"congratulating" poems
sssshhhh, did you hear?
it's an amazing day today!
so rise, freshen up!
open your window, light a cigarette,
brew yourself a cup of coffee (or tea, if you prefer that)
freshen up!
because whatever's in line for you today,
the world is out there, welcoming you with open arms!
so raise your glass,
let's toast to a new day ahead!
and when the night comes,
the stars and the moon are going to look down at you smiling,
congratulating you for doing great today!
Sep 3, 2020
Sep 3, 2020 at 9:15 AM UTC
A desiccated brown leaf remembering greener days,
summersaults stem over end into the exposed cold dirt softened somewhat in demeanor by the grass and radiant shafts
The geese and ducks squawk and honk in the distance
Congratulating each other for the day's richness
and the way the sun feels on their proud beaks
glinting off the water in its way
a shimmering band
A princely golden carpet forever unrolling and yet complete
The sun's spindle weaves gems of light into a gossamer web
laid glittering across the water
A vision for Moses
who saw the true path through the sea
Fireworks Forever exploding sunlight
Gifted to the eye on clear liquid canvas
The wind ripples the waves
wrinkles pushed along
foaming in the sand
Little Kisses
on the grainy cheek
Star Flashes Communicating ancient patterns
Secrets of Existence Coming in Morse code, Fibonacci Sequencing,
Sacred Geometry in Twinkling Motion
Individual explosions blinking on a natural switchboard
Telling the architectural answer
Manifesting the blueprint
to only every reason why
The Last Leaf sings in the Breeze, swinging
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 12:03 PM UTC
He was taken into custody on Friday
After he got off a bus in Marseille
That had come from Amsterdam
By way of Brussels,
According to police.
The manhunt began
After he opened fire
At the Jewish Museum
In the center of Brussels,
Killing at least 3 people,
Obviously: an anti-Semitic attack.
He was taken into custody
“As soon as he set foot in France,”
According to François Hollande,
Congratulating himself
For an efficient round up of
The usual suspects, all Jihadi
Round trippers from Syria.
He was taken into custody in a mere 6 days--
A magnifique display of French efficiency,
A sublime achievement by
Our furry friends in
Police-Protective Services.
The swarthy perp was carrying a Kalashnikov--
That’s AK-47 for you NRA gun nuts--
A handgun, ammunition, a baseball cap,
A small video recording device, and a
Copy of The Koran,
All items matching
Descriptions of the gunman,
And, even if not, a known-terrorist
Named Mahdi bin Laden,
Carrying an assault rifle
Would have been enough
To fit the profile,
Justify the profiling,
Sufficient to stop anyone
Passing through Customs,
Except, of course
The French Corps Diplomatique,
Wreaking most of the havoc in the EU these days.
There was once a time when any Thom, Dieter or Heine
Could get outta town on a ratline,
Blessed by the Pope,
Assisted by the OSS.
A white linen suit and a Panama hat:
Was all it took any Schutzstaffel
To pull off another Argentine makeover,
Melt into the landscape,
Speaking Spanish with a thick German brogue.
It’s nice to know
Jew persecution is criminal,
Socially frowned on these days.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 5:59 PM UTC
Today I can write the saddest poem,
like a beautiful birthday cake cut into pieces
or a candle that is blown out after a wish is read
or people congratulating you
on all the achievements
that you have persisted
until now in your growing age.
Today I can write the saddest poem,
but not about my birthday,
but about the days,
about the months,
about the years,
that I've been through,
everything was happy,
yes I am very happy.
Jun 18, 2022
Jun 18, 2022 at 5:06 AM UTC
The greatest mastery of self
is to do nothing.
We are doers
programmed to do,
to solve, to be busy
creating problems
just to solve them
rewarding ourselves
with ever more destructive prizes.
We congratulate ourselves
for our compulsive expenditure
like an addict congratulating
themselves for turning back
to the needle.
We are all addicts.
The true anarchist
does nothing.
Jun 16, 2021
Jun 16, 2021 at 11:05 AM UTC
Regardless of the contrast or depth of the lens, it all depends on where the
light falls.
