"dearie" poems
raise the shade
will youse dearie?
rain
wouldn’t that
get yer goat but
we don’t care do
we dearie we should
worry about the rain
huh
dearie?
yknow
i’m
sorry for awl the
poor girls that
gets up god
knows when every
day of their
lives
aint you,
oo-oo. dearie
not so
hard dear
you’re killing me
13k
My Haseena
late night
pillow fights
watching stars
airplane flights
Wow’ babe, come see the morning clouds
With peaceful doves
Flying above
Wet kisses
Like a washed dishes
Sweat on yo breast
Di* grew stronger
Felt the touch of your hand on my hair
And the other hand romancing my back
just me and you
After waiting for so long
Oh my gosh,
Yo high heels tinkling my legs
Night gown wet
I’m ready and set
***** shaved clean, nuh hair.
My dear queen can I come in ?
No! Not what you think
I mean can I **** it ?
Let me give you the legendary of me
Dearie
Feb 8, 2019
Feb 8, 2019 at 6:47 PM UTC
My dearest sister has a son.
We call him dearie Shauryan.
Healthy, wealthy and pawn
Of parents, demanded scone
For eating in evening or dawn.
Chess playing at state level on
Till nation or inter forgone.
Never is lazy, never is con,
Is the best known icon
Wishing best for solon.
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 11:12 PM UTC
Accept my pity, ye tormented souls unable to raise and dazzle
all I did was earn my keep and walked in sunshine from the soul
but
When men are full of envy they disparage everything,
whether it be good or bad.
Now I know some minds never grow and thrive only in envy
For Envy, like the worm, never runs but to the fairest fruit;
like a cunning bloodhound, it singles out the fattest deer in the flock.
These wretched starved toxic souls, only see a man with plenty
The flower which is single need not envy the thorns that are numerous.
I did not countenance that faces are pale because they lacked
just thought that was the Creator's work on days when brown
and yellow, swarty, ivory and tan paints ran out
I knew a lot hated this insipid opaque pale colouring, but at least
they have beautiful hair and lucky ones have pearly white teeth
but unbeknown to me, real envy resides in them and blinds them and makes it impossible for them to think clearly.
Oh dearie me, our pale brothers and sisters die inside their souls
And age so quickly, radiant in bloom one day, grey and wrinkled
in the morrow like a wilted rose devoid of water and light
Their pain and envy, their self-loathing, their insecurities ravages
Let age, not envy, draw wrinkles on thy cheeks, dear friends.
For you see, God's truth judges created things out of love,
and Satan's truth judges them out of envy and hatred.
Our envy always lasts longer than the happiness of those we envy.
If malice or envy were tangible and had a shape,
it would be the shape of a boomerang.
I fear not and now understand why you envy and hate me
I can appreciate the bile and venom for Fools may our scorn,
not envy, raise. For envy is a kind of praise.
Worth begets in base minds, envy; in great souls, emulation.
When people envy someone else, they want what that person possesses. As time passes, they develop hostile feelings towards that person, and eventually begin to hate that person because of their possessions and the unrequited desire to obtain those possessions.
Feb 28, 2019
Feb 28, 2019 at 8:53 PM UTC
Ca’ the yowes to the knowes,
Ca’ them where the heather grows,
Ca’ them where the burnie rows,
My bonnie dearie.
Hark! the mavis’ evening sang
Sounding Clouden’s woods amang,
Then a-faulding let us gang,
My bonnie dearie.
We’ll *** down by Clouden side,
Through the hazels spreading wide,
O’er the waves that sweetly glide
To the moon sae clearly.
Yonder Clouden’s silent towers,
Where at moonshine midnight hours
O’er the dewy bending flowers
Fairies dance sae cheery.
Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear;
Thou’rt to Love and Heaven sae dear,
Nocht of ill may come thee near,
My bonnie dearie.
Fair and lovely as thou art,
Thou hast stown my very heart;
I can die—but canna part,
My bonnie dearie.
While waters wimple to the sea;
While day blinks in the lift sae hie;
Till clay-cauld death shall blin’ my e’e,
Ye shall be my dearie.
Ca’ the yowes to the knowes…
2.5k
Ca’ the yowes to the knowes,
Ca’ them where the heather grows
Ca’ them where the burnie rows,
My bonie dearie.
Hark! the mavis’ evening sang
Sounding Cluden’s woods amang,
Then a-fauldin let us gang,
My bonie dearie.
We’ll *** down by Cluden side,
Thro’ the hazels spreading wide,
O’er the waves that sweetly glide
To the moon sae clearly.
