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"corrects" poems
I like immigrants, immigration. Legal immigration, Jane passionately corrects. Actually my goal is a borderless world. Gathering the neighborhood like family. The men discuss sterilizing welfare mothers. I say You're working       around the edges, humanity has exceeded the carrying capacity of the planet, even those with jobs. And spouses. And houses. Yet it's an idyll of an early summer evening, new cut grass, two baseball teams of children playing in it. Safe from Pakistan. News photos of Muslim refugees, women in blue robes, biblically carrying children away from holocaust. The fundamentalist army not far behind, beheading sinners, sure in its righteousness as the Holy Roman Empire. Somehow Joel Osteen the evangelist comes up while talking about how the Catholic Church is irrelevant in North       America, even Latin America and Africa are going evangelical. Izzi likes Osteen, awesome extemporaneous speaker, no teleprompter, up from bootstraps message. My wife says he's probably Jewish. Fortunately no one claims the Holocaust never happened or slavery       was voluntary. What is the carrying capacity of the planet? In China is it each couple or each adult that gets one offspring? As life expectancy and standards rise, family size diminishes. We draw together into greener, tighter cities. The children of three monotheistic religions, atheists and agnostics play in city streets, work farm fields, explore forests, deserts,       grasslands, space. Two ancient female poets: Enheduanna and Sappho are a revelation. The clarity of their complaints: lost lover, lost city.
0
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 10:48 AM UTC
robert-ronnow
Immigration
I like immigrants, immigration. Legal immigration, Jane passionately corrects. Actually my goal is a borderless world. Gathering the neighborhood like family. The men discuss sterilizing welfare mothers. I say You're working       around the edges, humanity has exceeded the carrying capacity of the planet, even those with jobs. And spouses. And houses. Yet it's an idyll of an early summer evening, new cut grass, two baseball teams of children playing in it. Safe from Pakistan. News photos of Muslim refugees, women in blue robes, biblically carrying children away from holocaust. The fundamentalist army not far behind, beheading sinners, sure in its righteousness as the Holy Roman Empire. Somehow Joel Osteen the evangelist comes up while talking about how the Catholic Church is irrelevant in North       America, even Latin America and Africa are going evangelical. Izzi likes Osteen, awesome extemporaneous speaker, no teleprompter, up from bootstraps message. My wife says he's probably Jewish. Fortunately no one claims the Holocaust never happened or slavery       was voluntary. What is the carrying capacity of the planet? In China is it each couple or each adult that gets one offspring? As life expectancy and standards rise, family size diminishes. We draw together into greener, tighter cities. The children of three monotheistic religions, atheists and agnostics play in city streets, work farm fields, explore forests, deserts,       grasslands, space. Two ancient female poets: Enheduanna and Sappho are a revelation. The clarity of their complaints: lost lover, lost city.
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31
A brother from another mother He got your back always when no one else did A brother from another mother He is always there even when u are defeated A brother from another mother He reminds you of the lyrics to you favourite songs A brother from another mother He corrects you when you are wrong A brother from another mother He is always there even when the world rejects you A brother from another mother Tells you that you are the best even when you are not Even when you are in the mood of despondency He gives u reason to keep your hopes alive A brother from another mother He is more than just a brother
0
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 5:17 AM UTC
azubuogu-chinwendu-chukwudi
A BROTHER FROM ANOTHER MOTHER
A brother from another mother He got your back always when no one else did A brother from another mother He is always there even when u are defeated A brother from another mother He reminds you of the lyrics to you favourite songs A brother from another mother He corrects you when you are wrong A brother from another mother He is always there even when the world rejects you A brother from another mother Tells you that you are the best even when you are not Even when you are in the mood of despondency He gives u reason to keep your hopes alive A brother from another mother He is more than just a brother
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16
A real man is not a person who can impregnate a woman; any guy can also impregnate a woman. Even a 17 year old boy can impregnate a woman but that does not make him a man. A real man is not a person who is good in bed. Any idiot can be good in bed. A real man is not a person who beats his wife/girlfriend. Infact it is only idiots that beat their women. A real man is a person who tolerates his woman A real man is a person who controls his anger A real man is the person who shows real care and love to his woman A real man is the person who knows how to solve the crises and problems in his relationship A real man does not beat his woman A real man is hardworking. He is not lazy A real man can endure, persevere and be patient A real man can overlook the bad behaviors of his woman A real man corrects his woman with love. Real men make their women happy. Therefore, ladies, when choosing a man, date real men only. Marry real men only. If you are not happy in your relationship now, that means your guy is not a real man.! Look beyond *** and money and go for happiness and peace of mind. —Do You Agree???
0
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 7:16 AM UTC
johannes-masemenezh
a real man
A real man is not a person who can impregnate a woman; any guy can also impregnate a woman. Even a 17 year old boy can impregnate a woman but that does not make him a man. A real man is not a person who is good in bed. Any idiot can be good in bed. A real man is not a person who beats his wife/girlfriend. Infact it is only idiots that beat their women. A real man is a person who tolerates his woman A real man is a person who controls his anger A real man is the person who shows real care and love to his woman A real man is the person who knows how to solve the crises and problems in his relationship A real man does not beat his woman A real man is hardworking. He is not lazy A real man can endure, persevere and be patient A real man can overlook the bad behaviors of his woman A real man corrects his woman with love. Real men make their women happy. Therefore, ladies, when choosing a man, date real men only. Marry real men only. If you are not happy in your relationship now, that means your guy is not a real man.! Look beyond *** and money and go for happiness and peace of mind. —Do You Agree???
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35
*Man and woman, though different Are equal in the eyes of God. inexplicable though true but still Unacceptable for some perhaps Man is the highest of all creations Woman is the most sublime of all Ideals. God made for a man a throne, for a woman an altar. the throne exalts, The altar sanctifies. Man is the brain. woman is the heart. The brain fabricates light while The heart produces love. light fecunds, Love resuscitates. Man is the code. Woman is the gospel. The code corrects As the gospel perfects. Man is the genius while Woman is the angel. The genius is undefinable And the angel is immeasurable. Man is strong in reason but woman is invincible in her tears. Reason convinces the most stubborn Just as tears soften the hardest of mortals. Man is the ocean And the woman is the lake. The ocean has it's pearls that adorn; The lake has its poems that dazzle.* ***Man stands where the earth ends; And woman where heaven begins.***
0
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 9:46 PM UTC
soulofink
Man vs. Woman
*Man and woman, though different Are equal in the eyes of God. inexplicable though true but still Unacceptable for some perhaps Man is the highest of all creations Woman is the most sublime of all Ideals. God made for a man a throne, for a woman an altar. the throne exalts, The altar sanctifies. Man is the brain. woman is the heart. The brain fabricates light while The heart produces love. light fecunds, Love resuscitates. Man is the code. Woman is the gospel. The code corrects As the gospel perfects. Man is the genius while Woman is the angel. The genius is undefinable And the angel is immeasurable. Man is strong in reason but woman is invincible in her tears. Reason convinces the most stubborn Just as tears soften the hardest of mortals. Man is the ocean And the woman is the lake. The ocean has it's pearls that adorn; The lake has its poems that dazzle.* ***Man stands where the earth ends; And woman where heaven begins.***
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34
Tell me what makes me love you? Tell me what makes me want you?