Streetlights glowing,
Like bedcovers laying,
Over the harbour waters inky as
Freshly-spilled car-crash blood,
Reflecting deep as a thought can penetrate.
A parade of gunfire
Startles silent rage into the frightened round-up locals
Eyes cowering and arms raised like scarecrow’s overhanging,
While in a side-alley doorway
A soldier anxiously caresses
A girl who he will never speak to again
The tequila-resembling sun standing watch
Their sole clandestine companion.
A child is given relieving news,
Having arrived not without frustrated effort
That she no longer has to follow the same life-stifling routine.
Her doctor, after the dizzying business of congratulating her parents,
Looks out his window without witnessing their departure
Until his eyes are cast back to dispersion
Appreciating fresh rain turn a week’s snowfall
Into puddles upon the ground.
The mind resists the heart’s attempt to repress,
We resist our own borders admitting a consistency of strain
Memory indulging in a fleeting spectacle of sin,
The Sickly exterior of the heart’s delight.
Regardless of the contrast or depth of the lens, it all depends on where the
light falls.
Moments throughout our lives repeated in the stock footage of the
mind,washing thoughts matted out of stark exposure
seeding out a negative frame.
Apr 22, 2012
Apr 22, 2012 at 6:01 PM UTC
I'm walking down the cafeteria hallway
holding a laptop that took twenty minutes to fix.
I spot her packing up her possessions from the table,
everything too spread out for her not to have eaten alone,
but she's smiling as usual
and it spreads to my lips.
I hear my name and I stop
not because someone was talking to me
but because they were talking about me
something that never happens
or never used to
until they started to see who I really was
and fall in love with that-
Clapping me on the shoulders,
sending me emails,
adding me on Facebook
congratulating me publicly
giving me hugs
stopping me in the hall
turning history into a discussion about me
being a superhero for those in need of help.
all because I have developed the guts to say something
or rather, write something
nobody else admits to being able to say.
My name comes from that table on the left
up against the lockers
first seat on the far end after the bar
my old seat, for two years.
It's those memories that have allowed me to say what I've said-
those memories of losing everything
of rebuilding, from scratch
of having my lips bleed because they are so unused they crack
of finding the darkest emotions
and recovering.
I walk five more feet and turn right.
She looks up as I approach.
I hand her her laptop and charger, smiling
as she is.
always is, always has been.
"It's done, it works"
I say, enthusiastically.
Her eyes widen in surprise
"really?"
I nod
"it only took a few minutes, it should be better"
she scoops up her stuff
and we walk away from that place together
as we always used to, freshman year
when our round table sat in that exact spot.
But three years have changed a lot:
she's smiling in my presence
and we split, heading opposite directions.
her to her locker
me to the library.
I hear the faint words
"merci beaucoup"
as I pass the 3rd post
And for a second, I want to turn back.
To walk with her like I used to her
but actually talk to her.
I continue walking.
"Four years change a person"
I think as I climb every stair
as I have, for four years.
I stop for a second,
three quarters of the way up
and watch the way the sunlight drifts in from the door window.
A beauty I never would have seen then.
I would have been too entranced in her
and now I walk alone.
I would have been far too depressed by my own problems
to say what I have.
I may be a stronger person
a better person
than sitting there at that round table
but I always someone then.
Now I stand in stairwells alone
Mar 30, 2013
Mar 30, 2013 at 4:16 AM UTC
They say,
that nothing you do is of much significance,
there's nothing you'll do that is of much importance,
but the small impact you make,
you have to do.
They say,
That your finger prints are permanent,
on someones life when you grab hold.
no matter how meek,
you leave your mark on their crime scene.
They say,
that love conquers all.
Your knight in shining armor will save you.
A young little pretty woman will love you for you and nurture you,
until together you die,
on a warm day in bed together,
to continue your lives in eternity, in blissful peace.
They never say the truth.
The story of how we just so happen to be here.
How the only difference betwixt us and an animal is that we escaped natures food chain,
and have made our own controlled by pieces of paper and fat pigs congratulating eachother over brandy and illegal drugs on wall street feeding on our developed Darwinist society.
They never say
How no matter what you'll do your efforts are deleted months after your enviable death.
Self inflected or other wise.
