"couth" poems
upon the elephant rode a boy prince,
his royal command, he was there to evince.
dark with grace and dripping with youth.
bringing his men, his crown and his couth.
town after town he strode fierce through the gates.
and any detractors were left to cruel fates.
and on one windy day, as they strode into town.
the faces where tenfold and a hush passed around
the grey of the creature with knowing black eyes
swayed left towards the crowd as if to capsize.
and the mass gasped in horror; bairns seized by their mam.
men flung at young ladies, babes pulled from the pram.
the bewildered and flustered
tired elephant sat.
in the center of all on the bald pastors hat.
the old pastor looked stunned to see such a disgrace.
until he remembered, and composed his face.
'your highness' he bowed. his manners restored.
but the poor prince was toppled his mighty seat floored.
they gasped for the prince, just really a child
dressed in fine silks on this elephant wild.
pastor said, 'here now' extending an arm
hand wrinkled and gnarled from the land that he farmed.
then the guards sprung to life as if sudden awake
guns point to the man of whose life they would take.
and just as they squinted their eye for the aim
a boy sang out sweetly, 'sire he's not to blame!'
and the prince from street where he lay in pool
held up his hand and recovered his rule.
he looked at the crowd and he said 'boy now speak'
the boy said, 'prince it is the prayers that you seek.
the prayers that you'd visit. the prayers that you'd stay.
lord must of heard them and granted this way.'
his eyes wide with truth and the love of his church
the prince laughed a beautiful belly filled lurch.
the carriage was called as the prince shared a feast.
and even some water was splashed on the beast.
such a good time as he danced and he spun
till the horses arrived in the dust of a run.
to thank the town and the lovely haired boy
the young prince gave up his own precious toy.
the beast stays quite put in the center of town...
but prayers said no more...so the prince won't fall down.
sahn
04/10/2014
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 6:08 PM UTC
You ask me a query,
You ask, "Where Are You, Honey?"
I have an answer for you,
I say, "I'm inside your heart, honey."
You let it extend, your doubt,
You implore, "But why is it so hazy?"
I fire a ******* in response,
I say, "It's hazy because you're lazy!"
You smile but get perplexed by now,
You ask, "Will you stay if moving on I fail to?"
I am mature and couth,
I say, "I find no reason good enough to not to."
You wonder to yourself,
You ask, "Where from I got you?"
I remind you that I came back,
I say, *"I consider it my responsibility to imbue your life with the brightness,
The light lacking in your life,
And to provide you with warmth,
So that you are free from your shivers,
And so that you can be my wife,
I want to fill that void in your day,
Maybe I was sent back only for you,
On your mother's recommendation,
And so wise was her receptivity,
I know that I am a man of my words,
Surely I will make it large for us,
And you are such a hardworking lady,
Our children will have it healthy,
And they will surely have it wealthy,
The wealth won't just be material,
But they will be taught fine civility."*
You now ask me your final query,
You ask, "Who will be their tutor?"
I smile and simply end this discussion,
I say, "Obviously, me and you."
Even you are satisfied by now,
You smile & say, "I love you, honey."
I hear what I have been longing to,
I say with a broad smile, "I love you too, honey."
∆∆∆∆∆∆∆
Sep 20, 2017
Sep 20, 2017 at 11:11 PM UTC
Of what to Think, and Thought be Thought-of-Thoughts
Equalling those Clouds no-one tried to reach
And with just a Model-of-the-Board besought
Belated Nations took you to beseech
Parsley that in Sick Reference apply
To One dug-out from Humble Electric
Honour is his beyond the Scythe comply
And carry his Image on so frantic
That is my Code acquired late at War
Knowing the Outcome of this Useless Battle
As that Spartan King drew his Sword at fore
Charged his Army; And the Persian, wrangle.
It's News to me, if I can Speak the Truth
If only I Avoid what seems Un-Couth.
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 2:48 AM UTC
Total me a dream
Find me, a corner of an eye
Save me, the turn of chaste, in whim
And poise, me is a reason to be why
A house...
