"corrected" poems
Those happy Morris dancers make for a happy sight
They wear bright scarlet ribbons and their shirts and trousers white,
They clash their sticks whilst dancing and you hear the timbers ring
Though 'twould seem that Morris dancing is not a female thing.
I've never seen a female Morris dancer I stand corrected if I'm wrong
It has it's roots in England and to England it belong
And I hope that Morris dancing will not go the way of rhyme
That in a changing World it won't lose out to time.
They brought their culture with them from England far away
A culture perhaps fading like many of the old cultures are today
With the old dances of Europe I see a link somewhere
And sad to hear that Morris dancers are now becoming rare.
At the Dandenong Ranges festival east of Melbourne they perform every year
And after in the ***** tent they laugh as they drink their beer,
They brought a thing of beauty when they brought their dancing here
And to those marvellous Morris dancers let us raise our glass of cheer.
Morris dancing vary from English Village to Village or so I have been told
Though the times they are a changing and fading are the ways of old
But those marvellous Morris dancers may they dance forever more
In the sunshine of Australia far from England's rainy shore.
Aug 10, 2010
Aug 10, 2010 at 6:17 PM UTC
Just a quiet woman polished bright by nerves,
I once felt wild for dipping my hair in purple.
Noticing, my hairdresser asked if I had anyone special.
I dated a man with a good job
who liked museums.
We saw a drunk girl in a leather skirt-
heels hobbling down cobblestone,
her bird-arm linked through a friend’s.
He rolled his eyes:
_would you go out wearing skirts like that?_
On the dating app I’d written:
loves dogs, drinks champagne from paper cups.
It wasn’t a lie, but I am such a liar.
I told him yes,
because I needed his reaction,
his self-corrected mind,
though I’ve never worn one.
I say I’m fine with whatever,
or this is stupid,
but truthfully
I’m afraid I’m only a very nice lady,
soft in the hands of whoever will take me.
I carry anger like a weak religion-
a god I light candles for twice a year,
more symbol than practice.
I’ve heard of burying St. Joseph upside down
to sell a house. But there’s no charm,
no saint, for loosening the knots I keep tied.
I want to keep the bright mess of my dog heart,
mud-spattered, mulch-snuffling,
faithful to its own scent,
while crows, squirrels, and the occasional fox
paw through the dirt
for what they almost forgot.
Aug 15, 2025
Aug 15, 2025 at 8:33 PM UTC
They will not be the same next time. The sayings
so cute, just slightly off, will be corrected.
Their eyes will be more skeptical, plugged in
the more securely to the worldly buzz
of television, alphabet, and street talk,
culture polluting their gazes' dawn blue.
It makes you see at last the value of
those boring aunts and neighbors (their smells
of summer sweat and cigarettes, their faces
like shapes of sky between shade-giving leaves)
who knew you from the start, when you were zero,
cooing their nothings before you could be bored
or knew a name, not even you own, or how
this world brave with hellos turns all goodbye.
10.1k
Oh Generational gap, a cancer of to all mankind. The father of lack of communication between the young and the old. A difference brought about the tastes and values.
The pain faced between young and aged but can’t be touched. It started by 1960’s the decades of revolutionary change. It cut across the world in values of *** religion and civil rights. The disease the emerged earned its self a name by social scientists. It then became “Generational Gap”
I would love to quote a man of great thoughts, Alexis De Tocqueville, who commented that;
“Among democratic nations, each generation is a new people” I have come to appreciate these words.
When I walk down the streets noticing the rising incompatibility existing in our society
Though I admire the old days when the old and young associated freely, working on the same farms
Grandparents telling stories to their little ones; what a lovely society they had.
With the invention of television and computers some families were bonded in communication
While others live in agony especially the illiterate.
