ahead
“Help me, help me if you can.”
I knew it was her I could only tell
It wasn’t the place nor the smell
It was the sense of my crush in fear
It was a cry only my love can hear
I try my best I sprint ahead
If I was not with you I might as well be dead
I turn the corner and I see
The brightness of her beauty
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 6:05 PM UTC
Tail turned to red sunset on a juniper crown a lone magpie cawks.
Mad at Oryoki in the shrine-room -- Thistles blossomed late afternoon.
Put on my shirt and took it off in the sun walking the path to lunch.
A dandelion seed floats above the marsh grass with the mosquitos.
At 4 A.M. the two middleaged men sleeping together holding hands.
In the half-light of dawn a few birds warble under the Pleiades.
Sky reddens behind fir trees, larks twitter, sparrows cheep cheep cheep
cheep cheep.
July 1983
Caught shoplifting ran out the department store at sunrise and woke up.
August 1983
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Charlie the gnome needed a home
and so he looked around,
the garden shed too big he said
and too high off the ground.
The bar b que would never do
the ash would make me sneeze,
so on I go look high look low
in and around the trees.
The bird box white would be too tight
with chicks that chirp and cheep,
and constant song the whole day long
I'd never get to sleep.
The kennels large but then there's Sarge
and all his smelly toys,
plus after dark he likes to bark
and make a lot of noise.
The house I found is out of bound
too many folk in there,
so I'll stay out and look about
as I don't like to share.
A wooden crate there by the gate
would make a perfect home,
it's not too small or wide nor tall
it's just right for this gnome.
I need a door and windows four
some carpet and a bed,
a rocking chair would look good there
or maybe there instead.
Yes this is fine and it's all mine
with roses all around,
the place it seems straight from my dreams
is what I think I've found.
Charlie the gnome no more will roam
his house is warm and bright,
with flower beds of blues and reds
and picket fence of white.
A wooden crate down by the gate
Mar 6, 2012
Mar 6, 2012 at 7:10 PM UTC
Soft sweet meadow
radiating its breath of life;
sounding its serenity
in echoes of the mind's eye
Living in this flat land
lay plush
in wild, multicolored-flowery-pockets in greenery
blankets "Sweet Meadow" with fresh quickened
fragrance
And by our bedroom window
with a summer night's soft evening breeze
mellow cheeeping can be heard from way way down below
seemingly luring us to...
.. "OPEN WIDER THE WINDOW...
...AND LISTEN!!
Chant dear chorus
as violinist in "Cricket Suits"
join this cantor
that swings with rhythm
with wheezing sounding bugs, AH HUMMING!!
and an intermission of
Cha Cheep, Cha Cheep
that breaks the nocturnal entomological singing
with ephemeral intermissions
Be bewitched by brillance as
tunes fly and z i n g
their little
whistle
songs so sweet a talent
unseen
little bugs sweetly sing
their little
tale of talent
in "Soft Sweet Meadow"
Comforted by vibrating frequencies
the air is electrical clasping
our good-inner child
as this meadow
unfolds its truth
being beneficial
to us all
We journey not too far
for this field draws us
to its delightful *****
We irresistibly suckle on its daytime scenic eye-filling foliage
later eliciting dreams made of peaceful slumber
Cha Cheep, Cha Cheep and good night...
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 10:29 AM UTC
It seems that these days nothing is real
The world around me shimmers artificially
Women will have procedures done to fit into the world of plastic
Men find it more simple to use cheep tricks to get a night of love
People on the street dress to make the illusion of perfection
Little girls stuff their bra's and paint on geisha faces pretending to be grown up
The sad truth is that,
Nobody is genuine anymore
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 5:40 PM UTC
Satan's Hotel
The waiting land of better days
just faded away just like that
the fields of righteousness are few
the fields lie in darkness
after the flame died away
Loneliness and darkness filled the soul
Drugs and cheep woman and men
That are selling their souls
Life had no meaning to them you could
see it in their zombie eyes
they live in Satan's hotel
the coldness of their souls is out to take
another young life into drug world
understanding the ways of the Life of
Darkness and gloom
Kids are walking around
thinking they are doing just fine
Just to find their
Mommy and daddy's killing of there
Souls to another blow
of the drug pip
oh, just look at their lives
look what they have done
they are walkers of the night
words has been spoken
Will **** one's life
If you would walk by
Satan's hotel you could feel the control of
the lost souls lost in the eternal blackness
never to be seen again.