A character of decency, we delve long and tight
A stirring hour, we hope is beyond a days shroud
Taken with the memory, of sincerity to share might...?
A place...
Found with the eyes of wonder, we make for ourselves
Chance heiring, in the name of a vice's pace
Of coping how, and the semblance of seclusion, a wealth?
A room...
For sign's of witness, particular to shadows of change
Wealth is to be the common, the thought to let liberty mushroom
And become a friend, of worth in loyal sates; however strange...
A step...
Forward with communion to entail even the solitude, we meant
For a night's angel, and the demands of couth we select for wit?
See the composed guide me to the strength I know, is more sent...
A stone we should know...
Passing all to follow the method of our following
Promise and privilege, in the seem, to wish once upon a time to owe
Swept away with the today we accept, is a now in the hallowing...
Jun 28, 2023
Jun 28, 2023 at 8:50 PM UTC
Tender strength, sender's excuse
A sneeze to reach to tomorrow
Avid, we determine a silence was...
A house of compromise, sincerity, and willfulness, to borrow...
Burden yourself with a memory, some other dainty...
A question thought liberty, driven by the wind
Has visited me, in the couth of decency's charity
Simple lessons of anger, and the angel of succumbing kin...
Redoubt is my only defense...
Pied, or provided a callous soul, the taint?
I seek is a lip with no meaning, meant in the essence
We direct to such, a season of wishes, we compare to ain't...
Anarchy in love, the thought to reason
Anarchy in though, the times found me a shown few
Anarchy in decision's, a guarantee of blinder moments
Anarchy in ascertainment, a host of wisdom to look at you
A yawn with no future...?
As shrewd as furious days make a prayer, a seclusion
Catching mine, in measure and deliberate other, is a cure
Forces in voices, and the rationality of mercy; loves only intrusion?
Psyche
Can I have my weight in gold, a tarter heaven?
So wished for, so washed of another fight...
With heaven, to remember succor in forms of resolve to come by, loving...
Dec 12, 2023
Dec 12, 2023 at 12:14 PM UTC
Panic's jewel...
Or, is that pride?
Poor relenting, to you...
The question of irony on your side?
Places and things, together
With a real appetite for life's regency
So, sophisticated, the liberty of kind to bother
An open air, of a wish that found deception's history...?
My undone mercy, my marveling hope
Is with a ghost of a chance, the truth
In a guarded fist, to promise a shared cope?
If any pout of lore, is a wish that sought your youth...
I will follow...
Despairing consciences, with a blinking stare at honor
That defies home for one thing only, that is to harrow...
The dread in a tear, found for a salt that told a story:
Once upon a time, and the tenderness of couth
To wake upon a simple bed, the taste of harmony in league
With itself, the role of unity and vice, come the riches of who
Is a part defined, and who is a smarter focus divine, of each?
Which will the tows of remorse...
Work as we said, they have the skill's of duress to laud
And heraldry of a looming proportion, to understand the worse
The life of another lords prophet, the can and the callous odd...
Here is such, the lies or levity we fate
With a rekindled fire, for what is a stranger look, of desperation
Sincerity or since charity is a fool for itself, the world of sate
Is a kindness only a lover could afford, the very gift of intimation?
Tomorrow?
And the ides of heathen politeness, are here
To simply move forward and borrow
The truth in an order and repute, that has oneself to bless, with another's fear...?
Jun 25, 2022
Jun 25, 2022 at 1:25 AM UTC
Their lives bleed into mine
What am I becoming?