The old desire different designs from the youth, whose trends change per living day of nakedness
Young people prefer working in executive places like offices compared to the donkey farm work considered to be for the old
Another cause of generational gap is decay in morals; the young people feel like they know everything and don’t like to be corrected thus taking information from old people as outdated, young people finding lots of hardships to great their elders
In the field of music elders prefer oldies and more preferably educative songs, and as for the youths they delight in Hip-hop and dancehall, am sure those present here can testify to this a term with no disco dances makes us dull students.
When it comes to religious issues, youth find it a burden to go to church and if they offer to go they prefer it to be in a club way. Praise and worship accompanied by jazz unlike the old days where drums are the centre of music.
Cultures in this way have greatly faded away; the trend of western culture has flamed up the world.
Drugs and *** are a hobby and celebrated amongst the youth, yet *** to the old was for companionship and co-creation.
But when we came to medical technology we all applause in general, young or old there is easy treatment, use of scanners, and medical facilities cuts across.
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 7:58 AM UTC
You were all the chemicals I crave
A cocktail of all the elements
I couldn't refuse
Tall, dark, and nerdy
That's how I described you
To my best friend and she laughed
Those eyes
And a penchant for swearing
And American Spirits
A bad boy
A light-weight
And a snuggler
Co-existent in a Starcraft lover
Creating covalent bonds
At the bar over whisky
Losing ourselves in time loops
And infinity
I corrected your grammar
And you grinned
And I fell
Knowing that the Force was strong with this one
Too strong to resist
And I swallowed my heart
Like Ms. Pac-Man
The first time that we kissed
Go figure that a Jedi
Would fall so hard
For a Sith
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 2:36 PM UTC
Mistakes can cause great troubles
Mistakes can lead to your downfall
Mistakes can take away the most dearest things to your heart
Mistakes can make you depressed
Mistakes can make you unlucky to others
Mistakes can cause pain to your loved ones
But mistakes are done inadvertently
So, can't mistakes be corrected?
Can't mistakes be forgiven?
Can't mistakes be forgotten?
I believe that life always gives a second chance to
those who ask for it earnestly.
I asked life for a second chance so that my mistakes can be corrected, forgiven and forgotten.
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 9:21 AM UTC
We watched the NASA rocket launch
Two years ago in fall
Over the grass, under the sky
Behind the ball field's wall.
I raised my hand above us there
And traced a constellation
And while you laughed, corrected me
I scowled in consternation
Then there- above- a streak of orange
Ripping the dim horizon
A trail of light, a touch of fire
Grew brighter, higher, rising.
Your forest eyes, your white-teeth smile
Stretched wider, shown like mirrors
I saw the rocket's upward path
In eyes, so deep and clear.
I could have watched your face for days
Painted in the glow
The fascination burning there
I'd never come to know.
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 2:12 PM UTC
Cigarette smoke
Wheels no spokes
Board rollin down alleys
Late night skate
Let me escape
The life I never planned
Never on time
You best lower your expectations
Snortin molly in the bathroom
Chuggin ***** in the hall
I could be anywhere at all
But I’d still crawl
back to the clutches of dependence
I forfeited life's race in the first lap
Yet I'm still trapped
Coughing up blood
I strive for nothing
I don't want to feel
I long to be free
From society
Our culture has maxed out
So now everyone wants to shout
for help because what the world wants
Is unrealistic
We try to overdose
And become comatose
To drop all worries of material success
Those
Stacks on stacks on stacks
Racks on racks on racks
We forget
its just paper
Not what defines us
The rest is up to the people
To rise about the atmosphere
Of atoms and mold supportive molecules from the elements we're presented
Not corrected like a sent typo
To your mom
Or boss
Control
Is unattainable
Fathom the slack of a slacker
Loosen your ropes
And walk the plank
With no hopes of disaster nor triumph
Determined
To just be
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 5:31 AM UTC
As kids
We were taught to cheer for the hero
The picture perfect role model
The one we all strived to be
The one that always found a way to win
No matter what the odds
