"cheerily" poems
I wait for you to come closer,
To draw closer and tell me
That you can't deal with me
Any more. Not with my
Insane, bordering on
Psychotic, behavior, and
My bipolar mood swings.
But, you draw closer
And you smile right at me,
And draw me into a hug
For a second, that little voice,
Which I am always aware of,
Which tells me I'm never
Going to be good enough
For anyone to accept or like,
Let alone love,
Fades to the back of my mind.
I let myself relax
Into your warm embrace and
I let myself be and believe.
I turn to smile at you...
Before I can see your face,
Your features, I am woken up
From my daydream
By the bell signalling the
End of school. I pack my bag
And head towards my carpool,
My movements sluggish-
Even cheerily wave goodbye to
A few stragglers.
I reach home and eat lunch alone.
I go for tuition, let myself
Become numb to everything
But learning and understanding.
It becomes darker and it's almost 8,
I come back home again.
I had been out from 7 in the morning.
This time, my family's there and
We eat dinner together, though,
I am barely there with them.
They're discussing important
Things like business and will
Talk to me later. I finish eating
And go sleep. Tomorrow's going to
Be the exact robotic same.
Aug 6, 2012
Aug 6, 2012 at 7:53 AM UTC
In the day spa pool
a ******* girl,
floats half submerged;
two placid white lotus buds,
identical twins,
cheerily face upwards,
gleaming, wet.
Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 10:23 AM UTC
Leaves
Murmuring by miriads in the shimmering trees.
Lives
Wakening with wonder in the Pyrenees.
Birds
Cheerily chirping in the early day.
Bards
Singing of summer, scything thro' the hay.
Bees
Shaking the heavy dews from bloom and frond.
Boys
Bursting the surface of the ebony pond.
Flashes
Of swimmers carving thro' the sparkling cold.
Fleshes
Gleaming with wetness to the morning gold.
A mead
Bordered about with warbling water brooks.
A maid
Laughing the love-laugh with me; proud of looks.
The heat
Throbbing between the upland and the peak.
Her heart
Quivering with passion to my pressed cheek.
Braiding
Of floating flames across the mountain brow.
Brooding
Of stillness; and a sighing of the bough.
Stirs
Of leaflets in the gloom; soft petal-showers;
Stars
Expanding with the starr'd nocturnal flowers.
3.1k
You were always
an early bird, and I wasn't,
but my favorite thing was
to stumble out of my slumber
and hungrily look at my phone for a text saying
wake up
to which I would hurriedly respond,
though three hours later,
and you knew I would,
so as soon as I did as you predicted
you would command me to
drive the less-than-ten-minutes to your apartment
so you could cook me some
breakfast,
and we could get lost in each other.
You made me eggs and bacon
and always a biscuit with my choice of topping,
and you'd put on whatever CD we
currently found relevant,
that one time I know it was Ne-Yo,
and I chomped on my plate full of yummies
so cheerily
as you made me listen so closely to
lyrics you knew I would
just
get.
10 AM and I was somehow
thrilled to be out of bed,
enjoying the way the sun peeked behind the clouds
and stroked my cheek
as we shared a smoke on your porch.
You were the kinda guy that
made me like mornings,
that made me
feel the weight of the words in songs,
that made me appreciate art
and notice how pink
the sunset was,
that made me want to read the newspaper
so I could pick your brain and
pay attention in class so I could
tell you what I learned,
that made my world brighter
and my burdens lighter.
You were you and
you made me a certain kinda me and
**** do I sometimes still wanna
wake up
and eat some eggs while you
tell me your dreams and
your stereo plays.
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 12:57 AM UTC
the magpie stole my pen
then flapped its wings
to hide it fast
so i couldn't see it again.
i ran up the staircase
so i could see
how far could flee
in blue's cool embrace.
the day had a golden hue
up the roof
wind blew aloof
the sky said i need you.
birds were dazzled white
made pleasured cry
soared to high
stole my all eyelight.
cheerily swayed the tree
cute green leaf
in disbelief
saw me carefree.
the magpie called me then
now i bet
you don't regret
my stealing away your pain.
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 8:40 AM UTC
"See! warp is stretched
For warriors' fall,
Lo! weft in loom
'Tis wet with blood;
Now fight foreboding,
'Neath friends' swift fingers,
Our grey woof waxeth
With war's alarms,
Our warp bloodred,
Our weft corseblue.