0
Dec 23, 2009
Dec 23, 2009 at 9:13 AM UTC
craig-dotti
Two Girls, German, on a Train Bound for Amsterdam, Studying the Brain ("Medulla" One says, "Cerebellum", the Other Corrects)
Tell me what makes me love you? Tell me what makes me want you?
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2
We are distracted by reality shows And the newest iPod or MacBook Spell check even corrects the ipod to iPod Materialism will be the end of our freedom And the dependence on consumer products and imported goods Technically, Technology is a blessing and a curse Memories of the good ol’ days will die Hard
0
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 3:55 AM UTC
adellebee
Material Death
We are distracted by reality shows And the newest iPod or MacBook Spell check even corrects the ipod to iPod Materialism will be the end of our freedom And the dependence on consumer products and imported goods Technically, Technology is a blessing and a curse Memories of the good ol’ days will die Hard
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8
It all started with mixing Tequila and Sambuca last Friday night. Then I noticed him, busting some classic moves on the dance floor. Soon we are dancing, grinding, kissing, laughing, dancing, kissing, he's even drinking out of my half finished cup of water, he's smiling. "I'm a Royal Marine, not an Army boy!" he corrects. "A Commando." We both even have the same phone! Coincidence? I don't think so. Beads of sweat dripping from his hair onto his flawless face and neck, yet, he smells oh so divine, "it's Gucci Guilty Intense", he explains. I blurt out, "Hope this won't be a waste of your time, 'cause I'm not going to sleep with you tonight!" He says, "All right", and smiles. Mixed signals, cold bed phobia, pure drunkenness combined, I offer him, "It's late. You can spend the night at mine, I don't mind." "Just Scott, you won't remember the rest, it's long and complicated", later he adds, "Good luck trying to find me without my name!" "I'm Twenty One." "That's so young", I exclaim and he frowns. He's cocky yet witty, and also very pretty, so I let my dignity drown. Taking him in my mouth until he explodes like a loaded gun, my duty to the nation's hunkiest hero was well and truly done. "I joined two days after my eighteenth birthday", said he with pride. "My vacation's over. I'm leaving on Sunday to Poole". I sighed. I spent the entire night insomniac, with my head throbbing to the beat of his obliviously, peacefuly sleeping exhaling and inhaling speed. Close enough to feel the heat of his body, yet a million miles away, him dreaming and I reminiscing, both awaiting the dawn of a new day. Skipping the "thank you", "goodbye", hug or phone number, he says, "See you around maybe", holding a rather deceitfully seductive gaze. "Scott, we're never going to see each other again", I answer bluntly. Mirroring my sad smile in reply, minus the sadness, he left promptly.
0
Nov 24, 2012
Nov 24, 2012 at 3:05 PM UTC
harsh
Soldier Boy
It all started with mixing Tequila and Sambuca last Friday night. Then I noticed him, busting some classic moves on the dance floor. Soon we are dancing, grinding, kissing, laughing, dancing, kissing, he's even drinking out of my half finished cup of water, he's smiling. "I'm a Royal Marine, not an Army boy!" he corrects. "A Commando." We both even have the same phone! Coincidence? I don't think so. Beads of sweat dripping from his hair onto his flawless face and neck, yet, he smells oh so divine, "it's Gucci Guilty Intense", he explains. I blurt out, "Hope this won't be a waste of your time, 'cause I'm not going to sleep with you tonight!" He says, "All right", and smiles. Mixed signals, cold bed phobia, pure drunkenness combined, I offer him, "It's late. You can spend the night at mine, I don't mind." "Just Scott, you won't remember the rest, it's long and complicated", later he adds, "Good luck trying to find me without my name!" "I'm Twenty One." "That's so young", I exclaim and he frowns. He's cocky yet witty, and also very pretty, so I let my dignity drown. Taking him in my mouth until he explodes like a loaded gun, my duty to the nation's hunkiest hero was well and truly done. "I joined two days after my eighteenth birthday", said he with pride. "My vacation's over. I'm leaving on Sunday to Poole". I sighed. I spent the entire night insomniac, with my head throbbing to the beat of his obliviously, peacefuly sleeping exhaling and inhaling speed. Close enough to feel the heat of his body, yet a million miles away, him dreaming and I reminiscing, both awaiting the dawn of a new day. Skipping the "thank you", "goodbye", hug or phone number, he says, "See you around maybe", holding a rather deceitfully seductive gaze. "Scott, we're never going to see each other again", I answer bluntly. Mirroring my sad smile in reply, minus the sadness, he left promptly.
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28
My living disposition leads me to assert that I am not dead! Yet, my silence screams ancient transcriptions across geographical contour lines which are considered to be far removed from the metaphorical grid of contemporary societal norms, where the seductions of the vampyre and her haunting dynamics cast their eerie spells within this captivating fishbowl of galloping horses. The Prince of Wallachia is able to explain. Let us converse with The Count. Whenever there is emphasis upon specific detail in this age of certain vanity, I find that, in 1456, I am truly bereft of valedictorian and flamenco odours, because this royal prince of acoustic arrangement has generated a harmonious expression which humbly corrects my intrapersonal assumptions across the mountainous regions of Transylvania. Conflict resolution is therefore a mere figment of sociological and anthropological constructs, which fornicate with the façade of egocentrism and fabricates vain attempts to maintain social elitism within a blanket of darkness. How do we find ourselves in the position of being so diametrically opposed to reality?
0
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 12:47 AM UTC
david-barr
Freedom of Speech
My living disposition leads me to assert that I am not dead! Yet, my silence screams ancient transcriptions across geographical contour lines which are considered to be far removed from the metaphorical grid of contemporary societal norms, where the seductions of the vampyre and her haunting dynamics cast their eerie spells within this captivating fishbowl of galloping horses. The Prince of Wallachia is able to explain. Let us converse with The Count. Whenever there is emphasis upon specific detail in this age of certain vanity, I find that, in 1456, I am truly bereft of valedictorian and flamenco odours, because this royal prince of acoustic arrangement has generated a harmonious expression which humbly corrects my intrapersonal assumptions across the mountainous regions of Transylvania. Conflict resolution is therefore a mere figment of sociological and anthropological constructs, which fornicate with the façade of egocentrism and fabricates vain attempts to maintain social elitism within a blanket of darkness. How do we find ourselves in the position of being so diametrically opposed to reality?
