"crum" poems
How should I praise thee, Lord! how should my rhymes
Gladly engrave thy love in steel,
If what my soul doth feel sometimes
My soul might ever feel!
Although there were some forty heav’ns, or more,
Sometimes I peer above them all;
Sometimes I hardly reach a score,
Sometimes to hell I fall.
O rack me not to such a vast extent;
Those distances belong to thee:
The world’s too little for thy tent,
A grave too big for me.
Wilt thou meet arms with man, that thou dost stretch
A crum of dust from heav’n to hell?
Will great God measure with a wretch?
Shall he thy stature spell?
O let me, when thy roof my soul hath hid,
O let me roost and nestle there:
Then of a sinner thou art rid,
And I of hope and fear.
Yet take thy way; for sure thy way is best:
Stretch or contract me, thy poor debtor:
This is but tuning of my breast,
To make the music better.
Whether I fly with angels, fall with dust,
Thy hands made both, and I am there:
Thy power and love, my love and trust
Make one place ev’ry where.
2.1k
she was reading haruki murakami
and licking her lips of muffin crum
bs - - i, placated via cellphone, calle
d to leave a message for a friend ab
out Oscar Wilde's De Profundis a
s i think i forgot it on his couch spea
k-easy speak-fast distract myself wit
h cigarette headrush rants and slow-
mo's she moves close gazing as i c
uriously whisper back with connect
ed pupil and she comes so so close - - g
arbage can next to me close - - she keep
s peeking at me, pulls out norwegian w
ood scans road i awkwardly pull out an
thology of chinese poems from backpa
ck to possibly impress! she keeps peek
ing peeking peeking i almost start conve
rsation but heart-beats race-track grand
prix miss my bus and i know it almost re
trieve cigarette from pocket (ghoulish goo
dy) second-guess she may think it unattra
ctive? no shiney faced race horse (*do u ev
en lift, bro - - no dude i don't, i literally do
n't lift*) cement truck clamours past and i n
ot really paying attention to the ******* c
hinese poems anyway begin to read the way
the sun glances off the spinning barrel like c
hinese poetry - - glancing always to newspea
k my way into awkwardity so ******* he
adrush** she walks away, turns on heel to loo
k me in darting eyeballs (*are u coming? i sup
pose so, jesus*) i clamour onto my feet and foll
ow her pretend to be checking bus-times ya fu
ckin goof 15X arrives and she departs without
a smoke-signal we were close we were close we
were close *and i missed my bus waiting for my
self to brave-and-snake* so i walk away pretend-
careless and finally retrieve cigarette from pocket
read the smoke like chinese poetry (ghoulish goody)
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 5:49 PM UTC
Day 1: Blithe
(bl-I-the); happy or joyous
"I'm sorry but I'm rather blithe right now. It was nice to meet you."
Day 7: Convivial
(kon-viv-ve-ul); friendly, lively, or enjoyable
"The room spikes from dull to absolutely convivial just from your precence, darling."
Day 15: Pulchritudinous
(puhl-kri-tood-n-uhs); extreme physical beauty
"You look absolutely pulchritudinous tonight."
Day 16: Love
(luhv); an intense feeling of deep affection
"I love you."
Day 30: Veridical
(vuh-rid-i-kuhl); truthful; veracious
"This isn't how it used to be, if i'm being completely veridical"
Day 45: Simulacrum
(sim-yuh-ley-crum); a slight, unreal, or superficial likeness
"You were just a simulacrum for real love!"
Day 49: Lugubrious
(luh-goo-bre-us); full of sorrow or sadness
"Will the lugubrious feelings ever stop?"
Day 50: goodbye
(good-bi); used to express good wishes when parting
"Goodbye..."
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 4:07 PM UTC
Proclaimed the paper-cutout placard on the table:
Clothless gray plastic-surfaced round.
In this immense faux-stone (concrete?)
Faux-English country house
We escape to the top of the stairs:
The no admittance sign is no deterrent.
The iridescence of your skirt is captivating
But all I can remember is living in a castle like this one
When I was a little blonde nothing
And feeling the way I do now,
As if there's been no transformation, no progress.
Maybe there has,
And this band must be pretty great
To keep this many old white people dancing so enthusiastically
For such a long time:
An ancient one with a Christmas-themed vest
Foxtrots with a once-lady in a polyester pants suit
Thin hair dyed roofing-tar black, suede kitten heels clacking.