"This woof is y-woven
With entrails of men,
This warp is hardweighted
With heads of the slain,
Spears blood-besprinkled
For spindles we use,
Our loom ironbound,
And arrows our reels;
With swords for our shuttles
This war-woof we work;
So weave we, weird sisters,
Our warwinning woof.
"Now Warwinner walketh
To weave in her turn,
Now Swordswinger steppeth,
Now Swiftstroke, now Storm;
When they speed the shuttle
How spearheads shall flash!
Shields crash, and helmgnawer
On harness bite hard!
"Wind we, wind swiftly
Our warwinning woof
Woof erst for king youthful
Foredoomed as his own,
Forth now we will ride,
Then through the ranks rushing
Be busy where friends
Blows blithe give and take.
"Wind we, wind swiftly
Our warwinning woof,
After that let us steadfastly
Stand by the brave king;
Then men shall mark mournful
Their shields red with gore,
How Swordstroke and Spearthrust
Stood stout by the prince.
"Wind we, wind swiftly
Our warwinning woof.
When sword-bearing rovers
To banners rush on,
Mind, maidens, we spare not
One life in the fray!
We corse-choosing sisters
Have charge of the slain.
"Now new-coming nations
That island shall rule,
Who on outlying headlands
Abode ere the fight;
I say that King mighty
To death now is done,
Now low before spearpoint
That Earl bows his head.
"Soon over all Ersemen
Sharp sorrow shall fall,
That woe to those warriors
Shall wane nevermore;
Our woof now is woven.
Now battlefield waste,
O'er land and o'er water
War tidings shall leap.
"Now surely 'tis gruesome
To gaze all around.
When bloodred through heaven
Drives cloudrack o'er head;
Air soon shall be deep hued
With dying men's blood
When this our spaedom
Comes speedy to pass.
"So cheerily chant we
Charms for the young king,
Come maidens lift loudly
His warwinning lay;
Let him who now listens
Learn well with his ears
And gladden brave swordsmen
With bursts of war's song.
"Now mount we our horses,
Now bare we our brands,
Now haste we hard, maidens,
Hence far, far, away."
Apr 26, 2010
Apr 26, 2010 at 10:58 AM UTC
A voracious beast devours my Husband
Distraught and upset I must put on a strong face for him
Every day I watch him grow paler and more thin
At night my dreams are consumed with needles, prescriptions
IV tubing and bad food swirl in the mix
In his eyes I see an exhausted spirit on the edge
The need to protect is a driving force within me
Hospitals should be more sterile
HE HAS A ******* FAILURE OF THE BONE MARROW PEOPLE
The next school of medicine reject who doesn't wash their hands
Will have them cheerily burned off...by me
On the inside I seeth and cry, throw a child's tantrum on the floor
Unfair does not even begin to describe the pain he has endured
Some would say to let him go, **** you**
They just do not know us
For my exterior is made up of stone
Supported by a frame of steel
I will never give up
We have a will of iron
A malignancy has no control over our strength
Into the coming war of medical procedures we are defiant
Strong and Worthy
We will never give up
May 10, 2012
May 10, 2012 at 5:06 PM UTC
(i see) two scions dance in traffic: sun and moon,
sky and stars; God’s two heirs
dancing in traffic as if they weren’t demigods but
small maya birds - transfixed
mortals, fighting to keep away from the blinding
might their status affords them.
as His children their world and its light is for their taking,
of which they can feed - or not:
they go on instead like hungry wolves, next to I, rising
(sidelined, falling) flagging down jeeps
in the thick of the Vinzons Hall jeepney stop. They bark loud
and cheerily to keep idle; from unravelling
their wax-worn strings. They are birds guided by concrete routes,
those yearning to feel its bleakness
in each syllable creeping up their gold-and-marble throats:
the soft choke of exhaust smoke
and the rosiness of their gaunt in the face of all-knowing fate:
that of snatching from death
a world not theirs. They declare: “Perseus we are not, and
Janus we choose.” They shuttlling
commuters obscure and without fuss and without end
to and fro, where they come
they spit on the universe in baggy basketball shorts
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 10:42 AM UTC
*" It ought to be solemnized with Pomp and Parade, with Shews,
Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfires and
Illuminations from one End of this Continent
to the other from this Time forward forever more.”
John Adams – July 3, 1776.*
Webster Groves - 2016
The Townhall fountain dances
cheerily in the morning sun.
The red-white-blue shirted crowd
rises as one for the colors.