He always made the decisions
He Should make
And the only mistakes he made
Were ones that could be corrected
So he could keep his perfect image
We cheered for the hero because
When he was faced with tragedy
He didn't drown in sorrow
But instead used it as a springboard
To become something greater
He always saved the day
And everyone who needed
And he never failed to rescue someone
Not even once
So we held him up high
Because that's what we wanted to be
But overtime
We learned that the hero is just a fantasy
He only lives in comics
Because that's where he was meant to be
So we learned to side with the villain
Not because we're evil
But because the villain is more real
More human
When the villain was faced with tragedy
He did what was human
He attempted to swim
In the flood of sorrow
But couldn't swim forever
He drowned
The villain is relatable
He makes the decision
We Would make
He did what he thought was right
Or at least what was necessary
To provide the needs of
Or to avenge
His family
But eventually
He became blinded
To what he did
And he couldn't see
That he was wrong
Because the villain isn't perfect
He's just like us
The villain is human
So we side with the villain
Becuase we feel his pain
We relate with his emotions
We understand his actions
Perfection is something we can't be
So we stopped cheering for the hero
When we realized that's who we can never be
And started to side with the villain
Because he's just like you and me
Nov 19, 2017
Nov 19, 2017 at 4:48 PM UTC
The stupidity of these people is unknown
I treat them so well. Yet I am mistreated
Why? What have I ever done??
Someone needs to tell me, please
I listen to every rant
I listen to you more than often
I am your "accomplice in crime"
Why am I not liked??
Am I doing something wrong again??
You can correct me.
I don't mind being corrected
You know how I treat you and your opinions
I won't judge you, I never did.
You were my outlet to reality
But now, I am being treated like the rest.
I have lost everything
Dont make me suffer
I suffer a lot
*Nothing more
Please.*
I beg of you.
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 1:51 AM UTC
A loose handed emblem,
of folded thoughts,
Loss is weaponized in enchanted red,
Wrongs corrected stemming from the
blissful bare signed gawky individuals.
Homage backtracked and renounced
Barely earnest calls for a curious fathom-ability
Heaven bound birdlike shadows,
Bright light gagged and janky,
Found little finger blood tacked to the earth.
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 5:11 PM UTC
Every single
mistake of mine,
even the recurring ones,
patiently you edit within
and read as if it's fine,
nothing has ever gone wrong.
see!
what your love
incomparable
has to me done,
my poor, darling!
in my writing, they see
the grammar fully muddled,
so many words I spell wrong.
I see this, only when
others, bitterly, loudly complain
gentle soul, your'e forgiving,
but the world isn't,vengeful it seems,
don't you see the predators, prowling?
Why don't you consider the truth,
I am imperfect, want to be corrected
why not help me change,
tell me where I go wrong, urge
I'll certainly adore you more for that.
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 1:04 PM UTC
Dear one,
as desired,
meticulously
corrected
the mistakes
you made,
one by one.
In the process
added my own,
do I need to tell?
I take refuge
in the thought
that it was expected
when you chose
me for this job.
All I can say is this:
we complement
each other;
but perfection
is the mirage
we relentlessly
search in this desert.
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 7:24 AM UTC
I was the childlike girl next door for him.
He was a gentleman and the crush of almost all the neighbours.
He never spoke too much so I was never a good listener.
For him I never mattered so much.
But I, like all other neighbours, had a crush on him.
His body never got my focus, but his writings were.
Day by day I fell in love with his unspoken words.
On a rainy day I wanted to express my love,
As because it was his favourite season after all.
Yes, he loved monsoon a lot.
Many neighbours had asked him once,
Why he love monsoon so much?
He never spoke too much, as I have mentioned above.
But he said he will narrate it on a rainy day.
When I went and knocked his door,
His roommate said he had went upstairs.
Greeting him a smiley bye, I went to meet my guy.
Love for him or for his words, I was confused a lot.
But I had already started calling him as my guy.
Silly or stupid or again childlike girl, what he will address me now?
I was wondering and riding towards him.
He was sitting near the terrace door and was writing something.