So why do we value our fingerprint lives so dearly?
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 3:17 PM UTC
150: "I've never had a fat girlfriend" your now ex-boyfriend explains when questioned about the reason why he said the two of you just won't work. He tells you that "he thinks you're cute, but would be much cuter if you lost a few pounds". His words echo in your brain until eventually insults are the only thing you can force yourself to swallow.
120: Everyone is congratulating you on your extraordinary weight loss, they all want to know your secrets. You don't tell them that every night you're on your knees worshipping the toilet bowl. That the only chocolate you've tasted in months is the chalky, sweetness of the laxatives that you take like a daily vitamin. That you don't allow yourself food until the emptiness inside you threatens to steal your consciousness. Instead, you smile and say "must be good genes".
90: You get into a fight with your mother after she tries to force you to eat dinner with your family. You ate yesterday, this will throw off all the goals you've been striving towards. You no longer know how to survive if you're not destroying yourself in the process.
90: You run into your ex boyfriend at the local Walmart with his new girlfriend. She's heavier than you are, but her eyes still shine like lighthouses, he hasn't gotten to her yet. You try to telepathically tell her to run, to leave while she's still whole, but you know the message gets lost on its way. So you settle for a smile, and a compliment to the figure she still has.
120: It's so hard to live in a society where perfection is unattainable but at the same time required... However, it's not impossible. You are already in recovery, you've made it through the hardest part. It's so much better to be full of food than full of empty wishes.
150: Your new girlfriend whines about how jealous she is of your curves, compares your body to that of an ancient goddess. You hesitantly accept the compliment, still not comfortable with imagining your body as anything other than the curse he made you think it was. Darling, your body is not the curse, your body is the blessing... I'm glad you've finally started treating it as such.
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 10:29 PM UTC
every now and then
I receive emails from former students
with pictures of their newborns
each time
I am deeply touched
that they feel
I would like to know
about their lives’ great events
I reply with loving mails
congratulating them
wishing them much joy
and patience
with their adorable offsprings
it is just nice to know
that the people
whose lives you shared for a few years
are doing well
Oct 20, 2016
Oct 20, 2016 at 7:40 PM UTC
This isn't a poem. This is more like a letter about a girl I knew.
Her name is Christina Grimmie. When she first started out on YouTube, I found her and I loved her. I commented on her video; something about the Zelda poster in the background. We bonded over that. And we talked for a little while, but then we lost touch. For a long time.
In 2014, she was on the voice. I was so proud of her. I sent her a Snapchat congratulating her and telling her how proud I was of her. And after that, we continued to talk. She was there for me when she could be. Sometimes she couldn't answer because she was on tour, or because she was recording, or simply because she was tired. We weren't best friends, but we were close enough to be considered friends. She lost touch with me again. The last thing we said to each other breaks my heart.
I don't know what to do. I'm so mad at everybody. Got any advice?
John 13:34- "A new command I give to you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another." Yu have to love people in order to be happy. If u sit here and resent them, yu wont be happy at all girl! Love yuuu.
She was shot and killed about a month or so later. And I was heart broken. I was so mad at the world. I deleted her from my phone because it was too painful. I regret that decision. I had lost someone so dear to me. I think about her every day. But one day I saw her brother, Marcus, pop up in my friend suggestion box on Facebook. I added him and he added me back. Now we talk all the time and its like I'm talking to her. It's like if you look behind Mark's eyes, there she is smiling back at you.
I don't talk about her much. It feels awkward. But I miss her a lot.
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 7:36 PM UTC
It's fall, and I'm falling.
Again.
I can hear you fall into step next to me, our feet crunch the bright blanket of our dreams, susurating the empty outlines of our unsketched pieces.
Everyone seems to be carving jack-o-lanterns, but I can't meet the eyes of the pumpkin patch owner after what we did there last fall. I can't go back to 'our spot' without their carved faces subtly mocking the shadows of the idealist, drunk on the idea of "the one ".
It funny how we manged a smile when the leaves actually fell. The tree's misery masked ours and you carved the rocks on the empty ghats with the same knife you would later use to cut our ties. The leaves grew back you know, and we still never stopped smiling.