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7
My night time self hates my morning self it's clear as night and day they never did get along. My night time self stays up too late never sleeps always thinking drinking, plotting, planning, worrying about morning self's mistakes smoking a thousand cigarettes one **** over the line eating chocolate bars at one a.m. While my morning self an early riser is the one that has to get up go to work always corrects and lectures dedicated to maintaining the structure. My night time self only thinks about himself uses the last piece of wood won't bother setting up the coffee maker he's so cruel stares into t.v. space muttering about love's he's never had. While my morning face has to face the clutter of night time disgrace bottles, lights blasting computers running another ***** movie going hello poetry splattered on the walls and another alcohol poisoned Jersey blonde stretched out across the bathroom floor while morning self has to shave and doesn't know her name. Night time self finally sleeps god rest his soul about the time morning self from his dreams has to rise rudely awakened by talk radio. Morning self has to go out and play the straightened out games while the residue of night time insanity lingers, a film covering morning self's pretense at sanity. Responsible ethical moral always has to pay the bills for you know who. I once tried to get them together a meeting of these two but it quickly dissolved into a shouting match across the twilight dew never could get them together they were as different as me and me and you and you.
0
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 9:52 AM UTC
sjr1000
Night and Day
My night time self hates my morning self it's clear as night and day they never did get along. My night time self stays up too late never sleeps always thinking drinking, plotting, planning, worrying about morning self's mistakes smoking a thousand cigarettes one **** over the line eating chocolate bars at one a.m. While my morning self an early riser is the one that has to get up go to work always corrects and lectures dedicated to maintaining the structure. My night time self only thinks about himself uses the last piece of wood won't bother setting up the coffee maker he's so cruel stares into t.v. space muttering about love's he's never had. While my morning face has to face the clutter of night time disgrace bottles, lights blasting computers running another ***** movie going hello poetry splattered on the walls and another alcohol poisoned Jersey blonde stretched out across the bathroom floor while morning self has to shave and doesn't know her name. Night time self finally sleeps god rest his soul about the time morning self from his dreams has to rise rudely awakened by talk radio. Morning self has to go out and play the straightened out games while the residue of night time insanity lingers, a film covering morning self's pretense at sanity. Responsible ethical moral always has to pay the bills for you know who. I once tried to get them together a meeting of these two but it quickly dissolved into a shouting match across the twilight dew never could get them together they were as different as me and me and you and you.
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84
If you are having trouble with your overall new iphone 4, there are many associated with in your own home i phone fix procedures you can consider. Even so, take into account that you can also find many i phone repair solutions you may want to should fully stay clear of, as these ways might cause additionally hurt along with emptiness the particular extended warranty. Thus, before you decide to chance a do-it-yourself iPhone fix, find the adhering to: apple iphone Mend Accomplish ?Complete: Turn these devices down, after which back with. Restarting the actual apple iphone generally adjusts almost any downside to software program plus purposes. This is a quick solution, however normally probably the most worthwhile. This is the identical to along with computers, while reigniting your personal computer usually corrects numerous operation difficulties. ?Complete: Upgrade a apple iphone. If your hardware just isn't working correctly, it is usually due to the lack of a system upgrade. Link the particular iPhone on your docking personal computer, and after that insert apple itunes. If the bring up to date is accessible, select to download and install your upgrade in the mobile phone. When the revise possesses uploaded towards the cellphone, all problems needs to be remedied. ?Accomplish: Recharge the battery. Should the power is starting to wear lower, features for quite a few hardware and software could fall short, contributing to inadequate overall performance through the device. Asking battery modifies these complaints. iphone 4 Restore Sports Dress in jailbreak the cell phone. It sometimes does add additional overall performance and also modification features, issues voids the guarantee, if you decide to ought to switch the cellular phone, you will be required to get a brand new one, entirely. Stay clear of examining the extender in any respect. After you break the close on the apple iphone, Apple inc and also the providers won't make gadget back again. It is advisable to you need to take the phone to your company or perhaps certified iPhone repair service service provider and have absolutely all of them think about the gadget very first, in advance of continuing. Not surprisingly, that which you do to fix your current iPhone depends upon their guarantee and your expertise as a repairman. If you can't believe that it will be easy to complete the particular maintenance yourself, you ought to use a professional iphone 3gs repair shop service provider. http://www.passwordmanagers.net/ Password Manager Windows
0
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 1:26 AM UTC
anastasiad
If you are having trouble with your overall new iphone 4
If you are having trouble with your overall new iphone 4, there are many associated with in your own home i phone fix procedures you can consider. Even so, take into account that you can also find many i phone repair solutions you may want to should fully stay clear of, as these ways might cause additionally hurt along with emptiness the particular extended warranty. Thus, before you decide to chance a do-it-yourself iPhone fix, find the adhering to: apple iphone Mend Accomplish ?Complete: Turn these devices down, after which back with. Restarting the actual apple iphone generally adjusts almost any downside to software program plus purposes. This is a quick solution, however normally probably the most worthwhile. This is the identical to along with computers, while reigniting your personal computer usually corrects numerous operation difficulties. ?Complete: Upgrade a apple iphone. If your hardware just isn't working correctly, it is usually due to the lack of a system upgrade. Link the particular iPhone on your docking personal computer, and after that insert apple itunes. If the bring up to date is accessible, select to download and install your upgrade in the mobile phone. When the revise possesses uploaded towards the cellphone, all problems needs to be remedied. ?Accomplish: Recharge the battery. Should the power is starting to wear lower, features for quite a few hardware and software could fall short, contributing to inadequate overall performance through the device. Asking battery modifies these complaints. iphone 4 Restore Sports Dress in jailbreak the cell phone. It sometimes does add additional overall performance and also modification features, issues voids the guarantee, if you decide to ought to switch the cellular phone, you will be required to get a brand new one, entirely. Stay clear of examining the extender in any respect. After you break the close on the apple iphone, Apple inc and also the providers won't make gadget back again. It is advisable to you need to take the phone to your company or perhaps certified iPhone repair service service provider and have absolutely all of them think about the gadget very first, in advance of continuing. Not surprisingly, that which you do to fix your current iPhone depends upon their guarantee and your expertise as a repairman. If you can't believe that it will be easy to complete the particular maintenance yourself, you ought to use a professional iphone 3gs repair shop service provider. http://www.passwordmanagers.net/ Password Manager Windows
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10