Laughing children scramble for
tootsie rolls and sweet tarts
tossed by a strolling clown.
Philadelphia, July 3, 1776
Carriages sped toward Philadelphia
where resolute patriots
would turn the pages of history
and tell an unsuspecting world
that a new nation had given birth to itself.*
Sousa strains peal from the marching Statesmen,
Girl Scouts guide their well-groomed mounts -
hooves echoing through concrete caverns.
Vintage firetrucks and autos
sound their horns and sirens
as candidates work the crowd, pressing the flesh.
*Each crass insult from the British crown
had tightened the noose on the colonial neck.
The middle ground was soaked with patriot blood
and revolution was the only course left.*
Barbecue clouds drift over Pat and Lee’s farm
Horseshoes spin and clang and frisbees fly.
A pot-luck feast with beans and franks
interrupts the pop and glare of bottle rockets.
*One by one, each patriot quilled the parchment
resolved to endure the costs of liberty -
knowing to the marrow that defeat
would spell certain ******* and death.*
We reach the lakeshore at dusk -
unfolding chairs - spreading out blankets -
strains of Americana drift over the lake.
then a pyro-technic extravaganza
blazes across the summer sky.
*Washingon’s tattered and bloodied men
cornered Cornwallis at Yorktown.
Then surrender - all British claims
to American soil banished to the tomes of history.*
The grand finale pummels the darkened sky
raising cheers and whistles from the crowd
Toddlers collapse in parental arms,
car doors slam, engines ignite
and head-lighted caravans, turn for home,
spiraling off in every compass degree.
“Happy birthday,” America and endless happy returns
"from this time forward forever more!”
Robert Charles Howard
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 2:07 PM UTC
May morning cacophonies never quiet.
Doves coos, repetitive sharp whistles
rising and falling sounded by robins,
who seem to say, "cheer up, cheer up,
cheerily, cheer up." Jays shrieking
whatever warnings they shriek. Chirps,
tweets, titterings of so many more, combine
in crazy compilations of some
orchestra without their conductor
forever warming up days. I do not own
feathers but all my body hairs do stand
on end, flitting as if they were. Then,
woodpecker taps against hollow
termite ridden tree sounding like
the strike of a conductor's baton.
Nothing comes together. A symphony
never starts, at least not one of any
great composer's. Just the greatest.
I spring from my nest. I do not know music.
I hear it and am it. These mornings move
me to ditter about, find my way,
peck my morning niblings, feel dawn
dress me in sun, make me lust
life adorned with feathers. How
possibility wings bring.
From flock to flock, I dare to fit in.
Learn new mating dances.
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 12:30 PM UTC
The rarest orchid bloomed in my garden, to you I cheerily gifted,
it's fragrance you heartily inhaled, making me smile,at my poetic best
a rose, deep red, a representation of your heart,I suppose, you presented,
but, did you pause,see how was I transformed, when I deeply kissed it?
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 5:01 AM UTC
Gently lengthening the last rays of the sun
Casting sombre shadows on the lawn
Reminiscent of days long ago when we’d run
Rising cheerily with the heavenly dawn.
Now in my grey and twilight days
A flood of memories bring comfort to my heart
Speaking of a happiness, a golden haze
Soothing my soul, how that we are apart.
Regrets and sorrows fill my heart with woe
Friends and loved ones call their names
Reminding me of a joy from long ago
Sadly we’ll never play out old games.
Form though I am now at the close of day
My long, happy life I would gladly replay.
Jul 26, 2012
Jul 26, 2012 at 11:13 PM UTC
He sneaks a bold finger into her navel.
She squirms in sudden protest.
He quickly lifts the damp hair from her neck
and kisses little apologies.
Her sigh forgives the intrusion, she rolls to her side
suddenly all hip and pale inner thigh.
He follows swiftly down the valley,
a little boy running home for dinner-
He hums a nothing song.
She quietly hums along.
He waits.
She says it first and means it.
His heart pulses twice at these prophetic murmurs.
Her mood quickly changes, leaps to her feet, flexing naked muscles
and pouting in comic exaggeration.
He laughs and softly adores her unselfconsciousness, this is new.
She bends to kiss him.
He remembers the oven is on.
She remembers the time.
He whistles Last Stand cheerily to the scorched vegetables.
All because she touched him inappropriately in the kitchen
in lieu of uncorking the wine.
Oct 6, 2012
Oct 6, 2012 at 6:55 PM UTC
A misplaced youth
My first original rhyme –
take a “truck” drop the head and add an eff –
was hand-me-down crude,
not clever,
but how clever can you be
at four years old?