As long as I'm bleeding in line
I can hear war drums drumming
I feel my purity and youth leave me
As their lack of couth feeds me
And their sweet tooth bleeds me
Until eventually I too am greedy
In this ****** atmosphere
Our ***** past is clear
Inspiring future fears
And hardened tears
Drowned by beers
And empty cheers
Through the years
Until we're here
As a ****** stranger
Head banger
Teenager
In Jesus' manger
This blight
Of life
As a simulation
Of assimilation
Into a nation
Of incineration
In a ****** mire
Lit by the fire
Positioned higher
I call my sire
I fidget in the cage
Of this pivotal maze
Called the Digital Age
I'm in need of healing
From this dark feeling
That I'm an innocent child reading
A book about a grown man bleeding
Always met with a hateful greeting
While sympathy is fleeting
Being replaced by our own jadedness
After living with those who hated us
We develop defensive thorns
Resembling demonic horns
To match public scorns
My first love
Drew first blood
And I couldn't halt the blood loss
Exacerbated by the mud toss
Of the sinister town crier
Exposing my heart's desires
So I said never again
For the bleeding to stop
When dealing with men
Is like meeting the cops
Aware that I'm defenseless
They start beating me senseless
So I become a judge myself
Part of the sludge for my health
I won't budge unless it's for wealth
Accepting the cards I was dealt
They bled into me
Now red is all I see
No way to get free
So I follow their lead
And choose to bleed
As they pray and plead
It becomes my turn
To cause the burns
That I had learned
When I was spurned
And lost my purity
Now blood cures me
Jun 14, 2018
Jun 14, 2018 at 5:09 AM UTC
O LOVE! O LOVE! WHY ARE YOU EVER DEVOID OF LOGIC?
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya; [email protected])
Mankind in its pathetic folly entice you in a dint of stupor
Knowing not your true colour and texture
Endeavoring to achieve glory in your mastery
With the so limited human capacity
In grey faith that you are a cradle of bliss
But O love! Why are you ever crooked?
Young men and women in strength of their sinews
Toil day and night in ******* of humanity
Praying and whining incantations with the hope for optimal love
Ornamenting their bodies with diamond and bronze
Fibre and silk ornamented to helm of providence
In the foolish quest for love equillibria
But in full stretch of your vice, you impish love
You catapult all away to the shifted goal posts
O love! O love! Why are you ever ruthless?
You hate the learned but you favour the strong
You hate professors but you favour the soldiers
You hate the rich but you favour the agile
You hate the lawyers but you favour the footballers
You hate the pastors but you favour the ruffian
You hate the whites but you favour the Negroes
You hate the groomed but you love the ragamuffin
You hate the chaste but you favour the mistress
O love! O love! Why are you ever illogical?
Love, I revere you for wickedness and irrationality
In all of your history you scored sum *** laude
In the duo as blend of your domain, Look;
You never dwell in a genuine companionship
You like where the couth will interject;
Amidst fornication between married and single ones
Amidst adultery in the triangle of foul compassion
Amidst miscegenation between black and white
Amidst infatuation between the whole and the lame
Amidst conjugal appetite between the old and the young
Amidst concupiscence between house master and houshelp
Amidst immorality of married master over the wallowing servant
Amidst libidos between literate teacher unto the peasant pupil
Amidst disordered passion among the sly lesbians
Amidst impious ********** among the suave gays
O love! O love! You are the most wicked force!
Love I am told; your colour is red
You may be red or you may not be red
But all in all, you deserve poetical veneration
For your herculean ability to bend the most wise;
In your force you made sagacious Shakespeare to bend
In your force you made Princes Diana to bend and bend
Bending downwardly stooping for Afawoyed the moor,
In your stupefying dint you made Napoleon de Bonaparte
To bend and bend downwardly stooping for Josephine
Josephine a famed she-Casanova in the gone Paris
Among the then humanity and the then animality,
In your impairing machinery you set sons on their fathers
In the roman empire of Antony and Ceaser
In the scramble for Cleopatra, the Egyptian queen
Beauty of her aquiline nose heavily hovered perhaps
In the eyes of the Roman beholders
The father and the son only to sent the empire
To the love forlorn smithereens!
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 5:08 AM UTC
I Speak and write only the truth.
The previous sentence is a lie.
I move throughout life without couth
I hate that word and this fly.
Simplicity at its best
Here in these words
A blue Jay in his nest
On my car, his turds.