How curious.
I'm a little relieved you didn't ask for the coat that still cloaks our past even though it clashes with my wardrobe almost as much as it clashes with my life. Because I like believing the illusion that they still smell of you in a way that your perfume couldn't make up for in our brief dalliance.
I remember speaking to speak at our - no, your wedding. I must have told every ghost floating in black tie or a white gown what a beautiful person you are. What I didn't tell them was how much I loved you, because regardless of what I said they would refuse to hear the past tense in my voice. Gosh, never have i missed the tragedies of my language classes quite as much.
If memory serves me right, I remember congratulating the groom and telling him how lucky he is. But I don't bother telling him how it would've been me last fall. Some truths are best kept secret.
You even asked me for a dance didnt you ? Was that really needed ?
When it all ended I remember waiting outside, next to the roses littered down the hallway and thinking - what a pity. After all your favourite were always lilies.
Now that I look back I think we swept through, akin to children in a hurry. The haze is still lifting, but the season keeps coming back like a monday morning hangover. So as the clouds part with majesty, you happen to have lost the blur of perfection.
Come next july, you'll open your painted eyes to midsummer rain and think of -
The rain.
And I'll be thinking of how burning marshmallows always makes them taste a little bit better.
Why ? Because not ever tale needs a dramatic ending.
It's fall, and I'm falling.
Again
Oct 27, 2016
Oct 27, 2016 at 3:15 AM UTC
You make the twist and curdle of muscle look sweet
Hoods of flesh clench
Lines extending towards congratulating champagne toasts
Liquid turned taught
Floating like a pair of scissors
Most subtle razor to ever caress
The tissue paper lips of the floor
You wrap your heady-spice palms
Flourishing and dripping
Every pulse a dropped memory
They whisper of inspiration and dust
Licks of silver swim through you
Eyes misty rocks where dreams go to impale their masters
Commanding the lovely, forming it to fit
Frost spangles the trees that create pillars of tendon
The ease of sandpaper on granite
You make silken
Simple.
Jul 4, 2012
Jul 4, 2012 at 10:43 PM UTC
Free love is unaccomplished by humanity
dismal
strangers to the union of everything in its completion
capable of congratulating eachother for our beauty
our success of being alive
giving the inspiration to make ourselves thrive
survive
we crave the eyes, the arms of a cleansed spirit
to grasp us tightly
studying our similarities
there are so ******* many of us
dying to hug one another
sensing eachothers sadness
drinking our soul away due to the madness
of it all
it all
the world and its biggest mistakes
taking away the ultimate freedoms
replacing them with work
hard earned money
selfishness
ignorance
replacing the freedom with lies
and we know we are being manipulated
but we do not do a ******* thing about it
I always wonder why this is
Fear
let it be clear to us all
that we are being treated unfairly
as if we are dirt
being brushed away from the shoes
of the ones who keep us shackled
the ones who are unblemished
consoled by ultimate security
let us know one another
let us feel eachothers minds
let us express our love
let us disregard our hate
let us be free
let us be ******* free
we are beautiful
we are equal
only nature owns us
only nature loves us
the authorities have rabies
that are destroying their logic
we are rising with intelligence and awareness of this
I only wish to comfort those who feel they are alone
I am here to protect the sacredness of unity
we are not alone
we are not alone
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 3:04 AM UTC
It's never good job
Or thank you
Or keep up the good work
U only criticize me for why?
You put on a show for your friends
And Your telling them a lie
That's why after every performance
We as a "family" going out to eat is of great importance
Yet even though it's in "celebration" of me
You force me to go somewhere that I don't even wanna be
Somewhere that I absolutely despise
I'll pretend that I'm not hurt and that its all alright
But it's kinda hard when there aren't any good vibes
The whole time there's ALWAYS arguing
It's like destroying my happiness is all that yall've been targeting
And there's never any actual congratulating
I'll put my head down because the sound of your constant yelling is mutilating
But me trying to ignore you guys is apparently irritating
So I have to keep performing
Put on a show that'll keep me from conforming
To the actions that I really wanna take
You say be who you wanna be don't be opaque
and then raise me to be fake
Your giving me a headache
No ur giving me a heartache
Everyday I'm greeted at the door with insults
Hating my family a little more are the usual results
And you know it's quite sad
Because family's all that I have
These four people who are currently living in the same house
Or should I say my dad and his spouse
They're all that I've got which is why I stick to myself
I'm tired
I'm not gonna continue to rebel
*** all it does is give me hell
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 12:09 PM UTC
It happened on a beautiful autumn morning.