Yonder Cluden’s silent towers,
Where at moonshine midnight hours,
O’er the dewy-bending flowers,
Fairies dance sae cheery.
Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear;
Thou ‘rt to love and Heaven sae dear,
Nocht of ill may come thee near,
My bonie dearie.
Fair and lovely as thou art,
Thou hast stown my very heart;
I can die—but canna part,
My bonie dearie.
2.4k
Ye banks and braes and streams around
The castle o’ Montgomery,
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,
Your waters never drumlie!
There simmer first unfauld her robes,
And there the langest tarry;
For there I took the last fareweel
O’ my sweet Highland Mary.
How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk,
How rich the hawthorn’s blossom,
As underneath their fragrant shade
I clasped her to my *****
The golden hours on angel wings
Flew o’er me and my dearie;
For dear to me as light and life
Was my sweet Highland Mary.
Wi’ mony a vow and locked embrace
Our parting was fu’ tender;
And, pledging aft to meet again,
We tore oursels asunder;
But, O, fell Death’s untimely frost,
That nipt my flower sae early!
Now green’s the sod, and cauld’s the clay,
That wraps my Highland Mary!
O pale, pale now, those rosy lips
I aft hae kissed sae fondly;
And closed for aye the sparkling glance
That dwelt on me sae kindly;
And mouldering now in silent dust
That heart that lo’ed me dearly!
But still within my bosom’s core
Shall live my Highland Mary.
2.4k
Green grow the rashes, O!
Green grow the rashes, O!
The sweetest hours that e’er I spend,
Are spent amang the lasses, O!
There’s nought but care on every han’
In every hour that passes, O;
What signifies the life o’ man,
An ’twere na for the lasses, O?
The warl’ly race may riches chase,
An’ riches still may fly them, O;
An’ though at last they catch them fast,
Their hearts can ne’er enjoy them, O.
But gi’e me a canny hour at e’en,
My arms about my dearie, O,
An’ warl’ly cares an’ warl’ly men
May a’ *** tapsalteerie, O!
For you sae douce, ye sneer at this,
Ye’re nought but senseless ***** O;
The wisest man the warl’ e’er saw,
He dearly loved the lasses, O.
Auld Nature swears the lovely dears
Her noblest work she classes, O;
Her ‘prentice han’ she tried on man,
An’ then she made the lasses, O.
2.3k
It’s 2:24 and it’s raining sand to clog up eyes and put this house to sleep.
The wind rocks the foundation as the windows crack and yawn.
My spine feels the shudder as the walls give in and surrender to the night.
It’s 2:27 and I’m awake in the bare skeleton, left alone to converse
with the breath of a ghost that once held hopes of a happy home.
Oh, if I could get outside these walls.
Yank me from my human state.
Let the night turn me into dust so that I may ride the winds of change,
because even false hope is better than none.
Let birds build nests from my ribs, let rabbits gnaw on my arms.
Send my heart out to the ocean
(oh, to be an ocean)
Let the fish thrive in my hair.
But do leave my spine to congeal into this skeleton wall,
so part of me may remain to comfort those I leave behind.
It’s 2:43 and I’m giving myself over to encompassing black.
So long, dearie.
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 7:12 PM UTC
O woe is me, my heart is sad,
For I should never know
If Love came by like any lad,
Without his silver bow.
Or if he left his arrows sharp
And came a minstrel weary,
I’d never tell him by his harp
Nor know him for my dearie.
“O go your ways and have no fear,
For tho’ Love passes by,
He’ll come a hundred times, my dear,
Before your turn to die.”
1.8k
A lost in time, forgotten track
colorless, washed out, hollowed rather
meaningless if you were to describe it
used to write all the time, used to dream
in the bus, in bed as well, it has all
said its bitter farewell, oh dearie!
oh my beloved!, spare me of this cruel
misery filled path, I now cross
some sort of emotionless symphony
worthless effort, faded paint
insignificant piece of poetry
a fallen ode to legacies, significance
and memories, all fantasies
dreams, hopes and tales of stargazers
daydreamers and hopeless romantics
have been lead astray, by this
oh this filthy tray of decandence
forsaking a mournful heart
an adulterated soul...
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 8:09 PM UTC
A pretty pink rose
A blossom without peer
Love is in flower
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 5:48 PM UTC
What is the cost of loving you, sir?
A slap, or two, or three or four?
Even more than that
If I tip my hat
Can we make that none?
What is the cost of loving you, dearie?
I can see you're asking for quite a lot of money from me.
Can we make that none?
What is the cost of loving you, Ma Chérie?
Another lover, but one who I think
Is not your lover?
Can we make that none?
What is the cost loving you, sweetheart?