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 7:01 PM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
My people have seasoned the art of begging
They don’t want to beg when begging is necessary
My leaders have compelled our people to beg
Begging that what they have leeway to graft
Begging is couth only when it’s necessary
But not because there is plethorae
Of willing donors who are not even better
Addiction to begging is a political syndrome,
Africa has to stop temerarious begging
Otherwise the burden of debt will erode
Your sons and daughters away
In to the ocean of facelessness
For the slave master owns controls
Only labour of the slave
But in contrast to the borrowing vice
The debt master controls the soul
Of the borrower.
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 8:53 AM UTC
Though I wear no crown of decadent jewels pressed down around my brow,
It can be said that I am beautiful.
Needing no assistance from a mask of make-up and every hair doing as it pleases,
I am told that I am beautiful.
Without the burden of corsets, push-ups and garters; no cocktail dress draping my shoulders,
I look in the mirror and am satisfied.
I wear blue jeans, t-shirts and tank tops; tennis shoes, flip-flops and high-tops,
And still my legs are long and lean; my shape curvy and full.
And while I walk by, a southern sway in my step, you know you take more than a cursory glance.
I have attitude, and bluntness inherited from my line of honest folk.
I am country. I am bold. I am ruthless.
I am simple in the way that diamonds are simply compressed carbon.
I am beautiful in the way that only a southern girl can be.
I am a huntress with my 243 across my lap in a camo blind.
I am an actress as I smile and say “Bless your heart.”
I am a lover if there ever was one.
I am a fighter when the chips are down.
I am my father’s nightmare and my mother’s dream.
See me with my mut from the pound that’s better trained than your frou-frou, AKC registered pom-poo.
Join me as I sing the hymns my granny sang with the same tone and inflection.
I am educated with my poor country grammar I use only to spite those who think I’m ignorant.
I know more about tracking a blood trail than I do about propriety,
But I’m studied in the art of being couth.
My southern charm is mixed with brazen straight forwardness.
I am proud. I am American. I am beautiful.
Jan 15, 2012
Jan 15, 2012 at 12:50 PM UTC
If a bell tolls...
For whom, is a lover known?
Threshold to act upon weary eyes, oh you soul
The creation we find, in void moments sown...
A rue of compassion
The till in evidential hills
Sun and wine, to tell a tale to promises lasting...
A herald of simple gifts and rises of poise, will
Lovers to the end
Exactly need, in voice's portrayal
And seeking guidance for a named lip, here is mend
In the scope of distance and reality of a soul
Succinctly new?
And with sense's favors, to claim a richness of good...
In the speed we accredit to love, is worth a filial who?
Seeing the gesture bloomed, is fate acts or paces, new?
Heed me when the holiday is over, lover
Might's to consider a whole, if a liberty is to be
The thought of romance, is a changing season, meant dour
In the shared seldom, of when a passion has it, to lead...
A fruit of conscience
A hap of solace, predestined to same
A reason of couth, to collect a hardier presence
A wish of blessing the best you have to often, and the patience of fame
Jul 5, 2023
Jul 5, 2023 at 7:15 PM UTC
She went to Russia as a student
To study fashionable nuclear technology
At the communist Patrice Lumumba University
At the center of ideologue creating city of Moscow,
She went there an accomplished total ******
No African eye had ever seen her naked bossom
She came from the western region of Africa
A girl so couth in all the platforms of life;
In manners, dress and ****** appetite,
With only education as the prime focus of her heart;
To bag a science degree in her African leather wallet
Under her arm pit, sandwiching culture and discipline.
But communist racism turned her into an ape *****
All the tricks of European racism were employed on her,
The young girl lost her seed of self-worthwhile sensibilities,
She conceded that perhaps she was a daughter of zinjanthropus,
In the land of dignified civilisation of the Russian humanity
Where communism struggles to achieve universal Godliness
As ***** blackness strives to achieve universal communism,
In this negative personality feat, my dear daughter goofed,
A poor girl of Africa joined communist *** workers market,
And hence the door was opened to communist loutishness,
Comrades came in arms and went out, to collectivize her love
Making her ****** rights state property, subjected to proletariat dictatorship,
Only to suffer the bane of the time on her complain of woman rights,
She was declared as an African ********** in Moscow,
Suffering from incorrigible explosive African anger,
***** irascibility never seen any where in mother Russia
Only capable to be corrected in Siberian prison .