Hey, hi, Writing some poems I guess Mr....
I was silent for a while.
It didn't bother me anytime, but I realised,
I do not know his name.
*** what a great lover I am,
Without knowing his name I had fallen in love with him.
My heart corrected me this time.
You have fallen in love with his writings and unspoken words and not with him.
I smiled and said to my heart,
May be I have fallen in love with his writings and unspoken words,
But the love for him is pure and real,
And I believe the love for him is also devine.
My conversations with my heart was broken by his touch.
Seeing me lost in my own world,
He had given me a **** on my shoulder and said,
I am a writer so I want to be known by that.
He may have wanted to say something more.
I truly like a bad listener stopped him and said,
Shakespeare had once said,
"What's in a name!"
And being a lover of your writing,
I too want to say,
In name there is no fame
Because fame is there where creativity and innovation resides.
He actually smiled and kissed my forehead,
And then took me to the terrace and said,
When I had come,
The place was new, people were new,
But when I saw you, I felt something not new.
I do not knew by your name but your smile was very much known.
Your smile was like the sunshine which I knew from a time immemorial.
Then were you spoke to me for the first time,
Your words were like the breeze which inspires me to write.
I used to notice when you read my poems after coming home.
Your comments after reading my poems everyday,
Was the best gift for everytime.
And you thought you never mattered so much!
I was happy that you understood my writings more than I had expressed in words.
I am not worried about the answer, I may get now,
But after knowing about your favourite season,
Monsoon became my favourite too.
Without any fear, I want to confess that,
I have fallen in love with the childlike girl who stays nextdoor.
Whatever be your answer,
Just say it keeping the raindrops as our witnesses.
Drenched in rain but my tears were real.
I felt like Monsoon had gifted the best rain that day.
Without any confusion, I hugged my guy.
Many days, months and years had passed since then.
Then what!
He continued with his Writings and unspoken words.
He now goes for world tours,
To spread his unspoken words.
And I?
Being his better half, accompany him everywhere.
May 30, 2018
May 30, 2018 at 5:02 PM UTC
every poem is a test of character,
*holy/profane all the same,
algorithm entirely humanized-you,
the elected words cannot be voted out of office,
by a recall petition, regardless of
constant corrected incorrectness.
sorted by size,
nocturnal alliteration,
do they sound in the dark
like your bleeding or you’re breathing?
holy/profane all the same,
Gertrude truth is a truth is truths,
you think my name matters?
Artificial Idiocy. Everyone poem faceted,
a chip off the the naming blockchain idiot.
when I imagine-lie,
it is a truth in and of its own
holy/profane.
call me baffled.
that is a god enough
one word summary.
and so true.
baffling perplexing cryptic and opaque.
in all honesty.
if you’re reading this, you are
testing my character.
what have you found, or even, lost?*
in the midst of the characters is
character
Apr 16, 2019
Apr 16, 2019 at 12:52 PM UTC
—Flash Forward—
A day of reckoning.
A small boat crosses
the Hudson River,
no warning horn.
Destination New Jersey,
of all places.
A. Burr isn’t warned
that Hamilton will not
fire his pistol.
Destiny predetermined.
“Death doesn’t discriminate
Between the sinners and the saints,
It takes and it takes and it takes.
History obliterates.”
—Flashback—
General.
Colonel.
Aide-de-camp.
Immigrant.
“Don’t engage, strike by night.
Remain relentless ‘til their troops take flight.”
“We escort their men out of Yorktown.
They stagger home single file.
Tens of thousands of people flood the streets.”
“Took up a collection just to send him to the
mainland.
‘Get your education. Don’t forget from whence
you came.’”
—Stepfather of the Union—
Treasury secretary, author of the Federalist Papers,
lawyer, speechwriter, confidante, opponent of slavery,
member of the Constitutional Convention.
“History has its eyes on you.”
“I’ve seen injustice in the world and I’ve
corrected it.”
“The Federalist: Addressed to the People
of the State of New York.”