3 hands kidding hands, an autocorrection title, was supposed to be kissing hands but either works man overcome with an elixir of Sunday bed warming/charming/chilling, lukewarm "hot" coffee, melodious love songs inducing languorously hand-to-mouth, five finger fore play love making a potpourri of knuckle gnawing and gentling kisses upon a hand borrowed from the a tablet holder, while she reads the paper bemoaning the sorry state of the world, the government permissions bad guys... and weeps for the world we are leaving behind a mood changer with 100% effectiveness newspapers- a safe *** condiment think I'll reheat my coffee <•> my hand she cant sleep knows that I'm up at 2:08am composing.   and showed her earlier today the kidding hands poem just as the lights were going down, downtown on William's Measure For Measure so at 2:09am her hand snakes over and wrap itself around my thumb as if she was weaning an infant from what infants like doing, or weaning grownup old men like me from doing at 2:09am, what they should be best leaving alone, like writing poetry or it could just be the woman pseudo-sucking a poets thumb as a way of saying can't sleep head buzzing and in between I love the livening lying of living with your hands thumb in me <•> the facement of your hands dr. mandy is handy with a needling drink of boo boo bo-toxin that auto corrects the face's reflecting times drawing upon it, our bodies facement; an effacement I suppose, or maybe a defacement.   very little to be done to keep the hands couture covering from revealing what devolutionary year it is for you: why I write of the facement of your hands and why I kiss them, your hands, lovingly, hoping the natural  toxins on my lips can ****** their aging, and if they can't, then it is a great way of saying I love you <•>   2:53am
0
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 3:00 AM UTC
onlylovepoetry
3 hands
3 hands kidding hands, an autocorrection title, was supposed to be kissing hands but either works man overcome with an elixir of Sunday bed warming/charming/chilling, lukewarm "hot" coffee, melodious love songs inducing languorously hand-to-mouth, five finger fore play love making a potpourri of knuckle gnawing and gentling kisses upon a hand borrowed from the a tablet holder, while she reads the paper bemoaning the sorry state of the world, the government permissions bad guys... and weeps for the world we are leaving behind a mood changer with 100% effectiveness newspapers- a safe *** condiment think I'll reheat my coffee <•> my hand she cant sleep knows that I'm up at 2:08am composing.   and showed her earlier today the kidding hands poem just as the lights were going down, downtown on William's Measure For Measure so at 2:09am her hand snakes over and wrap itself around my thumb as if she was weaning an infant from what infants like doing, or weaning grownup old men like me from doing at 2:09am, what they should be best leaving alone, like writing poetry or it could just be the woman pseudo-sucking a poets thumb as a way of saying can't sleep head buzzing and in between I love the livening lying of living with your hands thumb in me <•> the facement of your hands dr. mandy is handy with a needling drink of boo boo bo-toxin that auto corrects the face's reflecting times drawing upon it, our bodies facement; an effacement I suppose, or maybe a defacement.   very little to be done to keep the hands couture covering from revealing what devolutionary year it is for you: why I write of the facement of your hands and why I kiss them, your hands, lovingly, hoping the natural  toxins on my lips can ****** their aging, and if they can't, then it is a great way of saying I love you <•>   2:53am
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44
I look out into the world and see all this beauty And my heart runs wild As sensations I’ve never imagined rush through it And I want so badly to create these wonders I want to mould beauty So I start Eager, young, naive I begin Trying, working, struggling My teacher shows me how I try some more A kind soul corrects me I continue trying But before I show anyone my beauty I see a version more perfect More beautiful And I let mine fall I wake up No longer young or naïve or eager Doubtful, Aged, I wake my dream shatters I let it fall And I sit and try to shed tears But can’t for I am too old for that I sit watching this version of beauty pass by I know you will say We should not compare ourselves with others You will say there will always be greater and lesser people than ourselves. But in truth what is to be human? To live amongst people To be thankful when around those with less To find it hard to do the same when those arond have more. I know you will say We each have our type of beauty, One we can give, One that will move someone, One that will belong to someone It will be their version of beauty Their perfection And I think I decide that you are right I pick up my pieces Get back to work Finally I’m done My beauty is perfect in my eyes I lock it away in a place where none can find it I keep it. Once in a while I look at it Once in a while It moves me Once in a while It makes me smile For none else can see it and find fault in it None else can crush it Since it is mine I can never destroy it Once in a while It’s my perfection, My beauty I say all this But I Lie to myself For each time I look at my beauty Look at my perfection It looks dull Unpolished And no matter how hard I want to try Always unfinished. Though I have all the time in the world. It hurts I am my own worst judge. Beauty is the reason we create Why the vampire lives forever Why a single note of the orchestra freezes hearts for one breath Why a simple melody will move souls Yet stop the evening breeze from being felt They are all perfect that’s what I want Laughable How can I possibly get there? What was I thinking Assuming. I should just let it fall one last time For beauty is clearly not meant to come from me Just observed, Some are made to create beauty I was made to be moved by it. So what do we do then? For I had dedicated my life to creating beauty Now what? Why did I have to see their beauty? Why did I foolishly look? For the funny part is They are my image, or maybe I’m the cheap imitation of theirs.
0
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 12:06 AM UTC
jw
Lamento Della Artista
I look out into the world and see all this beauty And my heart runs wild As sensations I’ve never imagined rush through it And I want so badly to create these wonders I want to mould beauty So I start Eager, young, naive I begin Trying, working, struggling My teacher shows me how I try some more A kind soul corrects me I continue trying But before I show anyone my beauty I see a version more perfect More beautiful And I let mine fall I wake up No longer young or naïve or eager Doubtful, Aged, I wake my dream shatters I let it fall And I sit and try to shed tears But can’t for I am too old for that I sit watching this version of beauty pass by I know you will say We should not compare ourselves with others You will say there will always be greater and lesser people than ourselves. But in truth what is to be human? To live amongst people To be thankful when around those with less To find it hard to do the same when those arond have more. I know you will say We each have our type of beauty, One we can give, One that will move someone, One that will belong to someone It will be their version of beauty Their perfection And I think I decide that you are right I pick up my pieces Get back to work Finally I’m done My beauty is perfect in my eyes I lock it away in a place where none can find it I keep it. Once in a while I look at it Once in a while It moves me Once in a while It makes me smile For none else can see it and find fault in it None else can crush it Since it is mine I can never destroy it Once in a while It’s my perfection, My beauty I say all this But I Lie to myself For each time I look at my beauty Look at my perfection It looks dull Unpolished And no matter how hard I want to try Always unfinished. Though I have all the time in the world. It hurts I am my own worst judge. Beauty is the reason we create Why the vampire lives forever Why a single note of the orchestra freezes hearts for one breath Why a simple melody will move souls Yet stop the evening breeze from being felt They are all perfect that’s what I want Laughable How can I possibly get there? What was I thinking Assuming. I should just let it fall one last time For beauty is clearly not meant to come from me Just observed, Some are made to create beauty I was made to be moved by it. So what do we do then? For I had dedicated my life to creating beauty Now what? Why did I have to see their beauty? Why did I foolishly look? For the funny part is They are my image, or maybe I’m the cheap imitation of theirs.