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 7:55 AM UTC
Beautiful soul
The carrier of hardships
You are the spawn
Of proud ancestry
The source of awe
The muse for my desire
Your dark skin
Is my heart's awakening
Yet you are not for me
You are not for me
You are not for me
Distance remains a consistent
Impediment to my sacrilege
Travesty of a face of empathy
Sadly I'm less than eyes can see
Yet more beneath is left to greet
My ears hear psalms mourning me
Tears leak upon my pale cheeks
Speeches are given casually
Venom spews through the loose
Vortexes of speaker-box booths
The black hole that once controlled
My inner intuitions and sold soul
The owner being you in truth
Sweetly scented lullabies shoo
Away doubtful tunes in bloom
The replacements are couth sleuths
Meetings seldom meet fruition
Meat meets my mouth in suspicion
Meaning I'm once again a victim
Meandering through prisms
Restaurant owners are slower
To greet me at the doorway
Knowing fulfillment of my order
Won't require a table for more
Not for the kind of man who
Stands and is hardly understood
Also seemingly oblivious to who
Is true and reluctant to face proof
That you are not for me
You are not for me
You are not for me
Beautiful girl
You are the grains
Beautiful girlfriend
You are the coastline
Beautiful woman
You are the ocean
Beautiful wife
You are the Earth in whole
Yet you are not for me
You are not for me
You are not for me
The tremors
The whispers
The night terrors
The torch bearers
The dark caresser
The static selector
The burnt dresser
The hell blesser
The black lipstick wearer
You are for me.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 11:36 PM UTC
Eyeliner is a gateway drug;
an altered self-image inexorably follows.
I get a sense of social indignation
but I really don't care;
oddly enough,
it helps me to feel more comfortable.
Besides, I'm a Musician
so that absolves all weirdness
of makeup on a guy, right?
God, gender roles ****
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 1:03 PM UTC
Ludwig Ii
A Bavarian King with no bone bad
A Bavarian King introverted not mad
A king who lived life by night
A king who stayed out of sight
The Swan king was his given name
from Bavarian bloodstock he came Maximilians Death took away his youth
On throne pomp splendoured and couth
Peer pressure never kneel
Twas Opera Ludwig did feel
Robert Wagner was his one true love
Ludwig fitted Wagner hand in glove
A queen, A queen the Bavarians did wish
Lovestruck Elsa dry eyes diminish
Conformity died during Ludwigs reign
His sexuality showed no shame
Lake Starnberg scene of demise
Mystery death ****** or boat capsize
The King ,The King long live the King
Life lived how he chose Ludwig ii
A Bavarian King with no bone bad
A Bavarian King introverted not mad
A king who lived life by night
A king who stayed out of sight
The Swan king was his given name
from Bavarian bloodstock he came Maximilians Death took away his youth
On throne pomp splendoured and couth
Peer pressure never kneel
Twas Opera Ludwig did feel
Richard Wagner was his one true love
Ludwig fitted Wagner hand in glove
A queen, A queen the Bavarians did wish
Lovestruck Elsa dry eyes diminish
Conformity died during Ludwigs reign
His sexuality showed no shame
Lake Starnberg scene of demise
Mystery death ****** or boat capsize
The King ,The King long live the King
Lived life how he chose with no offspring
Thank You
Martyn Grindrod
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 2:41 AM UTC
Be there Wrinkles at; Age by Time bestrew
And either Body will soon Decompose
Be that Prudence fit; Permit what you knew
Behind the Proverb to Reap what you Sow
That such Mind be the Player of this Game
As Father his Scythe's Traitor fell Conserve
To Lust for your Past; Then Future's insane
Once the Prince shows Signs of his own Disperse
That the Desert we plant our Mirages at
Then expect Turtle-Doves to Quench and Fly
Till they Return not by our Feeling's Spat
Then beg for the Truth which is all but a Lie.