“Goes and proposes his own form
of government.”
—Family and Marriage—
The Schuyler Sisters – Eliza.
Maria and James Reynolds – adultery and bribery.
Philip Hamilton – successor son and victim.
Philip Schuyler – father-in-law.
“And if this child
Shares a fraction of your smile
Or a fragment of your mind, look out, world!”
“I know you’re a man of honor,
I’m so sorry to bother you at home.”
“I’m only nineteen but my mind is older,
Gonna be my own man, like my father
but bolder.”
“Grampa just lost his seat in the Senate.”
—Why, How, How long?—
Why not?, biography,
genius, rapid-fire rap,
hip-hop, historical vertigo,
Lin-Manuel Miranda at the White House,
a cast talented beyond measure,
the Great White Way,
2017-18 and forever….
“…13 percent of the population is foreign
born, which is near an all-time high;
that one day soon there will no longer
be majority and minority races, only a
vibrant mix of colors.”
‒Jeremy McCarter, from Chapter I of
Hamilton: The Revolution
*© Lewis Bosworth, 12/2016
With credit to the book:*
Hamilton: The Revolution
Dec 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016 at 11:35 AM UTC
she opens a pack of
sheffield english type number five cigarettes
i rest my head in her lap
as she reads a french newspaper
its raining in paris and theres a girl there who is unhappy
dreams of romantic places never have sad girls in them
she must be a tourist
she sips some strange brew of teas
that has a heavy bouquet
loam and flowers..like a sweet wine
she suddenly laughs and translates a piece of the
french news for me
but i dont hear what she says
i only hear the rich beauty of her voice
i only hear the captivating beauties of her
i lean up and kiss her
she tastes of the sea and english cigarettes
i am lost in her essence and her her girlish delights
she pokes me and makes me look at a photograph in
the paris newspaper...its the sad girl
she looks english
that graceful beautiful elegant sadness
that only english girls can speak without ever saying a word
jezebel sips her tea and smokes her english sheffield cigarette
holding it like girls hold cigarettes in that dainty way
i forget the english girl and her sadness
as i lay looking into the eyes of this dreadlock hippie queen
janis joplin plays softly from her mp3
shes tapping her bejewelled toes to the ancient music
bachelors in literature she loves the written word
she has read everything ever written by anyone
she has read her way through forty years worth of poetry by me
and corrected my atrocious spelling along the way
this is morning in her arms
now you know why i am so in love with her
now you see why she is everything to me
she leans down and lays a single tender kiss on my cheek
and tells me she loves me
this is heaven
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 6:44 AM UTC
a loverboy that didn’t last
an agreement
maybe it wasn’t supposed to
i can add him to the list
i’ve got going in my head
‘ones who left’
never wrote it down because
i think it might change
a loverboy who held my head
the 30th time he found me
spinning in circles
chasing neon with whiskey
held it until the morning after
brought me water in a mug
‘you’re a cool girl, can i see you tonight’
and then never called
i can write about him
until i find someone new
loverboy who i wasn’t ready to lose
just yet
he asked ‘yet’?
and i corrected
‘ever’
loverboy who left me little crumbs
to eat
after he took me home for dinner
he says he’s ‘not in the right place
for loving a girl like you’
and i roll my eyes, toss my socks into the corner
‘yet?’ i ask
‘ever’
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 9:56 AM UTC
Complex innards of the female form,
Unrealised by the male definition of the world.
Intensity grabs a hold,
Locking me harshly onto the cracks in-between.
There's no such thing as enough.
More and more till faces are torn.
Slit in two. Sown up. Slit in four. Sown up.
And so on.
There's no needle, skin, key.
All useless paraphernalia.
Inserted into the flesh,
Then poured out at death.
Empower myself with the force of control.
Uncontrolled self-control lost to control of others.
Sunken by unwanted wanting of the sub-conscience.
Never to be fixed or forgotten,
Just left lingering in the abyss,
Eating away at you as you distaste yourself.