You're not so sweet I see
If you want to beat me
Like eggs in a cup
Shattered, bleeding
Can we make that none?
What is the cost of loving you, handsome?
Some hate, not from you.
But from bystanders.
Who
Seem
To
Be
Unable
To
Shut
Their
Mouths
To
Stop
Pouring
Out
Hate
Towards
Us
Over
Nothing.
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 4:08 AM UTC
I have been denied such honor to explore thy flesh. I long for the day that it shall be mine to cherish. Savoring every inch, savoring every scent.
I'll thank God adamantly for a gift such as this.
Once permitted, I shall lay thy sweet vessel upon thy pillow and ravish thy flesh until my hearts content.
Whispering sweet, wicked things in thine ear. No decent mortal being would ever want to hear.
Seizing thy body, as it is mine to clame.
Peeling away what stands between I and my domain.
Passion nearly lost, beholding what was underneath. So much desirability, you hid beneath.
Such seduction, such physique. Deny me this not for satiation you will reap.
Stand before me now. So I may admire thy beauty. Appreciation is yours for the taking.
Come to me my dearie. Allow me the honor to have thee.
Forcing your body to the wall. Muttering, I must have it all.
Without delay. I rest a kiss on thy divine lips. Soaking in your taste, ah such sweet bliss you possess.
Drawing you closer as I relish this moment. My temptation has won, finally bested.
As our passion heats, goosebumps do meet.
Your skin tingling, feeling your craved relief.
To late to cease. I must have this sweet, sweet release. Laying you down, preparing my feast...
My coming Honor.
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 4:21 PM UTC
Babushka doll, you're an acid vase
Empty as church mornings
Devoid of all feelings;
You unravel your sullen smiles,
Ill-bred and unclean.
You are not complete.
You lost your babies.
Now you're alone.
Darling, darling, darling, how does it feel?
To feel the root of brute in the stubby heel,
Your silly scarves lost in the wheel.
Just peel off the cabbage roses
Petal by Petal,
Dismember yourself.
What a laugh!
The air has asthma,
The sun gives it T.B.
Oh dearie me!
It wheezes kisses heavier than a lecher.
Saboteur of my days,
Why must you hurt what you can?
Because you hate me, hate me.
You are an acid vase full of hate.
I can see your ruddy heart like an X-ray.
Unstick yourself from me.
I don't want you,
Your scarlet lips
Lake Baikal eyes,
or Eastern European knits.
The rings shed their gold.
Knock knock,
Dead at 30.
The last twist of the knife.
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 11:05 PM UTC
Someone special Della’s
mother told her. A Downs
with a lovely smile and
bright, slightly narrow eyes.
She had waited outside
the school grounds when
her mother drove up.
Sorry I’m late, her mother
said, got caught in the traffic.
Della frowned, her tongue
sitting on her lower lip.
Man said you sent him,
Della said. What man?
Man in a car. What man
in a car? Della looked at
her mother, puzzled.
Man in the car. What did
he say? Said you sent him
to pick me up. Called me
Dearie. But I’m Della.
Her mother got out of the
car and went and knelt
down beside her daughter.
You didn’t get in the car did you?
No he drove off fast when
Mrs Penbridge came over.
He said I was Dearie, but
I’m Della. Yes, you are. Not
Dearie. No not Dearie.
He smiled at me. You mustn’t
get in to a stranger’s car
unless I tell you it’s all right.
I didn’t get in. Good. He
drove off, Della said, lowering
her eyes to her new shoes.
He smiled. Yes, but that
doesn’t mean he was nice.
He seemed nice. Yes, but
men like that aren’t. Why?
Della looked at her mother.
Because he may have hurt you.
Why would he hurt me, I’m
special. Yes, you are special.
You are angry with me. No,
not with you. You’ve got
your angry voice. Not with
you. Seems angry with me.
Not you, the man. Why are
you angry with the man?
Because he may have taken
you away from me. Della
looked at her mother’s hair,
newly done. Where? Where
would he have taken me?
Away from me. Why?
Because he’s bad. Her
mother held Della to her
tightly. He didn’t look bad,
he had a nice smile. Nice
car, too. Blue. Nice blue.
Like a summer sky blue.
Never get in a stranger’s car.
Never. You are angry. Not
with you. Sounds angry.
But not with you. Not
with me? No, you are
special. Special. Yes.
Very special? Yes, very
special. Not to get in a
stranger’s car? No. Not in
a stranger’s car. I got in
your friend’s car the other day.
What friend? The man who
brings your groceries and
you and he talk and he makes
you laugh. Her mother stared.
When did you get in his car?
The other day. Why did you
get in his car? He said, you said.