Come. Prove me Wrong. Once your Stars polish Youth
Revive your Preppie's Face though such Un-Couth.
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 7:47 AM UTC
Slander wears no muzzle
Fragmentation
Void of couth
Shove born from a nuzzle
Insinuation
Shoddy sleuth
Guilt turns into guzzle
Fermentation
Robbing youth
Scattered jigsaw puzzle
Imagination
Pseudo truth
No lies can bind the hearts of all
No anger heals the scars of all
No ale can hide the shame of all
No eye can see the truth of all
May 3, 2012
May 3, 2012 at 12:15 AM UTC
Wasp addendum
More than out of and
Quote the finality, well to avoid...
A sting that churched a brassy man
Wasp substantial
Adding the heed, of couth and comparison
Does a reach for time, understand arousal?
Quiet time searching for youth, that knows the question...
Wasp divine
Kiss and kindred, the tools of solemn tone?
Enchastened with a host, too cursory to be orders vision
We hear the spoil of the wind, become a new loan
Wasp merciful
Craving a thought, to tell a tale kept
By the unity we foresaw, a heard bliss still...
Was a chance meeting with a yearning fate, bereft?
Wasp earthen
Where souls intertwine, the taste of home
Is a careful wish, foreseen in the earning?
Or should might, take the time to intend guidance as done?
Wasp witnesses
The tow of commonness, in the voice of salutations
Memory served, the break of justice in a winds shade
Here to fore, timidity is a challenge, for a truer intuition...
May 9, 2023
May 9, 2023 at 9:29 PM UTC
Wishes, I never said...?
Rolling tongues, admit appearances
Are deceiving, but purpose to lead...
Has an ear for a rainbow's chances
Rainbows lead to pouting voices...
Facing the stare, I make a quiet
Collective memory served; has choices...
The reagent of a house of colors, so bright
Star's that starve?
As the moment indicates...
Your rhyme for the silent, is another's liar...
Privilege behind a scare, finishes the irate
Races of fate, found in a valued youth...
Respite is to be, an awkward challenge
Of a time, that accuses you for couth...
Curses of final fear, are often to nearer mention
The fright in the rain
Told to sit, by a silver voice...
Sigh's and minding, the candor of pain
Will such a song, begin here with loyalty?
Does and doesn't...
Shame wear a passion's decision?
Deciding upon, a notorious lesson won't
Is a handful of salt, the only shared intuition?
Liberty, at all costs...
And a hill named only rage
That worth's the world, with hosts
Sent to a wish, I made...
Time be a liar's friend...
One step more
Like love and hates marvel, to lend...
The story of reach, is who's war?
Feb 14, 2024
Feb 14, 2024 at 9:08 PM UTC
A rocking chair sits
On the porch
Of a house
On the corner of ol’ Honey Lane.
It looks over fields of lavender stems
And rocks with the wind and the rain.
I grew up walking past it,
On ol’ Honey Lane,
And would sometimes drop by for a swing.
I brought books and some snacks,
Played with dollies and jacks,
This poor rocker withstood everything.
I grew a bit older but kept coming back
To my rocker on ol’ Honey Lane.
I’d bring it my sorrows and rock til the morrow,
Forgetting my worries and pain.
The gentle caressing of lavender lullabies
Scattered the clouds of grey.
And whene’er I was lonely, I knew that only
My rocker could brighten my day.
Still older I grew and soon began dreaming
Of cities more couth and refined.
So I hopped on a plane, fled my ol' Honey Lane
And left my poor rocker behind.
I traded my jeans for a dazzling dress,
And dollies for wine and pearls.
But nothing within could dare to trade in
The mem’ry of that young, little girl.
The girl who spent hours watching lavender fields,
On the corner of ol’ Honey Lane.
I knew without haste, there was no time to waste,
I had to go find her again.