The ground was littered with leaves:
yellow, orange, red, and brown.
Some leaves had been raked into large piles,
others were still scattered across the asphalt.
I was with my mother and it was my first time
riding my bike without training wheels.
My mother was nervous but I was excited.
I fell a few times at first
But no pain, no gain.
Within half an hour, I thought I had mastered the art of bike riding.
My ego inflated, I wanted to go faster.
My need for speed was insatiable.
My mother expressed her worries but I paid no attention.
“Slow down!” she yelled.
Harder I pedaled.
I was going down a slope. Gravity was on my side.
Faster, I didn’t want to stop.
Faster, I raced across the inclined asphalt.
Faster and faster I went.
When suddenly,
Panic.
My excitement turned to fear.
Faster, I felt myself lose control.
Faster, I forgot how to brake.
Faster, my mom ran, trying to catch up to me.
Faster
and faster.
Until finally,
CRASH!
I’d hit a concrete parking block the bottom of the slope.
The force of the impact sent me flying off my bike
where I landed miraculously…
into a soft pile of freshly raked leaves.
Leaves flew everywhere
like a clutter of celebratory fireworks congratulating me for my near-disaster.
I felt sorry for whoever had to rerake them that day.
10/27/14
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 5:35 PM UTC
These soot cloaked hands have been tried
They're wrecked and wrinkled by those drenching waters of time
Hands that only wanted to help you and hold you
Seem to have been rejected for their lack of whatever it was you ran off to
Reaching from some dieing branches
Hoping that maybe it won't end like the last time
And like those stems my roots are bare
Chapped and crackling in that love lost air
So tired of waiting for a gentle rain
A little relief to forget the pain
Of knowing what it's like to care
Empathizing with the less fortunate
When all I need is a little sympathy
Is for you to take a pinch of time and get to know me
But maybe that's just too much to ask
Maybe I was meant to pan along the river side
Congratulating others on their gold
Secretly it's killing me
Seeing smiles that crush my soul
One day I'll be happy for you
When I found out what happy can be . . .
Jan 1, 2011
Jan 1, 2011 at 7:08 PM UTC
Blue fades to green and then what?
Only happy when blue, only when blue.
Green hurts, stings, bruises... Empty apologies echo throughout the silence.
More red than anything now. Beads of sweat drip-drip onto the floor. Too late to quit.
Purple blacks beneath eyes... Do it despite them. Beside them. Above them. Anxious voices, when pressured, project loudly, but shake. Steady-steady beat. Must not whisper, although secrets are vital... Vile. Keep them.
Pink now. Cool down. Not too pale, please. That's too pale. TOO PALE! Breathe in, out, in, out... Praying didn't really work tonight. Alive, but unhealthy. Safe, but unwell.
Green again.
Always green, in the end. Love the colour, hate the feeling... Hate the being... Hate being human. Humanity is such a disappointment. Everybody is one, in their own eyes, at some stage in their life. On some stage in their life. Some, even, until they die... So dance-dance while it's still an option. Congratulating all around. Thanking all around. Welcoming all around. Goodnight, and goodbye, for now. Dying to play live again, to feel alive again...
To feel blue.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 1:34 PM UTC
Everytime I scrolled down
my Facebook. Filled with AIR.
I thought of congratulating all the
posts but just ended up liking all.
EverytimeI opened down
my door. I saw him, holding
a laptop with cup of coffee,
on the eve of exam week.
I thought of smacking him down
when he speaks of her in his
sanctimonious and witty verbal noun
but just ended up giving him - a big- smile.
Everytime I crossed down
the street of light. I marveled at her
while waiting on a brown side.
In a smoky daylight, I thought
of speaking to her but just ended up
having Bournville all night.
EverytimeI closed my eyes.