Did he drive off with you? Yes.
The mother held Della out in
front of her. Where to? We
went to look at the ducks in
the pond. Why did you get
in the car? He said, you said.
But I didn’t tell him that.
He said, you said. Did he
touch you? Touch me? Did
he touch you anywhere?
He held my hand to go to
the ducks. Anywhere else?
He said I was special. You
are. Did he touch you anywhere?
My hand. Anywhere else?
No. Just my hand to feed
the ducks. What happened
after you saw the ducks?
He said I was special. Where
did he drive you? I thought
Mrs Rice was going to pick
you up that day? I went
with your friend. Did he
touch you? He held my hand.
Anywhere else? Della shook
her head. He said I was pretty
and had nice legs. Her mother’s
heart thumped. Am I pretty?
Yes you are, but he shouldn’t
have said so. Why not? He
didn’t mean it nicely. Why?
Because he shouldn’t tell
you that. Why? Because he’s
no right to say you’re pretty.
You say I’m pretty. I love you.
He said I was pretty and had
nice legs. Did he touch your legs?
No he just looked at them.
Nice legs he said and nice eyes.
Have I got nice legs and eyes?
Yes you have but he shouldn’t
say so. You’re angry again.
Not with you. Seems like me.
It’s not. Seems like. I’m not.
Seems like. Never get in his
car again. Della looked at
the sky. I won’t. It looked like rain.
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 12:17 AM UTC
Mummy
I think you should send Grandma back
to where she came from;
she comes into my room
stares about, and she says:
“Decadent! Decadent! Decadent!”
And then she mutters:
“Never had such things in my day!”
Ma – it’s a good idea to send her back
to where she came from, I think
And when no one is home
but me and Grandma
she puts plastic flowers in her hair
and dances all round with her song:
*"This eve is my wedding;
this eve am I the bride
And I've me the handsomest man
in all of the land"*
She hid my shoes the other day
and she grinned when I found them under her bed;
when you are not looking
she swipes her hands over a pretend iPad
and sticks her tongue out, and pops her eyes out
and whispers to me:
*“That’s how you look, dearie dear;
like the village idiot in days of old”*
She says I dress too short;
I should wear skirts right down to the toes
Grandma stood over my bed
yesterday morning
and she said I was sleeping late, too long;
and she copycats me eating, and she says:
*“You are at a sumptuous table
but you eat like the poor”*
And she pretends to kiss me goodnight
and she whispers her secret curse:
*“Girls who don’t wash their toes,
they don’t go to Heaven
You might wake up in the morning
and find yourself walking
on the hot coals of Hell”*
Mummy, please
I think you should send Grandma back
to where she came from
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 12:42 AM UTC
she says that she's been scared a long time ago.
that pink dress only gets worn in special occasions, mary lou anne!
so lost here, in a crowd with my fingers crossed behind my back, talking to a wall of pictures
--what she means is she's a queen of Chopins, the queen of *** covered mountaintops--
the hair dresser shall pin your hair up later at four, dearie.
she says that he was a man a long time ago.
mother mother, is lost in Kuwait. father father, is troubled with apple turnovers.
if this isn't right, then nothing will ever feel right again.
madam, please stop fidgeting with your dress.
a kiss has been seared onto her breast,
making the tissues underneath
smooth and strong.
darling, you look beautiful.
but somehow she's been buried there, with her daughters, her sons, and 200 families.
in a sundress by the beachside.
she says the Ripper tore her ******* open a long time ago.
music boxes tells her otherwise
that in his arms there are no more pink tomorrows.
Nov 16, 2012
Nov 16, 2012 at 11:16 PM UTC
I remember breaking down that barrier.
A Berlin wall, of sorts,
That haunts every friendship.
On one side,
There are pleasantries.
There is “How are you?”
Who shares an apartment with “It’s been too long dear”,
Who lives across the street from “I have so much homework!”
And down the hall from “We ought to see a movie this weekend”.
On the other side, there are feelings.
Not the simple kind.
Not the kind that can be expressed at a locker,
Before homeroom,
Or over a cup of coffee.
The kind that are ugly.
The ones with rough edges,
That will ***** your hand,
If you hold them the wrong way.
The ones that sit alone in dark corners,
Because no one wants to claim ownership.
It’s a thrilling moment to break down.
Falling to the ground, you cry,
You wail,
And you blabber out every feeling you’ve ever felt,
No longer able to hold them inside.
I remember when I broke down for the first time.
Like a citizen of West Berlin,
I took a sledge hammer to the wall.
With each word, chunks of concrete disintegrated,
Into crumpled tissues,
And tear-stained pillow cases.
The last word hung in the air.