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103
. “The lunatic is on the grass” Signs don’t really matter Spelling corrects the mood Dancing on the scattered blades My word, he’s such a crazy dude “The lunatic is on the grass” Park place settings filter In silverware and dreams Sidewalks offer no relief That’s when the pain excites the screams “Remembering games and daisy chains and laughs” Memories grow within the weeds Flowers cast in sad defeat Caretakers watch as footprints carve Barking out orders, then repeat “Got to keep the loonies on the path” Herding shadows singular Days to nights of gloom Read the writing on the wall This is the dark side of the moon
0
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 10:00 PM UTC
jack-3
The Dark Side
. “The lunatic is on the grass” Signs don’t really matter Spelling corrects the mood Dancing on the scattered blades My word, he’s such a crazy dude “The lunatic is on the grass” Park place settings filter In silverware and dreams Sidewalks offer no relief That’s when the pain excites the screams “Remembering games and daisy chains and laughs” Memories grow within the weeds Flowers cast in sad defeat Caretakers watch as footprints carve Barking out orders, then repeat “Got to keep the loonies on the path” Herding shadows singular Days to nights of gloom Read the writing on the wall This is the dark side of the moon
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21
From the warm breath of bright light, blue sky breaks through our dormancy. Cool breeze still keeps on bare air, whilst curved lines rise bound in time to care for the meaning of life. We're expected to expand or contract, responding to vast constructs set upon us. It's easy to forget measures of the present tense. Stillness often corrects parallels to connect, as impulses bubble up to ****** inside the mind. Characters unseen play amongst the set, there are integrated games we gain but our existence is said to be simplistic. Focus on your sense of self and betterment, less complicated within the riddles of preconditioning. Here to give, win and begin again.
0
May 2, 2021
May 2, 2021 at 3:54 PM UTC
PoeticTetra
Akin
From the warm breath of bright light, blue sky breaks through our dormancy. Cool breeze still keeps on bare air, whilst curved lines rise bound in time to care for the meaning of life. We're expected to expand or contract, responding to vast constructs set upon us. It's easy to forget measures of the present tense. Stillness often corrects parallels to connect, as impulses bubble up to ****** inside the mind. Characters unseen play amongst the set, there are integrated games we gain but our existence is said to be simplistic. Focus on your sense of self and betterment, less complicated within the riddles of preconditioning. Here to give, win and begin again.
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13
my bed became a sanctuary of nothingness.   But I fear emptiness.  Its close.  A paralysis of indecision permeates like frigid winter through drafty walls.  I decide to sleep in.   Occasionally turning to see the clock- minutes, hours pile up like ***** dishes. During broad daylight, the distant noise of a cessna impedes into my room, defining a vast separation.  One, maybe two people up there have an interesting life, an important destination.  Listening to their flight gives me something to do.  When they are gone, I have nothing left but a fingerprint stained glass of water. By late afternoon, the lost day vaguely disturbs like seeing one shoe on a highway.   Either painful or a waste, nothing good about it.   Finally light dims.  A broken clock is right twice in a day, but since I'm the one who stopped, the clock catches up with my uselessness in bed. The period on the sentence that I have, truly, accomplished nothing.   Darkness justifies my nap.  A relief as I can finally end the day with some sleep. I dream of being infinite, traversing the universe a narrow beam of light.  You pass me by a little faster, but turn around so we can create time together, to become here. I dream of when we camped by a river's waterfall.  Half awake my eyes can see the tent filled with soft green light.  No light source but bright enough to see by, everything in the tent and you sleeping peacefully. Logic corrects me, says it a New Moon and I shouldn't be able to see anything.  My eyes agree and slowly darken, blind to the color of love's aura that I can still feel. I wake.  Pour one bowl of cereal instead of two, remembering when you looked up from breakfast and said, "let’s ride our bikes across the country," just like that.  And just like that we did, halfway anyway.  1500 miles was just the beginning.  I love the places you take me. I call you up.  "Let's not call them dealbreakers, ok?"
0
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 8:52 PM UTC
life-nomadic
When I left, When You Left,
my bed became a sanctuary of nothingness.   But I fear emptiness.  Its close.  A paralysis of indecision permeates like frigid winter through drafty walls.  I decide to sleep in.   Occasionally turning to see the clock- minutes, hours pile up like ***** dishes. During broad daylight, the distant noise of a cessna impedes into my room, defining a vast separation.  One, maybe two people up there have an interesting life, an important destination.  Listening to their flight gives me something to do.  When they are gone, I have nothing left but a fingerprint stained glass of water. By late afternoon, the lost day vaguely disturbs like seeing one shoe on a highway.   Either painful or a waste, nothing good about it.   Finally light dims.  A broken clock is right twice in a day, but since I'm the one who stopped, the clock catches up with my uselessness in bed. The period on the sentence that I have, truly, accomplished nothing.   Darkness justifies my nap.  A relief as I can finally end the day with some sleep. I dream of being infinite, traversing the universe a narrow beam of light.  You pass me by a little faster, but turn around so we can create time together, to become here. I dream of when we camped by a river's waterfall.  Half awake my eyes can see the tent filled with soft green light.  No light source but bright enough to see by, everything in the tent and you sleeping peacefully. Logic corrects me, says it a New Moon and I shouldn't be able to see anything.  My eyes agree and slowly darken, blind to the color of love's aura that I can still feel. I wake.  Pour one bowl of cereal instead of two, remembering when you looked up from breakfast and said, "let’s ride our bikes across the country," just like that.  And just like that we did, halfway anyway.  1500 miles was just the beginning.  I love the places you take me. I call you up.  "Let's not call them dealbreakers, ok?"