I saw you in my dream
waiting on the other side.
And I’ll think of you tonight.
Your memory is like a sweet
melody. It won’t leave my
head. But there is no you,
except in my dream tonight.
And I don’t wanna wake up tonight.
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 6:53 AM UTC
If your ship does not come,
swim to it.
If you find there is no wind,
pull it with your teeth.
If your captain does not know the way,
then steer it with your gut.
Should no crew wish to accompany you,
get a smaller boat.
Do not let hunger or fierce waves or storms hinder you,
think of them as if nature's most powerful forces
are congratulating you on your way.
Do not fear the sinking of your ship,
for as long as you do not doubt,
your ship will keep on sailing.
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 3:01 PM UTC
The harshest truth about unrequited love is
when all is done and dusted
hands washed
rejection accepted
there is nothing left.
All the talk about memories made,
to have loved and lost than not love at all,
to have made a friend forever,
*is a load of ******** to be honest,*
like your puppy who was sent to a big, happy farm in the country side,
like Santa Claus,
like telling yourself in the mirror over and over again "you are over him. you are happy".
So when he's sat cross legged on your bed calculating the final chess move to checkmate with a devilish look in the eye,
limping around on a sprained ankle after football,
explaining how light works,
cutting an extra large pizza into four and folding each quarter in half before devouring it,
moving close to show a ******* star pattern only he can see,
giving a pair of God **** gloves for Christmas cause your favourite pair was lost on a night out in October,
always lighting your cigarette first,
casually mentioning over dinner how he might move to Belgium next spring for an internship,
you have no say. You have no right to feel.
You have no right to say how you feel.
So you pretend,
admiring the ******* star patterns you could never see in the first place,
acting tensed when he hugs,
congratulating him on the amazing job opportunity taking extra care to make sure your smile is wide and reaches your eyes.
You pretend,
putting to use 16 years of professional drama training,
regardless of having an out-of-body experience each time he does something that takes your breath away,
where you watch yourself crumble to the floor, face flat, gasping for air, one hand on the chest and the other over the mouth,
while you stand strong, smoking and smiling,
listening to him talk about electricity, FIFA or something,
all while watching yourself die, from the corner of your eye.
Unrequited love is superbly overrated,
by poets, artists, writers and all those who have loved and lost.
In reality it's a simple phenomenon which drives one to the mental intersection of insanity, self-destruction and creativity,
caused by a sense of ownership one feels towards another which is nonexistent, not reciprocated, not mutual and really ****** up.
So really don't get up or stand up,
infact don't even bother to feel,
cause you really have no rights...
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 2:35 PM UTC
Imagine this:
I'm holding my breath
There's a fish on the roof
And you've just thrown it off
There's a bird in a pond
And you're holding it down
Fish don't fly, honey
And birds don't swim
Magic isn't real
Because if magic was real
I would have wished myself away
If magic was real
I wouldn't be sitting here
With a pen in one hand and a blade in the other
Congratulating myself
For picking the one that left less scars
There aren't swirly white lights
At the edge of this cliff
And I'm hurtling ahead
At breakneck speed
And neck, please break
Because I don't want to survive this one
So maybe fish can fly - for a moment
And maybe birds can swim - for a second
Before you ***** the life out of them.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 7:35 AM UTC
"I'm so proud of you" I whisper as I drive on these wet slippery roads, you're at a place you've always wanted to be, and you left me on the corner to get there. I wish I could be there congratulating you as your plus one, but lord knows neither of us could have lived to see that day. Such a small amount of time, 15 months, and yet it holds such significance in my mind even now after almost 4 years of being without you. I still look for you on those loud downtown streets, I still hope you'll be there to see me in my perfected form, so I can brag how far I've run to get to where you are. Will you ever be proud of me? I think we both know the answer and I haunts us.
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 6:22 PM UTC
sometimes at 3 O'clock in the morning
i have been to wander myself in the air
congratulating my skin newly each stride
kissed with air stroking gently over
the soft chortle
of my feet
who wrestle
with the
grasss
s
s
s
s
s
s
s
s
s
Jul 23, 2011
Jul 23, 2011 at 2:14 AM UTC