So back home I flew, to see family and friends,
To smell lavender waft through the air.
I ran to the porch of the old corner house,
And saw my dear old rocking chair.
I hopped on it’s seat, kicked my feet off the ground,
And remembered the wind and the rain.
As the sun went to sleep in the lavender fields,
So I slept on my rocker
On ol’ Honey Lane.
- p. winter
Jan 8, 2018
Jan 8, 2018 at 7:53 PM UTC
. o
f
hu
man
thin
gs: ma
ny doin
g, thing
s human
are more n
eatly couth i
n Into-Dust co
ats of polite var
nish and their ha
ats hang at precise
their teeth ivory and
the smell of their colo
gne catches back at the
throat wearing finest silk
s (but time, time looks bru
tally through their and prim
shoes and trousers. knees sag
eyes hang instantly
languor w
ears them like cheap perfume and
laughter unsuddenly from nowhere
crisps the cheeks of everywaiting sou
l creeks with soon to be dirt bones and
amongst them sprouts something gener
ous. Less close to nearly dead, and has (l
ike a frond has) demure sturdy waifish. its
timber is clothed in blonde lips and eyes lik
e waking almost never(no like daffodils; yes l
ike more them) only daffodils, they are not so b
right, nor as agile, i think but who knows i was o
nly a boy who, from across the street noticed, a girl
pressed between death,
laughing like a *****
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 2:36 AM UTC
Taint, a tender trap?
Blue of the sky, remembered by a cloud:
Faintly, the poetry of life, and its hap
Has the voice to step forward, and remind the season of the proud:
A hatful of poor decision's, has its merit...
But the cool eye of embarrassment
Has come and gone, with meet to understand, limited...
To ours, the count of couth, is one more irony's lament?
Hate me when you see the dragon...
Ought fix and fit enough futures
The life of a needier first, is always a sorrow last, a harrowed tongue?
Has said the obvious, a role in the heinous is a fools curiosity...
Throwing tenderness at you, like one of thumbs even is...
Reasons may give you onus, a variety to concede a gift
Coming for beauty, and its rosy inclination, a truer wisdom
That has survived the heed, the beating wings of condition to lift:
Hate me one more time, a reality of pain has become a champion:
To the fate, the hardened courage of youth, with a challenged whisper?
May a knowing hurt, be the fascinated letter of providence
Seeing the obvious, a bird of purer colors, will finish the kiss?
Guns with an imagination...?
Salt in a brutish court, of angers more, to swear in romantic language
Still the burden of squalor, with a slighter lip of intimation?
Your fruit is sweeter by the secrecy, as if, a cold shoulder ever is a place for rage...
Feb 1, 2023
Feb 1, 2023 at 6:03 PM UTC
Its times like now, Alone in the shade
All couth is feasting on my frowning and dismay
As I sit by my lonesome crowded mid-West
A heartbeat a smile a gentle caress,
Intangibles of acceptance of ease of rest
Longing for embrace I chase with the best
My heart is throbbing sometimes in sometimes out
You are fixed in site in distance in memory and distress
The surging of mood can cause me much bout
Knowing you are here though I’m thinking quite less
In the presence of resonance I vibrate in tune
My trunk is still leaning, she tutors my topiary
In lusting and thrusting she’s willing my harpoon
Limbs cast shadows over new found leaves of liberty
Soft bodies do justice and let evil eyes swoon
In the abyss of darkness she carries a light
I’m but a moth dismissing the night
For giving myself, for breathing another sight
Foreshadows of chaos only make sacred my plight
When I rise with haste and scurry away
My maiden is waiting and waiting to replay
The tune once heard before the nightingales’ call
Before the mocking birds reminded me from which heights I did fall
Proximity and temptation so conveniently placed
Would not I have been more True, more Loyal about-face
Let me wither in silence with the tapping of Ravens
If only Poe told me true meaning of dear Eleanor
Every breeze that blew by would not seem safe havens
I would have you by my side to ground me Evermore
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 8:16 PM UTC