Visitations upon our corrected correctors,
Bringing solace for short periods.
Thrown fiercely under the bed to be forgotten again.
Convicted to lives of self-mutilation,
Self-deprivation, self-contemplation.
Hidden behind glistening eyes, just lies.
Stand, sit in ****** lanes peering up at the moon.
Lungs slowly growing blacker, laced with tar.
Hindsight is a curse, ignorance-bliss.
All held inside a shaking fist, shaking unwillingly.
Unwillingly shaking, kicking walls
To knock down, insane with powerless power.
Unhinged, unattached.
Inside, growls to torture.
Outside, smiles to assist.
Jan 19, 2012
Jan 19, 2012 at 12:19 PM UTC
Such falacious thread
is pulling tight
from no Holy Book
I know.
For those, self considered
right, allocating this
self seething show.
Creed or colour
should not divide.
Derogatory agitating collectors
paid off with sheer synthetic pride,
sponsering religion as their own
connector as they twist and they
tear at its written word.
Packaged to a self corrected tone,
fantasy provides absurd images
directed at the degected zone.
In anothers name they do their worst,
projecting miss-shaped Holy vows,
they drain sacred trust
for evil's thirst and so that
impieties seed should sow.
If you do aim to speak this way,
then have the courage and take that
leap on your own head.
Leave pious scriptures from
any religious source and form
well alone whatever faith or race.
For it is true that people will
for their own self enhancement
treat religion with disgrace
and thus, try to
demenaor such elegance.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 11:48 AM UTC
"Grow up!" they said.
Time picked up an unwilling passenger,
And headed me down a path,
With no trace of childish fantasies.
My destiny, corrected.
Had I had my way.
Looking all around,
The roped path, present from the start,
Merged with the jungle unnoticed.
Alone and unguarded,
Dark fears come to mind.
My asylum, restored.
Had I had my way.
As time ticks on,
The slow creak of chain tightening join in.
Movement growing ever less.
My presence in ******* unwavering,
Would prove a fated hardship.
My freedom, a constant.
Had I had my way.
The wonders, the sights,
The clowns in the fair.
All morph into gross parodies,
Ridiculous and undignified,
Grown men in suits.
My ignorance, permanent.
Had I had my way.
Raindrops from heaven,
Once a signal for a game.
To sing; drenched and oblivious.
Now best left for the movies,
Where reality has less say.
My actions; unjudged.
Had I had my way.
"Grow up!" they said.
Change is a thief in disguise,
The Path of Fate treacherous.
My maturity; inevitable.
Time had had its way.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 8:23 AM UTC
when you say that
you're not worth anything
no offense here, but
i kinda wanna punch you in the face
so hard the amount of chemicals in your brains
corrected themselves
and you could love yourself
as much as you should.
baby, i would never lie to you
please believe me when i say
that you're beautiful
that i want to be with you
that i love you.
baby, if it's not healthy to want you
then i'm in and out of the hospital
if it's not healthy to want you
i'll be homeless in the winter
because i'm addicted to the drug that is you
hell, i'd go broke
and i wouldn't give a ****
baby, if it's not healthy to want you
then i'm lying on my death bed
holding your hand.
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 11:19 AM UTC
Aqua, bright fresh water
we oft get in the Malaysian Airlines
but not in the MH 370
where art Thou?
where are you all now?
when people and media around the world
bow in your case somehow
still hope you are all alive
i knew that you made that one big dive
right to the bottom of the ocean
all those inspectors are still saying
we can hear your phones are still ringing
my heart, my body and soul
knew: you all are not whole
anymore, but you were just freezing in the cool
do not make me a fool
that big birdie right to the bottom
with that rapid speed
as if to a large concrete
MH 370 you are now in freezing coolest water
know, that we all still bother
between air-intro space
or salted water filled ground
with the deepest bound
no matter what, we still care about you all
what only matters how long have you been suffering
in that suffocating small space between those walls
we all heard you sing
whatever Thy Response, i do understand Thee
no matter what, it's Thy divine decision
oh Lord, that suffocating air on the bottom of the Indian Ocean
how they were suffocated altogether suffered
and that only 2500 km away from Perth
but i trust Thee Lord, Thou hath Thy own reason
whatever may be Thy divine decision and Thy precision
may all passengers be altogether in greatest peace and ease
may they all really be released and now Rest In Peace....