something new has come
into another life
taking the demons in their mind
and a pipe in their hand
the young and the old under
the control of Satan's world
Parents looking all over town
wondering how to find their kid
then they hear there
Kids learned a new trick
for the angel of death
has arrived in that
cold sad lonely night
when another has taken a life
broken down of the drug world
Satan's world
when you check in to Satan's Hotel
the way that they act
is no way of coming back
to the way of better days ,
You can see the evil
in there eyes's an urge to ****
the desire is a thrill
to **** the good in another Soul
once upon a time
they had Jehovah in their lives
walked in the light
all of that had changed
when they said goodbye
and they let Satan's
in their lives by taking the drug pipe
Dark angel is all over
the place hunting for new souls
to take into their control
the broke word
that killed dreams of the young and
the old nobody there forgave sins
they just keep making them
The Drug fights take a blood bath of the knife
Behind the walls you can hear it all
The cry's of the night when
a baby cries to be fed why it's
Mommy is out doing what she knows best
So now the baby's grow up
to be the victim of prostitution
Of preconception and true damnation,
the young minds
Reaching out into a world
that is lost every time ,
They can no longer see
the twisting emotions that they live in
they will longing for
the person they once used to know
But that was long ago
Know they live in Satan's world.
Poetic Lilly Judy Emery (c)
Nov 12, 2016
Nov 12, 2016 at 9:18 PM UTC
When you decide to wash the car, make sure of your stability
Don't lose your footing, or any form of your own credibility
Some driveways are a dangerous place, they can be a liability
Knees get grazed through carelessness, but that's your responsibility
You've slipped down the embankment, you wasn't banking on a stumble
Coming into contact with the concrete, giving you good cause to grumble
Is it possible that your garden, has got loose parts that crumble
Or was it due to clumsiness, that made you fall and tumble
Water splashing on the car, but it wasn't that translucent
You ended up with ****** knees, from your unruly movement
Bucket dropping did not help, with your clean car improvement
I can't say that your actions, didn't cause us some amusement
We had a laugh at your expense, because your knees got scuffed
Spilling water on the path, is when your legs we're stuffed
You didn't look too happy, so I guess you wasn't chuffed
Because you fell, it'll be some time before the car gets buffed
One thing I will mention, we would not have seen you fall
If you didn't have that camera, that you wanted to install
But it has served it's purpose, cos we have seen it all
You was not completely focused, and you wasn't on the ball
Security has now been viewed, splashed water not in stealth
Is it worth the hassle, when you clean the car yourself
You don't want to trip and fall, and damage your leg health
Take it to the car wash, cos it doesn't cost much wealth
Your unfortunate leg scrapping, we hope it was not deep
But we nearly ****** ourselves, when you fell in a heap
We laughed at your misfortune, it almost made us weep
Cleaning cars come at a price, when it's done on the cheep
Some Ideas are valid, and most of them go far
Set backs are not wanted, make sure that your on par
Be aware of your surroundings, if your washing the car
Trips around the garden could result, in a blooded scar
Dec 11, 2018
Dec 11, 2018 at 8:41 AM UTC
O Swallow, Swallow, flying, flying South,
Fly to her, and fall upon her gilded eaves,
And tell her, tell her, what I tell to thee.
O tell her, Swallow, thou that knowest each,
That bright and fierce and fickle is the South,
And dark and true and tender is the North.
O Swallow, Swallow, if I could follow, and light
Upon her lattice, I would pipe and trill,
And cheep and twitter twenty million loves.
O were I thou that she might take me in,
And lay me on her ***** and her heart
Would rock the snowy cradle till I died.
Why lingereth she to clothe her heart with love,
Delaying as the tender ash delays
To clothe herself, when all the woods are green?
O tell her, Swallow, that thy brood is flown:
Say to her, I do but wanton in the South,
But in the North long since my nest is made.
O tell her, brief is life but love is long,
And brief the sun of summer in the North,
And brief the moon of beauty in the South.
O Swallow, flying from the golden woods,
Fly to her, and pipe and woo her, and make her mine,
And tell her, tell her, that I follow thee.
1.8k
The room was clouded with wisps of smoke, the smell of cheep tobacco mixing with the foul fetter of Budweiser's.
Heavy boots crowded the compact living room, some pacing on the floor, others resting on stools, and one certain pair standing on the couch. As the evening waned, their owners smoked and drank and composed.
The fan droned on above the huddle of men, attempting to counter-act the thick, humid air and suffocating clouds of smoke.
Likewise, the window hung open, a slight breeze entering in, attempting to remind the men that outside there was spring. However, not even the sweet smell of growing grass and greening pine trees could awaken the thinking mass of musicians.
Under the soft whirring of the fan hummed a gentle strum of acoustic guitars, two were in sync, one was free to do what he pleased.
At first the song was melancholy, an almost sickening minor protruding through the chords.
However, the two guitars which played this mournful tune were soon over-ruled by the lone guitar, this guitar introducing an almost ****** tune, sweet with lively colors, walks in the park; moody with aromatic evenings spent in wild-flower fields and peaceful nights sitting by the river, fishing and playing Texas Hold'em for pennies.