The world's a **** strange place.
Even if we feel like we aren't quite awake,
We'll adjust our stockings and fill our plates
With that mystery-shrouded gelatinous citrus dessert
And our plastic cups with apple cider, light beer, 7-Up.
Endure a few more minutes on this rented dancefloor with me
Because they're playing love shack
And who doesn't smile at the mere notion of the B-52s?
Dec 5, 2010
Dec 5, 2010 at 3:10 PM UTC
A crum from the donut
A piece of toast
That's all it takes
No need to boast?
A scratch on the ear
A pat on the head
A quite "good doggie"
No more said.
A walk in the park
A ride in the car
No need to go fast
no need to go far?
Always there
Happy and content
A tried and true friendship
No need to invent.
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 3:20 PM UTC
Lottie lived in an old pebble-mashed cottage in the middle of nowhere, with a ***** muzzle tree in the garden. She always wore white glubbs on a Sunday, and going to mumble sales was her favourite pass-time.
All year round a lyre would smoulder in the gate, as the house was not connected to the lucidity grid, which Lottie considered the work of the davel. She liked to recite Shakespeare to her clogs but as she got older would mix up her worms and get her lettuces in the wrong order. At times I was the only one who could stand on her.
There was a lovely orchard out the back in which all kinds of baffles, tums, bears and cheeses grew. She made the best crum plumble you never tasted.
She loved her macaroni wireless, the old type powered by molluscs, although in latter times she accepted my gift of an up to date transittor with a built-in bat pack.
We would ***** away many an hour as she reminisced about her youth, when she had traveled far and wide in the grand old days of steam *****
Lottie kept all her marbles right up to the end in an old sweet jar, kindly leaving them to me when she passed. So now it's up to me to carry the mantelpiece. Dear old Lottie was unusual, but I liked her concentricity.
There's no one quite like Lottie
I'm sure you will agree
To some she didn't make much sense
But she always did to me
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 11:30 AM UTC
I feel it as I sit I feel it when I lay ...
The itchines inside me is fighting me today
stomach fightin pain thats always here to gloat ... yet itchiness takes over
a grin and not do bear ............
Carbs are overloaded yet count away we go
sugar fix awaiting to pain my bigger toe
spots are so a wantin on way to sprout my skin
the ******** even get me where!!!
privacy begins
Dia ..Dia ....betes leave me well alone
pick on someone evil
and make a happy home
Dia ..Dia ..Betes ...let me have some fun
maybe just a choccy bar or scrummy apple crum!!
dip a stick to 6.9 after loads a buns
Dia ..Dia ..Betes got ya on the run
Feb 11, 2011
Feb 11, 2011 at 6:30 AM UTC
it's funny how another friend changes situations
we used to be tight now he's the bread i'm the crum
drop it on the floor let it soak in the sun
rats come and nibble smell of urination
i've seen some foul **** in my life but this was the one
can't contain your jealousy let the evil coma come
never seen you make a face like that
you look so ****** dumb
i got no respect for you
you musta been drunk on ***
or blowin the coke out your nose
how long did it grow
your heart musta rotted
cuz it didnt even show
it's sickening how your money glistening
but your spirit ugly
i'm broker than ever but still happy in love
you couldn't take to see that so you smug
you just a jealous *** punk **********
i learn my lesson who my real friends are
it don't matter or not whether you drive fancy car
love unconditional no matter how successful you are
not get jealous when they see you as a happy rising star
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 5:54 PM UTC
I gazed at her, the warrior woman,
standing on the hill
where crum'bling stones of castles made their home.
Her form against the solemn sky stood noble, tall and fierce;
tenacity bespake her ev'ry stride.
The clouds before her only served
to frame her fairer still;
through richly dark, they parted just enough
to filter drops of sunlight to where she stood like the moon;
an argent gleam shone in her mane and eyes.
I frowned at her from where I hunched,
longed for her iron will,
clawed my lackluster hair and tore my heart.
The flat grey fog above the hole where I shrank in the dust
had only seen me cower, curse, and cry.
As we prepared to march again
I struggled up the hill
in hopes that I could find what grace she knew.
I didn't know she was still there, her back against a rock;
I caught her eye and realized
she had been crying too.
Dec 6, 2020
Dec 6, 2020 at 2:48 PM UTC