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12
I begin my walk on the circled asphalt path behind the old Lutheran church founded in 1790 the crickets chirp a defiant roar as I descend upon their quiet space clouds are dark and a bit threatening are they spirits taking form above me? mistral winds on a windless day seem to gather and fuse into words sentences held for a moment...clear then lost to fuzzy and distorted whispers 'They are here...' 'Isaac' 'Listen to me...I must kill' 'I have an angel' 'power' before departing I stop at a headstone I'm not sure why but I attempt to pronounce the last name of this departed soul 3 times on the 3rd try I am interrupted by a young boy who corrects me with the proper pronunciation I turn at the gate and advise the spirits that I am leaving a friendly 'okay' came back to me my God I have walked in the living room of the dead
0
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 2:51 PM UTC
RoyDeckard
Spitzler
I begin my walk on the circled asphalt path behind the old Lutheran church founded in 1790 the crickets chirp a defiant roar as I descend upon their quiet space clouds are dark and a bit threatening are they spirits taking form above me? mistral winds on a windless day seem to gather and fuse into words sentences held for a moment...clear then lost to fuzzy and distorted whispers 'They are here...' 'Isaac' 'Listen to me...I must kill' 'I have an angel' 'power' before departing I stop at a headstone I'm not sure why but I attempt to pronounce the last name of this departed soul 3 times on the 3rd try I am interrupted by a young boy who corrects me with the proper pronunciation I turn at the gate and advise the spirits that I am leaving a friendly 'okay' came back to me my God I have walked in the living room of the dead
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32
Leong's watching TikTok on her laptop (as always) and she asks Lisa (a NYC girl) “Are you familiar with the the “downtown girl” aesthetic?” Lisa’s dismissive, “Yeah, it just looks like Urban Outfitters grunge to me.” Leong explains, “It includes headphones and it’s supposed to be a Lower Manhattan style.” “Yeah,” Lisa snorts, “Because Greenwich Village and the Lower East Side are SO cohesive.” Lisa considers herself an Uptown girl (like the song) even though 59th Street, where she lives, is the border between Uptown and Midtown Manhattan. I’m learning that these distinctions are culturally key to New Yorkers. “And,” Lisa adds, “why would someone wear, and lug around, giant, clunky headphones when you can use AirPods??” “Amen sister.” I proclaim and even Leong nods in agreement. “Later, Sunny, Leong and I are on a study break, eating salads and talking about who we hope Yale invites to the next “Spring Fling” concert. We aren’t being realistic; we’re covering who we wish would come. I’d named Charlie Puth, “Kat-Tun!” Leong squealed (A Japanese boy band - apparently Chinese girls LOVE their boybands) and Sunny countered with Ed Sheeran. “I don’t like Ed Sheeran,” I mumbled, making a yuck-face. “Why no Ed?” Sunny gasps with shock (She’s a big Ed fangirl). “I don’t know,” I shrugged, “he’s a star by all measurable metrics,” I admit, “but,” I fade out. “You want my theory on Ed hate?” Sunny offered, “He’s beyond talented vocally - whoever your favorite artist is, Ed’s probably not that far behind. He’s a stellar song writer and he’s making hit after hit; do you want my theory?” “Too basic, too popular?” I guess. “No, he’s not appealing to the gaze,” Sunny states. “The gays?” Leong questions, stepping back into the conversation. “No,” Sunny corrects, “the gaze - G-A-Z-E, he doesn’t try to look pretty all the time.” “Ha!” I snort, “Gaze, I thought you meant gays too,” as Leong and I chuckle together. “No,” Sunny laughs, “nothing like THAT. Ed’s just not trying to be a heartthrob, he knows that’s not his core strong point - and that’s why he’s discounted.” “Like lesbians don’t comb their hair or wear makeup and wear pajamas to class” Leong observes, “they don’t want to attract the male gaze?” “No, we’re not imbued by the male gaze.” Sunny states, “Ed just wants to lowkey.”
0
Dec 14, 2022
Dec 14, 2022 at 10:51 AM UTC
anaisvionet
gazes
Leong's watching TikTok on her laptop (as always) and she asks Lisa (a NYC girl) “Are you familiar with the the “downtown girl” aesthetic?” Lisa’s dismissive, “Yeah, it just looks like Urban Outfitters grunge to me.” Leong explains, “It includes headphones and it’s supposed to be a Lower Manhattan style.” “Yeah,” Lisa snorts, “Because Greenwich Village and the Lower East Side are SO cohesive.” Lisa considers herself an Uptown girl (like the song) even though 59th Street, where she lives, is the border between Uptown and Midtown Manhattan. I’m learning that these distinctions are culturally key to New Yorkers. “And,” Lisa adds, “why would someone wear, and lug around, giant, clunky headphones when you can use AirPods??” “Amen sister.” I proclaim and even Leong nods in agreement. “Later, Sunny, Leong and I are on a study break, eating salads and talking about who we hope Yale invites to the next “Spring Fling” concert. We aren’t being realistic; we’re covering who we wish would come. I’d named Charlie Puth, “Kat-Tun!” Leong squealed (A Japanese boy band - apparently Chinese girls LOVE their boybands) and Sunny countered with Ed Sheeran. “I don’t like Ed Sheeran,” I mumbled, making a yuck-face. “Why no Ed?” Sunny gasps with shock (She’s a big Ed fangirl). “I don’t know,” I shrugged, “he’s a star by all measurable metrics,” I admit, “but,” I fade out. “You want my theory on Ed hate?” Sunny offered, “He’s beyond talented vocally - whoever your favorite artist is, Ed’s probably not that far behind. He’s a stellar song writer and he’s making hit after hit; do you want my theory?” “Too basic, too popular?” I guess. “No, he’s not appealing to the gaze,” Sunny states. “The gays?” Leong questions, stepping back into the conversation. “No,” Sunny corrects, “the gaze - G-A-Z-E, he doesn’t try to look pretty all the time.” “Ha!” I snort, “Gaze, I thought you meant gays too,” as Leong and I chuckle together. “No,” Sunny laughs, “nothing like THAT. Ed’s just not trying to be a heartthrob, he knows that’s not his core strong point - and that’s why he’s discounted.” “Like lesbians don’t comb their hair or wear makeup and wear pajamas to class” Leong observes, “they don’t want to attract the male gaze?” “No, we’re not imbued by the male gaze.” Sunny states, “Ed just wants to lowkey.”
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20
Girl No. 1 wears her jeans cuffed and hates everyone but the Jets. Her voice is honey-thick around biting words. Smiling does not come easy to her. She wears her face like a mask—big glasses, big eyes, big quiet. When I see her, she lifts her hand in a grim wave, delta creases in her brown palm. Her excuse for her silence is that she’s boring, but she’s not. She dots her eyes with tiny stars and listens to German orchestra whenever she can. She thinks she has buried herself well, but bits of her still protrude from the topsoil, aching to be known. Girl No. 2 is grey flannel and deliberate sentences. Her hair covers her face, yet when she speaks about trees and animals and the hole torn in our atmosphere by ultraviolet, ultraviolent rays, she is thunder. I gave her lotion for her cracked hands one time. When we smiled at each other after, we knew at once we were part of the same club. Girl No. 2 never corrects people when they forget her name. They say Kaitlyn, Kaleigh, Katie…let the word drop as if it were no more important than a used napkin. I hate it. I pick her used napkin name from the floor and smooth it over my lap. I say it right and she replies, with perfect seriousness, thank you: Thank you for the correct pronunciation of my identity. Girl No. 3 is a hard one. Look at her once and you’ll see Maybelline lashes and a glass-cutting face. Look twice and you’ll see more. The sag of her shoulders, the stinging weariness of posturing for people far beneath her. I startle her. I’m too inquisitive for her taste. She does not want the world knowing her mother drank three liters of ***** before driving off a bridge, that her favorite color is celery green, or that anorexia and anxiety stalked her through the halls of high school like a pair of vultures. She wants to stay in her castle of ice, but it has imprisoned her. You poet, she teases me. You right-brained heap of color and sensitivity. You’re too much. I don’t know what to do with you. I ask her who she is and she recites her answer. 130, 125, 2315. But this girl is more than her IQ, her weight, or her SAT score, and when I tell her so, her Maybelline lashes are ruined.