This strum of chords soon awakened the other musicians and as their ears perked up to the sound their eyes fell upon the man, the man with the boots that stood on the couch.
As the groups' gaze circled onto the man, he finished with a lulling C sharp minor and pulled the smoldering cigarette from his mouth, cocking his head towards the men and smirking ever so slightly as he proclaimed in his proud, deep, southern accent, an eyebrow raising to mark their heedfulness, "And there, gentlemen, is true music."
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 12:02 PM UTC
THE CHICK in the egg picks at the shell, cracks open one oval world, and enters another oval world.
"Cheep ... cheep ... cheep" is the salutation of the newcomer, the emigrant, the casual at the gates of the new world.
"Cheep ... cheep" ... from oval to oval, sunset to sunset, star to star.
It is at the door of this house, this teeny weeny eggshell exit, it is here men say a riddle and jeer each other: who are you? where do you go from here?
(In the academies many books, at the circus many sacks of peanuts, at the club rooms many cigar butts.)
"Cheep ... cheep" ... from oval to oval, sunset to sunset, star to star.
1.7k
When one is in desperate need of sleep
With their minds churning out thoughts of upmost irrelevance
She is told, to simply count the sheep
If only the Sandman would possess such benevolence
I want only to collapse into a dreary heap
When one is desperate need of sleep
She is told, to simply count the sheep
In the waking hour of dawn, weary from Sandman's malevolence
Inexplicable panic begins to seep
With their minds churning out thoughts of upmost irrelevance
Sunshine caresses the houses steep
If only the Sandman would possess such benevolence
The neighborhood yawns, the birds begin to cheep
Night refuses an acquiescence
When one is in desperate need of sleep
I wish for once, Night and I will come to a complacence
Languid to the point where I will weep
She is told, to simply count the sheep
One wants a gloaming of reposing divulgence
With their minds churning out thoughts of upmost irrelevance
When one is in desperate need of sleep
She is told, to simply count the sheep.
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 11:47 PM UTC
Soft-littered is the new-year’s lambing fold,
And in the hollowed haystack at its side
The shepherd lies o’ night now, wakeful-eyed
At the ewes’ travailing call through the dark cold.
The young rooks cheep ’mid the thick caw o’ the old:
And near unpeopled stream-sides, on the ground,
By her Spring cry the moorhen’s nest is found,
Where the drained flood-lands flaunt their marigold.
Chill are the gusts to which the pastures cower,
And chill the current where the young reeds stand
As green and close as the young wheat on land
Yet here the cuckoo and cuckoo-flower
Plight to the heart Spring’s perfect imminent hour
Whose breath shall soothe you like your dear one’s hand.
1.7k
On the wheels, I whirl, I spin, I move
Clouds too whirl, then darkness spins
A lightning bolt, then the deafening sound,
Then it pours,
N the fire flies go dim
I dont amble, I dont whisk
Opening my hand, gawking above, I dont decline
Three winks! Drenched n detached from the me wrenching myself,
I wheel as "The Lance Armstrong"
Heavy pours invite a stroll
Cats and Dogs pouring down dismay Rats, ROFL!
Oust as Prince Zuko, I stroll
Surrendering myself to the Zephyr
Same trail but with ****** looks
Hypnotic green, drenched, raise me to the Oblivion
Shimmering in the distant are two dim lights
N I ***** like " The Supertramp"
Beginning of the ultimate inception, I touch
Extending my arms to the cries of sky
Dont know the destination of this alley
Trying to think what 'm anticipating
Though without any charge on my shoulders
Flickering in the near distant are two lights
I hike as " The Aron"
'm I tears, I dont know
Even the silence has sulked
Nothing's in my head
Green n Brown, Pink n Purple hues
Repose the folioles, within
Distant lights are passing by now
I stride as " The me"
To the Aisle,
where birds peep, cheep, chirp, quaver, tweet n warble
From the stroll to the stride
's a short walk of hues n blues
The fringes have passed by
Arena's clear n so 'm I.
Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 7:10 PM UTC
THE WIND stops, the wind begins.
The wind says stop, begin.
A sea shovel scrapes the sand floor.
The shovel changes, the floor changes.
The sandpipers, maybe they know.
Maybe a three-pointed foot can tell.
Maybe the fog moon they fly to, guesses.
The sandpipers cheep "Here" and get away.
Five of them fly and keep together flying.
Night hair of some sea woman
Curls on the sand when the sea leaves
The salt tide without a good-by.
Boxes on the beach are empty.
Shake 'em and the nails loosen.
They have been somewhere.
