"decently" poems
the mind is its own beautiful prisoner.
Mind looked long at the sticky moon
opening in dusk her new wings
then decently hanged himself,one afternoon.
The last thing he saw was you
naked amid unnaked things,
your flesh,a succinct wandlike animal,
a little strolling with the futile purr
of blood;your *** squeaked like a billiard-cue
chalking itself,as not to make an error,
with twists spontaneously methodical.
He suddenly tasted worms windows and roses
he laughed,and closed his eyes as a girl closes
her left hand upon a mirror.
45k
Songs of Oregon: No. 1 “Gonna Make You Crazy, That Place”
nuts, crazy peeps
whomever wherever,
regardless of race creed color or gender (did I get ‘em all?)
current state of residence (geo-identified)
a poem - the very same recited,
as a disclaimer, a yellow finger wagging warning:
“Don’t go! If you go, you won’t come back”
now kids, I’m a veteran of foreign travel,
many continents, cold and hot, rivers and seas,
some living, some dead,
some so big they named it Endless,
been to the great cities, Swiss villages,
pyramids, climbed Masada,
danced on grapes (why can’t I recall where)
skied the Alps, trekked the Sinai Desert,
clubbed in Rio, and danced till morn,
on a certain Greek Isle that rhymes with Mickey’s Nose
even been to L.A and San Fran, left poorer
but in sync,
always came home
with my mind decently reshaped
me/ a product of gritty unpretty grime,
streets of normal humans
acting like normal escaped mad persons,
this brutal city island instilled a
layer of fat and smog neath my skin,
a kind of migrating duck-like survival kit,
came with a homing beacon included
the those of you who know me,
perhaps too well, ken we citified islanders
love our beaches (fire hydrants)
cherish our sun dappled blessings
upon on farms (window sill herb gardens)
and sunning settlements (rooftops)
they say our tap water is secretly bottled,
sold in places where the springs purportedly
run crystalline
though we don’t got no pinot, just sweet concord grape,
so sweet, the wine of children and street nodders,
needy for instant sugar highs
so as we new Yorkers proudly
say on our license plates,
prove it or stfup!
so a first hand investigation for which
the taxpayers won’t be charged even a lousy mill,
deemed necessary to put to rest this crazy claiming warning
“Don’t go! If you go, you won’t come back”
guessing must be something in the water and the wine
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 9:00 AM UTC
Let me tell you about myself.
I am a mosquito magnet.
I have little scars of itchy memories all over my scrawny legs.
But I think it means my blood is sacred.
I find my laugh unique and one of a kind.
My walk, resembling more of a bowlegged wobble, allows me to stand out against the crowd.
(My walk isn't that bad, by the way, I was merely exaggerating for stylistic purposes.)
What's more, the fact that I am prone to blushing at even the slightest glance my way is kldjaf;ldjfoiad;htija;ji;ajf.
I love it.
My clumsiness only adds meaning to the moments in which I am fleetingly graceful.
Yes, my posture is rough around the edges,
But it signifies that I have been around the world a few times.
At least I don't jut out my pretty decently sized *******
You're welcome.
I find my lack of arguing skills in the moment cute.
My mistakes are adorable, and my obvious flaws are endearing.
The fact I can't **** an ant without showing sympathy is amiable.
If only somebody thought the same way about me.
If only people looked and analyzed others as closely as I do.
They would see.
That way I wouldn't be the only one loving myself. (Or trying to.)
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 6:09 PM UTC
i
i washed up for a living,lily,
for a while there
this is something george**
and i have in common..
on the whole i was treated
decently
pearl divers are a breed unto
themselves..
mine was a life of ease
over eating and boredem
it was hard on the spine
and knees..
a piece of cake compared
to digging holes
(surrounded by the boss
and his extended family..)
the pop wagon on friday
cement as a whole
the olive oil factory or
carrying bricks..
ii
the pop wagon on a friday
took only two hours
brevity
that was the answer..
the cement truck on
tuesdays
took two and half
hours..
but ended in tears..
the shift in the olive
oil factory
could last eighteen hours..
digging holes an eternity
carrying bricks up stairs
works up quite a thirst..
never mind soon be..
be in pauli´ s soup kitchen
where wine smooth and cool
as honey bees..
chicken and macaroni..!
iii
the cement was high in lime
and invariably chafed the skin
and in that hole it would set
to be picked out with olive oil
and a pin..drunk,the screaming
and carry on..
we laughed and held them down
better digging holes..!*
*it was so painful..!