0
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 9:32 PM UTC
claire-mcculley
anatomy of the quiet girls in the room
Girl No. 1 wears her jeans cuffed and hates everyone but the Jets. Her voice is honey-thick around biting words. Smiling does not come easy to her. She wears her face like a mask—big glasses, big eyes, big quiet. When I see her, she lifts her hand in a grim wave, delta creases in her brown palm. Her excuse for her silence is that she’s boring, but she’s not. She dots her eyes with tiny stars and listens to German orchestra whenever she can. She thinks she has buried herself well, but bits of her still protrude from the topsoil, aching to be known. Girl No. 2 is grey flannel and deliberate sentences. Her hair covers her face, yet when she speaks about trees and animals and the hole torn in our atmosphere by ultraviolet, ultraviolent rays, she is thunder. I gave her lotion for her cracked hands one time. When we smiled at each other after, we knew at once we were part of the same club. Girl No. 2 never corrects people when they forget her name. They say Kaitlyn, Kaleigh, Katie…let the word drop as if it were no more important than a used napkin. I hate it. I pick her used napkin name from the floor and smooth it over my lap. I say it right and she replies, with perfect seriousness, thank you: Thank you for the correct pronunciation of my identity. Girl No. 3 is a hard one. Look at her once and you’ll see Maybelline lashes and a glass-cutting face. Look twice and you’ll see more. The sag of her shoulders, the stinging weariness of posturing for people far beneath her. I startle her. I’m too inquisitive for her taste. She does not want the world knowing her mother drank three liters of ***** before driving off a bridge, that her favorite color is celery green, or that anorexia and anxiety stalked her through the halls of high school like a pair of vultures. She wants to stay in her castle of ice, but it has imprisoned her. You poet, she teases me. You right-brained heap of color and sensitivity. You’re too much. I don’t know what to do with you. I ask her who she is and she recites her answer. 130, 125, 2315. But this girl is more than her IQ, her weight, or her SAT score, and when I tell her so, her Maybelline lashes are ruined.
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3
“She opens her mouth with wisdom, and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue.” ~Proverbs 31:26 Born upon dry desert winds To a welcoming place of the Lord Her tongue corrects those with sin Her heart exudes the Holy Word A quiet peace follows her home And graces her as she’s out and about She lives by the truth that she’s never alone Never is there a moment of doubt. Girls will be girls, but no excuse is permitted For her, the standard is highly taught Grace is given and mercy outfitted Biblical rules of gold are wrought. Eager and young, filled with joy to the brim The woman of God holds a gathering Candles light their vigil in the dim Sister in Christ, yet wisely mothering She is humbly quiet, and yet she is strong A guide and example to mirror the Savior Sincerity permeating, saturating each song Love and obedience encouraging her behavior Some cannot hope to navigate The waves and currents that sway the young Blessed are those who have someone to demonstrate Even more blessed: the one by whom it is done She rides in Elijah’s chariot, Traveling far from here Staff and cloak for those who’ll carry it Left only for those who hold her dear Adventure awaits, full of precious life Each day filled with Christ’s communion Many will miss this noble wife But meeting is certain in Heaven’s Reunion!
0
Aug 22, 2012
Aug 22, 2012 at 12:09 AM UTC
catie-staff
The Mirror Of A Woman
“She opens her mouth with wisdom, and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue.” ~Proverbs 31:26 Born upon dry desert winds To a welcoming place of the Lord Her tongue corrects those with sin Her heart exudes the Holy Word A quiet peace follows her home And graces her as she’s out and about She lives by the truth that she’s never alone Never is there a moment of doubt. Girls will be girls, but no excuse is permitted For her, the standard is highly taught Grace is given and mercy outfitted Biblical rules of gold are wrought. Eager and young, filled with joy to the brim The woman of God holds a gathering Candles light their vigil in the dim Sister in Christ, yet wisely mothering She is humbly quiet, and yet she is strong A guide and example to mirror the Savior Sincerity permeating, saturating each song Love and obedience encouraging her behavior Some cannot hope to navigate The waves and currents that sway the young Blessed are those who have someone to demonstrate Even more blessed: the one by whom it is done She rides in Elijah’s chariot, Traveling far from here Staff and cloak for those who’ll carry it Left only for those who hold her dear Adventure awaits, full of precious life Each day filled with Christ’s communion Many will miss this noble wife But meeting is certain in Heaven’s Reunion!
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33
Of all the blessings Showered from above Can any compare To a Mother's love? From your birth For all of her years She shares your joy As well as your tears No matter what you do Or even what you say A Mother's love never lessens In any way With a love so gentle That can also be tough She guides and corrects For when times get rough "I spent the best years Of my life In the arms Of another man's wife" That is a quote My Grand-pa once said As he laid In a hospital bed He meant his Mom And I have to agree As a Mother's love is the greatest Outside of God's you'll see So happy Mother's Day ladies Thank you for all that you do You truly are a blessing from God And we love and appreciate you!
0
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 8:49 AM UTC
ky-philbilly
Mother's Day
Of all the blessings Showered from above Can any compare To a Mother's love? From your birth For all of her years She shares your joy As well as your tears No matter what you do Or even what you say A Mother's love never lessens In any way With a love so gentle That can also be tough She guides and corrects For when times get rough "I spent the best years Of my life In the arms Of another man's wife" That is a quote My Grand-pa once said As he laid In a hospital bed He meant his Mom And I have to agree As a Mother's love is the greatest Outside of God's you'll see So happy Mother's Day ladies Thank you for all that you do You truly are a blessing from God And we love and appreciate you!
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32
The battle rages He grows weak The enemy surrounds His future bleak His armor heavy Sword hangs low Shield has been lost Anticipating his final blow Fear does not embrace Still no hesitation No sign of rescue No feeling of deflation Eyes at the horizon Feet a sturdy foundation Hands steady firm His honor no deviation He sees it The end is near Thoughts race Everything becomes clear Face full of mud Hands filled with gore Legs drench in sweat Bones chilled to the core His voice booms A deafening roar He does not hear it Drowning the surrounding war He corrects his form Preparing for glory He charges forward No chance to tell his story Brothers dead or missing The enemy many strong The battle is thick The dead sing a grave song Charging forward his muscles ache Sword high with attack His armor shines dim Enemy at his front non at his back The distance closes Their weapons clash Ten men to one Sky rains molten ash He fights like a lion Never yielding His soul like a bear Never weeping The fight is long The melee swift A beautiful defeat His soul adrift Body on ground He continues the fight Life begins to drain Slashing and stabbing with all his might Alas an answer from above A voice resounds You have fought well my son Angel of death surrounds Still he fights No chance of redemption He fights defeat and death He will get no exemption His fiber will not quite His heart will not die Even when demanded He will not comply Alas he will succomb His spirit still in power Fear of all and none Regardless he will not cower The final strike Pieces his heart Eyes go dark Body and soul drift apart
0
Nov 12, 2010
Nov 12, 2010 at 10:37 AM UTC
dave-bas-1
tenacious soldier
The battle rages He grows weak The enemy surrounds His future bleak His armor heavy Sword hangs low Shield has been lost Anticipating his final blow Fear does not embrace Still no hesitation No sign of rescue No feeling of deflation Eyes at the horizon Feet a sturdy foundation Hands steady firm His honor no deviation He sees it The end is near Thoughts race Everything becomes clear Face full of mud Hands filled with gore Legs drench in sweat Bones chilled to the core His voice booms A deafening roar He does not hear it Drowning the surrounding war He corrects his form Preparing for glory He charges forward No chance to tell his story Brothers dead or missing The enemy many strong The battle is thick The dead sing a grave song Charging forward his muscles ache Sword high with attack His armor shines dim Enemy at his front non at his back The distance closes Their weapons clash Ten men to one Sky rains molten ash He fights like a lion Never yielding His soul like a bear Never weeping The fight is long The melee swift A beautiful defeat His soul adrift Body on ground He continues the fight Life begins to drain Slashing and stabbing with all his might Alas an answer from above A voice resounds You have fought well my son Angel of death surrounds Still he fights No chance of redemption He fights defeat and death He will get no exemption His fiber will not quite His heart will not die Even when demanded He will not comply Alas he will succomb His spirit still in power Fear of all and none Regardless he will not cower The final strike Pieces his heart Eyes go dark Body and soul drift apart
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76
She stares at me From the other side of that mirror Her eyes are full of disappointment. But what does she know?! She's only a little girl. She has no Idea what it's like out there. But she knows me. She knows my past. The pain I once felt. The pain I pushed so far down only she feels it now. Her eyes fill with tears. Terrified of who she's become. Or are they my tears? Ours she corrects me. I shiver at the thought. This little girl so small. Innocent. Look who she's become. I'm sorry little girl. I know you'll never forgive me. I'll never forgive me.