1.4k
From the Songs of the Arcturians
In an Octopuses Garden
On the edge of the Luna Sea
Turquoise and aquamarine hues
Chasing away the blues
Synesthesia is complete
The monkey goes cheep, cheep, cheep
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 11:28 AM UTC
I bought some leather pants today
pleather, to be exact
they were cheep, but what I wanted
They fit tight on my legs and loose on my hips
they cling to my nonexistent ****
and make me feel **** for the first time in my life
and somehow they make me feel rebellious
and less invisible
If I wear them to school tomorrow will they all stare?
I hope so
I need someone to notice me
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 8:24 PM UTC
cheep paint chipping from your nails
makes shapes like animals
reminding us why were here
birds on telephone wires
make silhouette in your windows
create create destroy
create destroy create
oil paintings painted from memory's
that never really happened
because when you draw from what you know
you find depth you never knew existed
Aug 26, 2011
Aug 26, 2011 at 4:38 PM UTC
i want to scream you through my mouth.
i don't have to exist any longer, as sun
shine or stretched clothing that doesn't
fit any longer, the shirts in your drawer,
the scarves fumbled with and discarded
underneath the stairs of a community c
ollege. if you want this, would you tell m
e. i don't have to step outside this door,
not once or twice without you. because,
of course, there are better things. i don
't think i make any more sense than pre
tty birds that cheep unicorn songs, and
grow shelters for their green-houses. i
could write you a song, if you'd like.
when the sun shines for the second tim
e, i'll let you know. right now the clouds
are labelled grey, and drawing islands i
n the discovering sand does not remedy
seasonal blues unaffected by the medic
ation of your smile and racing for play-g
round swings that cut up my thighs any
way. if i could put you on repeat, i woul
d, but life ain't youtube, and people ain
't paintings you can put in a frame and
hang on the wall, they ain't songs you
can listen to until you go cross-eyed wi
th giddiness. i'm not new anymore, i'm
words i've already written, places i've
already been, i am people unfamiliar b
ecause i've talked to them for so long.
Dec 7, 2010
Dec 7, 2010 at 11:39 AM UTC
i'm drinking
out of
the bottle
on a tuesday
and i have
to ****
but i'm
glued to
this chair
and the keys
are glued
to my fingertips.
the room smells
like cheep wine
and fresh
duvets
i can't seem
to leave
but i always
find a way to
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 12:25 AM UTC
Sweet life! how lovely to be here
And feel the soft sea-laden breeze
Strike my flushed face, the spruce's fair
Free limbs to see, the lesser trees'
Bare hands to touch, the sparrow's cheep
To heed, and watch his nimble flight
Above the short brown grass asleep.
Love glorious in his friendly might,
Music that every heart could bless,
And thoughts of life serene, divine,
Beyond my power to express,
Crowd round this lifted heart of mine!
But oh! to leave this paradise
For the city's ***** basement room,
Where, beauty hidden from the eyes,
A table, bed, bureau, and broom
In corner set, two crippled chairs
All covered up with dust and grim
With hideousness and scars of years,
And gaslight burning weird and dim,
Will welcome me . . . And yet, and yet
This very wind, the winter birds
The glory of the soft sunset,
Come there to me in words.
1.1k
I would rather be single
on Valentines day than be
the object of your obsession
I would rather be heckled
by the critics in the comedy club
that is my love life, than
hear the venom in your voice
through the phone at 3 am
I would rather never get laid
than feel your hands creep
inside my ******* again
I would rather drink cheep *****
than taste the lies in your kisses
I would rather buy my own
flowers than smell your
scent on my favorite bra
I would rather be blind
than see what you call love
I would rather be alone
on Valentines day than
be your ****** valentine
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 10:46 PM UTC
I almost saw the stars,
Jupiter, Venus and Mars.
But you stole my wings from me,
And replaced them with a cheep plastic mockery.
I ran away tonight,
Ran from the dull city lights.
I ran away in the rain,
hoping it would wash away my pain.
But the dark was lonely,
It didn't consume me.
Maybe I'll have better luck next time,
Maybe I'll come up with a better rhyme.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 10:03 PM UTC
Scattered cracked black pepper
The Remnants of a final meal
Lie as ashen memories of taste
Lurking reminders of that which has been
Transferred from cheep china to the lips of a lover
Upon the cusp of a final goodbye
The lingering heat left only to serve as a slate to clean.
How every bite savoured a crunch of hope
Leaving room only for reality
A dessert that cannot be stomached
falsified sweetness to not be considered 'the finer things'
When taste has changed to exotic flavouring
Fork etchings and caveman paintings in sweet chilli;
Timeline a love that can not be erased
It seeps into the cracks of tomorrow's aftertaste
Surrounding the words upon which exhaled breath proclaims
I miss you.
In silence as the sound of a solitary bowl creates no further filling nor satisfaction
Last nights plates remain within the cupboard
The flavour of every meal they have ever seen remain
It is their history
Whatever the future may be
Oct 6, 2016
Oct 6, 2016 at 1:37 PM UTC