The chilly blush of it still brings
out a ringing
sound of one hand clapping
against my cheek;
then comes the deflating bawl
from pouchy flesh instantly un-stuffed
of its squirrely giggles and glee.
It put me off cheap sing-song thrills
for decades.
Same age, different flaws:
Can you be too young to develop
a finely tuned sense of entitlement
and the firmest conviction
for redistributing misbegotten wealth?
If anyone deserved a raggedy toy –
don’t call it a doll –
mouse-eared and with cherry-red shorts
cheerily poking out
of a tinsel-topped Christmas stocking,
it was me, not her.
Maybe Santa was suffering
from dementia,
or forgot his reading glasses.
I wasn’t smart enough yet
to cover my tracks,
and I didn't know any fences;
it’s hard to deny a crime
when you’re hugging the goods.
Skip ahead a few years,
and after the regular Sunday
indoctrinations of an uncharitably
faith-based brand of hero-worship,
there are all the tell-tale signs
of a sleep-sick heart
with an over-simplified world view
married to a messiah complex.
Is it normal to dream
of oneself, small but magnificently armored,
supplanting Michael
as the head of that goodly Host
driving out the evil legions?
At least I knew how to side with a winner
back then.
I also dreamed Gulliver-like,
I had been roped down to my bed
by a clutch of creepy-crawly bugs,
and in a tiny voice I could barely make out,
their spokes-beetle cried up to me:
“There will come a time
when the time finally comes,
and when it does
you’ll smack its self-satisfied face
for keeping you
waiting so long.”
My hand's always poised above the clock.
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 6:34 AM UTC
At a funeral recently, a cremation along with my young niece
Whose a Vegan and very environmentally conscious
I was telling her "I wouldn't like to be cremated, it's too much like 'going to hell' to me"
Then she says she'd like to be cremated herself, that it'd be her preferred choice, that it'd be the most environmentally friendly way to go
I said to her "Would you not like to be buried in one of those nice wicker basket type coffins that the environmental people like
I thought that's the kind of thing you'd be into"
She said No! I wouldn't like them, the thought of worms and other creepy crawlies crawling in on top of me, all over me Ugh! I couldn't bear that.
Oh I said, No! just give me a nice quiet church graveyard, lovely and peaceful
With the yew trees nice and shady and the birds singing softly, somewhere lovely and quiet way out in the country
It'd be so relaxing
"Well", she said,"you won't know, sure you'll be dead".
"My soul it'll be reposing", I corrected her cheerily.
Then I said "Y'know I think I saw this TV programme once where you could have music playing in your coffin
Something over in America, could only be in America LoL
I went on dreamily, "Y'know I think I'm getting younger as I grow older
I've put away all my old Black Sabbath records
Now I've started listening to Taylor Swift instead, she has some great songs that girl, great videos too
I think I'll have Taylor Swift singing to me in my coffin
I'll go boppin' into the next world, the next life with Taylor, hand in hand
I could even put some posters of her up on the inside of my coffin.
Look! I said to my niece pointing to a few hairs on the front of my head
I think my quiff it's starting to grow back again. Elvis here I come!!!
Feb 20, 2022
Feb 20, 2022 at 7:03 PM UTC
Sitting here
And pondering
Wondering
Why?
Merrily
Or cheerily
Yet I still want to die
My face is smiles
Happy
And misleading
My heart is fractured
Lacerated
And bleeding
My mind is buzzing
And words are whirling
Swirling
Twirling my thoughts
To delusions of grandeur
I sit
Detached
Maybe confused
Not sure what to do
Does anyone else feel this way?
Do you ever just
Wish it would end?
Do you ever look at your life
And think.
What have i done?
For me
At least
I have these
To ease
Those thoughts of nothingness
Though i am not famous
Or rich
Or even that well known
My words are profound
My thoughts are now focused
My poetry
And notoriety
Rising
My heart
My soul
My drive
My will
This day
I feel
And deal
This wheel
Of life
Or strife
A mighty blow
Although
My heart
Is screaming.
Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 4:22 AM UTC
On New Year’s Eve, 2015,
I cheerily wrote you,
From the other side of the world:
“’Tomorrow is –
The first blank page
Of a 365-page book.’
Let’s make it meaningful!”