0
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 12:15 AM UTC
logan-smith
Little Girl
She stares at me From the other side of that mirror Her eyes are full of disappointment. But what does she know?! She's only a little girl. She has no Idea what it's like out there. But she knows me. She knows my past. The pain I once felt. The pain I pushed so far down only she feels it now. Her eyes fill with tears. Terrified of who she's become. Or are they my tears? Ours she corrects me. I shiver at the thought. This little girl so small. Innocent. Look who she's become. I'm sorry little girl. I know you'll never forgive me. I'll never forgive me.
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21
Keys into the ignition and fire it up with a rev. Feed it some gas, letting it warm-up preshift. First you've got to put it in reverse as we back it up to pull out. Isn't it a pretty thing when she growls, the way she bites back when you jump the shift? That's what love is, you see it, and sometimes it isn't so bad. The two of you are moving on, feeling the tires warming up on the road, and ever so slowly you take it into second from first. The wheels perking up at the sense of your touch, knowing you need the trained response, reciprocated by delicately working into third. Its a beautiful thing when she growls, the way she fights back when you jump the shift. That's what love is, I know you see it, and sometimes special, it isn't so bad. Out on the road and gathering steam, in the gathering speed, that transition from third to fourth can go kind of fast. The two of you thinking as one, becoming one, and in this harmony on the fourth you're wed. Two beasts to one accelerating on, finding unity and resolution in fifth. Its a thing of beauty when she growls, the way she talks back, saying, "Wait for the shift". That's what love is, that's the way I see it, and in those moments it's never bad. The two of you flying solo around the track the way you were made for each other. The competition might as well not exist, each dedicated to the other in perfection, breeding the future generations to lead, to pass on these important lessons of love. Its the most amazing thing when she growls, her little clips as she corrects the shift. That's what love is, and its never bad. Even after countless laps around the track, after you're both gone and broken down, it's enough to stay true to one another and to reminisce about the good old days. You're still her guy, and she's still your gal, from the first time you opened the door, treat her well. "You know it, you know I will". If she happens to growl, if she bites every now and again, just know that's what love is, strong through the good and the bad.
0
Feb 17, 2012
Feb 17, 2012 at 2:59 AM UTC
jack-turner
That's What Love Is
Keys into the ignition and fire it up with a rev. Feed it some gas, letting it warm-up preshift. First you've got to put it in reverse as we back it up to pull out. Isn't it a pretty thing when she growls, the way she bites back when you jump the shift? That's what love is, you see it, and sometimes it isn't so bad. The two of you are moving on, feeling the tires warming up on the road, and ever so slowly you take it into second from first. The wheels perking up at the sense of your touch, knowing you need the trained response, reciprocated by delicately working into third. Its a beautiful thing when she growls, the way she fights back when you jump the shift. That's what love is, I know you see it, and sometimes special, it isn't so bad. Out on the road and gathering steam, in the gathering speed, that transition from third to fourth can go kind of fast. The two of you thinking as one, becoming one, and in this harmony on the fourth you're wed. Two beasts to one accelerating on, finding unity and resolution in fifth. Its a thing of beauty when she growls, the way she talks back, saying, "Wait for the shift". That's what love is, that's the way I see it, and in those moments it's never bad. The two of you flying solo around the track the way you were made for each other. The competition might as well not exist, each dedicated to the other in perfection, breeding the future generations to lead, to pass on these important lessons of love. Its the most amazing thing when she growls, her little clips as she corrects the shift. That's what love is, and its never bad. Even after countless laps around the track, after you're both gone and broken down, it's enough to stay true to one another and to reminisce about the good old days. You're still her guy, and she's still your gal, from the first time you opened the door, treat her well. "You know it, you know I will". If she happens to growl, if she bites every now and again, just know that's what love is, strong through the good and the bad.
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51
He questions, he is not questionable, He answers, he is not answerable, His questions are not answerable, His answers are not questionable, He questions when there is no answer, He answers when there is no question, He questions and answers, And answers and questions, Till none questions or answers him. He dominates, he is indomitable, He corrects, he is incorrigible, He takes respect, gives no respect, He is dependent, not dependable, Your success is his success, His success is his own, His failure is your failure, He has all access, not accessible He quotes to unquote, Your unquote he quotes, He is quite open; you keep quiet, Your optimism is his pessimism, Your pessimism is his optimism, He comes up on others shoulders. He loves his paradise of power, He is the boss of his domain, His realm of religion is bossism, His sadism is unique and universal, Arrogance is his lasting cup of tea, His blood group is A-, Always negative, He is the incredible boss in your life.
0
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 10:00 PM UTC
Bhupathi
The negative boss
He questions, he is not questionable, He answers, he is not answerable, His questions are not answerable, His answers are not questionable, He questions when there is no answer, He answers when there is no question, He questions and answers, And answers and questions, Till none questions or answers him. He dominates, he is indomitable, He corrects, he is incorrigible, He takes respect, gives no respect, He is dependent, not dependable, Your success is his success, His success is his own, His failure is your failure, He has all access, not accessible He quotes to unquote, Your unquote he quotes, He is quite open; you keep quiet, Your optimism is his pessimism, Your pessimism is his optimism, He comes up on others shoulders. He loves his paradise of power, He is the boss of his domain, His realm of religion is bossism, His sadism is unique and universal, Arrogance is his lasting cup of tea, His blood group is A-, Always negative, He is the incredible boss in your life.
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30