**down and out in paris and london
by gearge orwell
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 8:33 AM UTC
No agreeability.
Force herself right into me.
See how she hides everything.
Oh but yet she can't accept
My bisexuality.
No, honestly.
Why am I still pondering?
Why am I still wondering?
Why the **** am I sitting here
Worried about what my momma thinks?
Seriously.
I don't worship Deities.
She said I did recently
Why do I even care when
She can't read me decently?
It's not fair.
I know what I feel there.
I talk to Him, I'm not scared.
I don't need to be treated
Like I'm spiritually impaired.
The last time
I've committed no ******* crime
I'm not replica of your design
This body I walk in,
This body is mine.
And despite of your words that burn
I will keep loving my life.
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 8:34 PM UTC
There are things people want from me but can you not see that some things cannot be. I just want to be me, I write poems decently fast. But its so hard to spit bars. I dont want fame or glory, but with these hands I'll tame the expressions within me. Read my words imagine my world, but never see me in it. I'll share a new point of view, but only the open minded few can understand the work of hand, pen and paper. Is it a talent to write such raw feelings, only you, the being reading this can judge. Judge my words, my flaws and my ideals. Do I hit you deep in the feels? Do you relate? Is this fate? Maybe you and I are looking for our inner selves. It feels like digging through a book shelf. But as we age we find our greatest collection of stories and just as many worries. A pile of imperfections but there are still perfect moments.
-SS
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 8:31 PM UTC
VACUUM CLEANER TANGO
---Lyrics by Jonathan Caswell
(Some misspellings are due to rhythm keeping)
The Vac…cuum Clea…ner Tango,
Is like…a juicy…mango,
Those fi…bers will…entangle
Your teeth or brushes, pretty quick!
The girls…who do…the cleaning,
Are ev…ver so…well-meaning,
To move…around…guys leaning,
That watch…and approve…the show!
Plugs must…be changed…more frequently,
If lon…ger hallways…decently,
Are cleaned…the most…expediently,
It’s all…a part of…the dance!
The vac…cuum clea…ner tango,
A dai…ly chore…is wrangled,
By clea…ners star…spangled,
Perfor…ming it with…extra class!
Feb 5, 2012
Feb 5, 2012 at 2:45 AM UTC
It's been a while and I haven't slept
I'm too cold now and I haven't wept
The numbness gave way to madness
And now I'm feeling fine
Now I smile once in a day Isn't it a good sign
But the urge to take a hit makes me weak and dissipated
It never let go of me even though I truly waited
And I'm slowly walking towards the edge of my story
Ready to fly for a while before I take a fall
Life is scattered In a nightmare
But I don't have the strength to burn it all
And I'm slowly losing sanity
Yesterday I saw a cow fly
It hissed at me like a snake
It hurts that it didn't even say goodbye
Before it took off for the meadows
Where I hope it gets beaten by the troll and dies
Enough of my sweet dreams
I'm not delusioned enough to believe 'em to be real
But I'm getting cold and old now
There is just no way that I can heal
And I fade away like the dinosaurs
But not as cool 'cause there's no super-volcano or a meteorite
And cobain told me I should burn away
Something about burning and showing them light
It's better to burn than to fade away
He wrote on his suicide note
Gun-shot or a nuclear holocaust
I seriously need some votes
I can't make my mind about how this stupidity might end
And to go out as decently as I can
Those religious folks I don't Want to offend
Or they'll waste everyone's time preaching about a god thats just too bored to even care
If he's there somewhere maybe of earths existence he's not even Aware
We're so tiny, I wonder if he can even see ourselves
Tell 'em apple guys to gift him an iPhone , so he can google himself
And see for himself that 'porn' is more googled than him
That he has lost his crown
All of the religious folks reading This ****
Please , don't frown
But still, in-spite of my pleas if you still want to
Fine , go ahead
Just letting you all know I'm 'gonna sin again
There's a girl on my bed
and I think you can make it out where it'll lead
I know I know , I'm going to hell and I'm never 'gonna be freed
But who cares
its not like they're 'gonna give em girls to me in heaven
There's no point to refuse now
And On the other hand someone said we can do whatever we Want to
Than hey , why is this **** even going down ?