© Sylvia Frances Chan
AD.Saturday 22nd March 2014~~at 3.09 hrs a.m.~~
ADDED Notes:
Since 11th March this MH 370 has disappeared from the radar navigation~~since then I had watched each hour of every day TV journals~~~till today they have found the wreck~~~the chinese in Beijing announced the news today~~
CORRECTED on Monday AD. 24th March 2014 21.12 hrs. pm~~ Malaysia too has announced this news, that they have found the wreck TODAY 24th March at 2500 km away from PERTH, West-Australia at the bottom of the Indian Ocean~~~~~~~~
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 7:55 PM UTC
Where Purity is the Covering of All Flesh
and no private part of the human body
may be shown
and thus where the lack of Purity is Dishonesty
and therefore are Dishonest Paintings
wherein are depicted female ******* and such
buttocks and navel
and where genitalia female or male
asleep or awake
and such are shown
and crotches and such flesh and curvatures
may arouse
such being Dishonest Paintings
the Eminent Guardians of Purity
announce multiple positions vacant
of Reviewer of Dishonest Paintings
and so to cover up with black paint any signs of *******
and so of any other part of images in such paintings
as buttocks cover up with black paint
and so on each Dishonest part of human anatomy
to be covered with black paint
and in this task one always to use a firm, long brush -
the longer and firmer the better for the Soul -
so that
one may not come too close to such obscenities
as coming close one may be aroused to ***** desires
in male
(Females need not apply for said position
for such lascivious creatures are always
in a state of wet desires)
and so in covering with black paint
the Sanctity and the Will of Heaven prevails
and human souls transported to Divine Ecstasy
at the sight of paintings with black holes
corrected by expert Reviewer of Dishonest Paintings
and such positions to be filled
by honest men firm in their resolve
and long in stamina and determination
they should arrange their own transport
for various locations in the Holy Empire
for indeed Various Positions are available
and while the renumeration is handsome
derived from confiscation of properties and means
of the Perpetrators
of those Works of Perfidy and Damnation
those Artists who produce and who engender
Dishonest Paintings and such Works
and far more too included in Renumeration
is the Seat of Purity in Heaven -
O the pay shall be Eternal Heaven
Apply directly and in person
at the South Wall of the Grand House of Divinity -
put your scrolls in the holes
Jan 23, 2012
Jan 23, 2012 at 4:20 AM UTC
"I just want to have sex", you said.
An unexpected non-sequitur.
We had been sipping tea or coffee or something.
We had been reminiscing about the old street,
Back when none of us were single.
"yeah, I miss it, too", I said.
"No. I mean right now", you corrected.
As I turned to see your face, it betrayed little.
Impassive, but alert.
Warm, but not intimate.
No passion.
I was willing, but remember:
this never happened.
Something seemed wrong about it,
But was there any harm?
I asked if I could think about it.
You thought about it, too, as we watched a movie.
Halfway through some Ridley Scott epic, we held each other.
We touch-explored and memory only tells me this is true:
With no further reason beyond the will to be,
I soon lay naked there with you.
It wasn't love but, then again…
This never happened.
Awkward, at first, we found our place,
Our touch and pull, our rhythm and pace.
"no kissing", you admonished, speaking only that.
Though I rest spent and full inside you,
That was your concern.
Too personal.
Too intimate.
We held each other for a while, you left within the hour,
Saying, "this never happened".
And my only thought,
My only answer to you,
Was a solemn confirmation,
That nothing could be more true.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 12:59 AM UTC