Inhaling deeply,
Freedom filled my lungs.
I held my breath.
I saw shining lights,
Glimmering stars,
And vibrant smiles.
I knew that behind me,
You saw rusted steel,
Broken glass,
And graffiti.
It wasn’t too late,
I could run away.
Run away and never look back.
And re-build that wall with every stride.
If you didn’t want to cross that threshold,
Between shining stars and broken walls,
Between singing joyously and sitting silently,
Between happiness and heart-ache.
I would not force you.
“Dearie.” You said, arms outstretched.
“Come here.”
Dec 9, 2011
Dec 9, 2011 at 12:05 PM UTC
Letters from Mom - Letter 4 of 4: Life, Death, and Life
**Dear my Dearest *****
Life and Death, dearest *****
that’s what news I’ve got for you here
in this post; sad and happy, dearie
ain’t that what’s it all about
Cos God gets drunk every other night
(just like your Dad)
life’s a mixed bag
Three of your school friends
last week
were in a pick-up truck
It was Dom who was driving
and the truck fell off the bridge
and into the water
Dom rolled down his window and got off
but the other two in the back
John and Mary, though good swimmers
they drowned, dearie
cos they couldn’t get the tail-gate opened
And your sister is now pregnant
and she’s all excited
but we don’t know if it’s a boy or girl
so we’ll decide later
if you are aunt or uncle
And your sis says if it’s a girl
she’ll name it after me –
so, she’ll be called Mom;
and if it’s a boy
she’ll name it after Dad –
so, of course, he’ll be called Dad
And that was good to hear from you
on the phone
you’re coming back home
You can run away from school
run away from your town
run away from mummy -
but you always got to
come back to mummy
dear O dearie my *****
*See you soon, Darl *****
Your loving Mom
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 10:17 PM UTC
You can't repair her heart for it is too far broken,
You can't take back words that were never spoken,
You wish like hell you could change the past,
But your ****** up relationship just wouldn't last,
And now you search for yourself in the bottom of a whiskey bottle,
And you busy your mind to keep from slamming into a wall at full throttle.
Welcome to your existence after breaking such a beautiful spirit,
For making her hate love you are hereby sentenced to fear it.
So tell me dearie was it all worth it?
The mind games, sly words, and bull ****
Did you have enough fun while breaking such a kind heart?
Did you laugh as she peeled back her skin; painted with the blood within and called it art,
While she handed you her heart time and time again,
Only to watch you trample it yet keep it on a ******* chain...
So that she may never wander too far,
Did you enjoy ******* that girl's brain?
Was it really ******* worth it in the end?
I hope it was because now you can never make amends.
Enjoy your life long sentence of fearing love...
Since she's now forced to simply hate the idea of it.
Dec 10, 2017
Dec 10, 2017 at 10:00 AM UTC
Good morning all my friends have retired
Hello I am running out of things to do to forget that they have all made better plans and that I am not to be included
Good day to you to, zzz I am falling asleep sir
I am feeling my mind deteriorate from a lack of sufficient socialization
Zzzz I am falling asleep again because I don't want to think about it
Zzzzz I keep dreaming about you dearie why'd you go again
I am running out of things to distract myself with; who cares about diction when you don't have any body to spill out beautiful words to
My love, I'm getting close to substance abuse
My love, I'm afraid of trying it I am afraid of artificially feeling like I did before
I am still confused; you are not; I am missing out on something
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 2:45 PM UTC
O, Falmouth is a fine town with ships in the bay,
And I wish from my heart it's there I was to-day;
I wish from my heart I was far away from here,
Sitting in my parlour and talking to my dear.
For it's home, dearie, home--it's home I want to be.
Our topsails are hoisted, and we'll away to sea.
O, the oak and the ash and the bonnie birken tree
They're all growing green in the old countrie.
In Baltimore a-walking a lady I did meet
With her babe on her arm, as she came down the street;
And I thought how I sailed, and the cradle standing ready
For the pretty little babe that has never seen its daddie.
And it's home, dearie, home . . .
O, if it be a lass, she shall wear a golden ring;
And if it be a lad, he shall fight for his king:
With his dirk and his hat and his little jacket blue
He shall walk the quarter-deck as his daddie used to do.
And it's home, dearie, home . . .
O, there's a wind a-blowing, a-blowing from the west,
And that of all the winds is the one I like the best,
For it blows at our backs, and it shakes our pennon free,
And it soon will blow us home to the old countrie.
For it's home, dearie, home--it's home I want to be.
Our topsails are hoisted, and we'll away to sea.
O, the oak and the ash and the bonnie birken tree
They're all growing green in the old countrie.
952