I told you I'm deranged but you didn't believe
It was nice letting it all out and now I can sleep
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 4:39 AM UTC
My past time
is drawing punnett squares;
measuring my chances at certain genes
measuring the maybe chances at babies.
constantly calculating 'could-have-beens'.
Though, not always certain,
I discover myself in the punnett squares
written in graphite
sprawled across my table.
99.9% chance of being normal,
and I got stuck at that .1.
I can go on,
drawing punnett squares on my arms
and legs
and stomach
and back.
Calculate
my chance
at being
DECENTLY FINE.
Now's not the time
to be drawing punnett squares
all over the place...
But what are my chaces
at a prettier face?
What were my chances at brown eyes
and carmel skin?
What were my chances,
where do I begin?
Punnett squares
excite me
because I see my
could-have-beens.
What are my chances
of finding
someone like me
identical in thought,
obsessed with
the past
and how we could-have-been
BETTER?
But we're not.
We're just a
punnett square.
Feb 1, 2017
Feb 1, 2017 at 1:07 PM UTC
Breathe and breathe and breathe for me
I’ll breathe and breathe and breathe for you
This world
This life
The love and happiness
All in your eyes
Breathe and breathe and breathe for the best of things
Breathe and breathe just breathe for me
Read and read and read its right
Think and think keeps me up all night
The words that push and push with every sight
I’m going blind from the thought… alright.
So breathe and breathe and breathe for me
We know I sure as hell cant do it decently
I’ll breathe and breathe and breathe for you
I can’t get enough of this green
Sight all filled with blue
Open my eyes- open to you…
Just another night, no sleep in slight
Bad rhyming ****** me off
But this music is soothing
And I get so inspired thinking of life
Breathing is so hard
Holding me back
To many people around
Only two can share solitude happily
In the best of company
How the cool air rest upon my skin
Delicate and white never known what sun is
Soothing, breath is still missing
From my lungs only retrievable from love…
But that is far, now close enough for now
All there is, is hope
But hope is held in God, if you believe in him
What a lie of course you do
I see it you just need to speak it.
Maybe think about the breathing for once.
Easy to forget when its not a loved one.
Yes I did that and yes I did this.
But I did it cause I obsess just a little bit.
I don’t care just move out of the way,
Please pilot,
I’m done with the west, fly east for me.
I wanna see the stars that you can never see in New York City
I wanna be in the limits of the devils play ground
With you holding one hand
Jesus gripping the next
Who cares if I sound crazy?
Every great artist had their thing
I can admit I’m rambling
With incompatible ridiculousness
But it’s true to say,
I can’t breathe today
When I can never breathe
Can’t breathe until this life grants me with a touch
And the **** tree’s will always be
**** Iowa.
It’s only in between.
Jun 30, 2010
Jun 30, 2010 at 6:50 AM UTC
The red moon is out tonight,
I'll meet you wearing the red flowing flames.
They might pull you towards me, so keep a distance.
Don't say afterwards that I played an unfair game.
At the top of the red building,
We'll decently get high on red wine
and just like that, unlock our deepest secrets
discovering every truth and every lie.
Hiding in the red sheets,
I'll leave red lipstick marks on your neck.
They'll be a tattoo on your skin ,darling.
Reminding you of our red date, just in case you ever forget.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 9:27 AM UTC
Gently he'll take her in his arms,"Öh! my precious orchid"
he looks deeply in to her eyes, classic lover style, it still works,
that was the hope he finally clung on,her mother would murmur
something away from his ears,to be careful, he didn't get her point.
her eyes were bright and deceptive, his Waterloo,those two were,
eyelashes always would flutter, as if she is afraid, he would abduct her,
how romantic, his heart jumps up at once in delight,
a shipful of bounty returning after the hunt of a lifetime!