On New Year’s Eve, 2016,
I wholeheartedly write you,
From the same state:
“Thank you for joining –
The same cast,
In the same reality,
On the same paper;
Thank you for living –
The same words,
On the same page,
In the same chapter;
Thank you for wanting –
The same things,
With the same pace,
In the same manner;
Thank you for sharing –
The same story,
With the same close,
In the same series.”
Jan 1, 2017
Jan 1, 2017 at 3:52 AM UTC
I like to rub her righteous
Rubber baby buggy bumpers
While her Sister Susie
Sells seashells by the sea shore.
Susie works in a shoeshine shop,
She sits, and she shines all day long.
She confesses with too many esses
It lispers up her whispered song.
Peter Piper picking peppers
Putting pickled peppers in a ***
Woodchuck chucked wood,
Chuckling, chucked the wood he got.
Susie’s sister Betty Botter
Bought a pound of bitter butter.
Betty was a bit of a ******
She said her butter was better bitter.
I thought of a thought, thinking
It was a very difficult thing to occur.
Thinking, busily thinking;
Blinking, and winking, thinking of her
We made a date at a quarter to eight
Said, “I’ll see you at the gate, don’t be late.”
Lucky and plucky, my ducky doo,
It was a heavy date, and a heavy gate.
Leary of a really weary *****
We wandered in our wandering leathers
Wondered if whether wetter
Weather were better to weather together.
We celebrate our late date
We didn’t skate, or deliberate our fate
Suffice is to further elucidate
And cheerily chewed the churros we ate.
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 9:54 PM UTC
On this first day of September
as I look up at the rainwashed sky
with cheerily flying grey white storks
I grow fonder of belonging.
This is the place I call mine
where in the autumnal shine
open all doors
and the wind whispers
*All is yours
yours
this is your place
forever and no less
all of today
and tomorrow
for you made
yours in essence.*
This September day
insignificant becomes transience!
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 5:57 AM UTC
Taste of freshly picked
honeysuckle melting on my tongue,
diving head first into the
smells and sounds of spring,
croaking of insects as they
happily hum on blossomed branches,
I bite into ripe fruits and
frolick under a sun who fights
slumber till late,
my arms tickling against the fresh
green grass as I lay
in the park with my notebook,
dogs barking cheerily as they
run in the open space,
dusting me with pollen and
peacefulness,
the earth
soaking in a warmth about which
I've been dreaming for
months.
Loving you was the emergence of spring,
and thus without you I remain
frozen in a winter that
seems it will never thaw.
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 1:10 AM UTC
Mr Warrington lived up the hill
He was very big and very round
With a big round wobbling face
Guiness loomed large in his legend
When he used to come home from the pub
He'd say to us cheerily
"Give us a push up th'ill kids!"
So we'd gather round
Pushing him and pulling him up the hill
Like a tiny fleet of tugs
Nudging a liner into position
"Yer good kids!" he'd say "Ere y'are!"
And he dug into his pocket for small change
He threw it on the ground and
We scrabbled merrily
With every penny a blessing
By Phil Roberts
May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017 at 6:05 AM UTC
The pan is bubbling merrily, the kettle's whistling cheerily,
I hear the clinking of the cutlery and only wish that I could be
that flamin' happy.
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 5:49 AM UTC
He whisked
me
up
to the sinking sun,
and we cheerily
called in
the
night.
Dec 27, 2020
Dec 27, 2020 at 4:08 PM UTC
i am the pile of dishes that keep piling up,
a stack people are discouraged to clean by the mere glance of;
i am the smile that fades soon after
a passing acquaintance greets cheerily;
i am the tears that refuse to be shed,
the salty droplets indicating weakness;
i am the small wound,
too thin to cause scars but still enough to bleed;
i am the song to listen to,
when feeling sad and alone:
not a remedy, only an aid
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 10:32 AM UTC
I look out the window at my green backyard,
With thriving plants and blossoming flower.
I'm thankful that it hasn't been scarred,
By billowing fumes, and machines with power.
What has nature done to us,
To make us destroy it with rabid lust?
Birds sing cheerily in the branch of a tree,
I sit and watch with eager eye.
Til all at once they fly up free,
Into the air with a whistling cry.
And stark against the background blue,
A sickening streak of blackish hue.
The world today has lost so much,
What more is gonna have to die?
We humans are so out of touch,
Yet I'm never going to say goodbye.
Nature helps us everyday,
To help it back is the smartest way.
Jul 17, 2010
Jul 17, 2010 at 5:03 PM UTC