"Could I call you anytime, please let me, even if it's too late"
she would plead, too cute,then pretend dejection, ah! he likes it
as if he'll deny it and she can't bear that thought, her heart'd break,
he'd say" Ẅhy not, I'd anticipate your call all night"
he would stand sentinel,that night, wait for her call
hell, she won't call, not a day!, still can he go and sleep?
he'd meet her with bleary eyes, the day after so apologetic,
she'd get offended at his disheveled , mad look.
"Aren't you my heart's poem, then come to me little more decently"
asking him to keep awake all night, this wasn't her speaking!
"Come to coffeehouse, sharp at four" she is curt this time.
then, someone will come and inform, "She won't make it today"
And when things get muddled, she comes running
and pretend **** apologetic,"Sorry, a fool I am, to hurt you, dear"
never did he tell her what she really was, never asked her to **** off
she was a shipwreck, spectacular, rescue was someone else's business..
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 7:19 AM UTC
“It's very difficult not to come across as a supremacist when there are so many black inferiorists around.”
― David Bullard
Look!..he's a leech, he's a parasite
That black man is draining the Taxpayers
He comes from a rich family, they say they are titled
Look at him, educated and refined, arrogant as black ****
Go get him, the ******* parasite cheating the working classes
Why not tell the ******* truth
That a white family of thieves broke into the flat of a black man
Something that they had done once already and caught but let off
Because they were neighbours and pitied, police were not involved
They did it again and were called thieving working class scums
Up comes hail and thunder and war
Their Militant leftist friends say it Anti-monarchy Revolution
Say's victim is a parasite and a leech, robbing the working classes
Go get him, his life destroy, cast him asunder, hound him to hell
Down with the rich, this is war, people's power, this is democracy
LIES, HOGWASH, DISINGENUOUS ******** RACIST CRAP
They can't bear to see a black man do well
They can't bear a respectable, decent, confident black man
To then stand up and call them out to their faces was the ultimate
They are supreme and all else must fall before them or put down
A black that is not a Black Inferiorist must be discredited at all cost
If the situation was reversed
And a black thief steals from an equivalent white with same status
( He comes from a rich family, they say they are titled )
Would the reactions be the same
(Say's victim is a parasite and a leech, robbing the working classes )
Honesty says NO, you know it and we all know it
(Supremacy has taught him that all people of color are threats irrespective of their behavior. Capitalism has taught him that, at all costs, his property can and must be protected. Patriarchy has taught him that his masculinity has to be proved by the willingness to conquer fear through aggression)
But the black man becomes a leech, a parasite a threat
For standing up to white criminals and daring to call them out
Devious political chicanery is unleashed and our Supremacists
All rally up, totting falsehood and misinformation to cover truths
Why don't see any Class war action in Kensington and Chelsea
What really bothers some of you is simple - and you corrupt others
Blacks must always be inferior and if they are not, you fight secretly and covertly!
Because only you have the God given right to live decently
Only you have the right to air your opinion or disagreement
Only you have the right to call it as you think you see it.
And you'll fight tooth and nail and with everything else to keep
it that way!
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 10:02 AM UTC
I dont want simple;
Feed me yourself in silver spoonfuls.
I want simple,
Lie to me,
and tell me
I am not an Animal.
I am an analyst-dissecting details.
4Am fresh snowfall
I will remain capable!
Make first new footprints,
in a circle...
Till I reach the middle.
I will remain incapable of
Tying my shoes.
I am a participant in social warfare.
Looking forward:
Possible encounters &
Spring Rain.
Fantasizing both in measure.
All I am to you is what you see, and
What you hear,
smell,
touch,
taste.
All you are to me so far
Is what I see, and what I hear;
So i am looking very hard,
And I am listening very closely.
I want logic,
Tasting honey when I ******
I want harsh confusion,
Complete absence of logic in it's essence.
Kissing a part of you that potties.
Now,
I can remain content in chasing my tail; I sleep balled up on top of the ocean, my clothes and fur strewn;
Chewing paws in strange positions.
I want contradiction, an
Assurance of the Devil & a
Total disregard for ghosts.
Constructive chaos:
Dress like ghosts on Acid and
Wear rollerblades.
I want my resumé to read:
>works well with others,
>great fighter, &
>An outstanding Lay.
I want to leave behind dreams,
I want to rent a room in your
dream bed&breakfast;,
Sometimes sharing yours, but always paying rent on time for mine.
Sometimes
swinging an axe against a rough stump,
Craving lemonade and
Spring Rain.
Part of me wants to grow old and
Mad, and sit by rivers; I could smoke ****** from a wizard pipe for my
Sore joints.
( I am alright with the possible outcome of Alone. )
[ I would rip my hair out,
Glue it to my body, & become
A boy in wolf's clothing. ]
I want creative destruction,
Mayhem,
borderline Mind ****
Learning to pick the banjo half-decently.
That Deliverance tune.
And walk around ski towns
Scaring the **** out of some tourists
And other antagonists.
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 2:53 PM UTC
1. You told me I am your everything but that is not a load I want to carry.
2. You ask me to be patient but I have given you so many chances I have none left for myself.
3. You only started treating me decently after you had lost me.
4. My fear of hurting you was what kept me from being able to put myself first.
5. Does chosing my own happiness really make me a bad person?
6. Does it really benefit you to blame me for your friends ditching on you because you became the person you are today?
7. Should I believe your countless mentions of how everything is going wrong and how it is all my fault? Shouldn't you be the one responsible for your own life?
8. I thought moving on would be hard but moving on from someone you don't recognize anymore is surprisingly easy.
9. Is a promise still valid when it was made to a completely different person?
10. Thank you.
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 6:09 PM UTC
Roses are red,
Communism is also red,
Crimson like the tide,
Prickly like a pear,
Salty like lakes in Utah,
Fair like a figure skating judge during the 1998 Winter Olympics
Communism is like a warm Winter's breeze,
Like an honest politician,
Like a benign amputation,
Like a decently priced cup of coffee,
Good in theory, but seldom attained
Goodnight moon,
Hello baboon,
Farewell ballon,
I am the bafoon,
Is it too soon,
to lampoon,
to swoon,
to cocoon?
Let us fly,
high in the sky,
with some guy,
and just say bye,
to the tired old eye,
of my.
O'SIGH
Mormons are people,
Sew r da Jews,
Wat Hath we rot?
Too Soon?
Whitman
Shelley
Keats
Poe
Dickinson
Angelou
Eminem
Those giants of yesteryear
Praise be to the deity,
Of the ethereal plane,
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 1:15 PM UTC
**
Yo, I am the best this dude can do
You know, I am what's up
You better get to know me asap
I am what all chicks try to woo
I play soccer so well i don't pass
look at me, I'm world class
just follow me, I am the compass
Yeah, I was born to be bad-ass
Worries, I ain't got any
Always in good company
**
Salutations, I really do not know much
However, I wish the situation won't stay as such
This existence drowns me in confusion
A sentence to loneliness and delusion
I consigned happiness to oblivion premeditatively
After sadness and sorrow haunted me prematurely
I then had to ignore all emotions to survive decently
If happiness does not exist neither does sadness logically
Emptiness is lethal, death is certain if empty is the inside
Seeking knowledge can remorse the process, the last ride
Ride from stars to "who am i?" to "are they real?" with no guide
Captivity to knowledge requires evasion, evasion with no heart is suicide
*
hello, I am always hiding
because this body to me is binding
everyday, my hope in life is fading
will I ever end up deciding
I surely do not sound logical
but I too have feelings
I wish I could do so many things
24 hours of being would be magical
beauty can hide in ugly places
and a diamond has so many faces
in this body I am leaving my traces
I might be hiding but fear no menaces
*
Sharing a body is quite complex
Living every second in a multiplex
With a brain leaving you perplex
A primitive instinct and its reflex
A soul that has fortitude to flex.
Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 5:33 AM UTC
NEITHER rose leaves gathered in a jar-respectably in Boston-these-nor drops of Christ blood for a chalice-decently in Philadelphia or Baltimore.
Cinders-these-hissing in a marl and lime of Chicago-also these-the howling of northwest winds across North and South Dakota-or the spatter of winter spray on sea rocks of Kamchatka.
1.4k
I went to the airport today , as my mom was traveling I was there my sister ,my father and we kept doing our goodbyes as my father expressed how much he will miss her about 10 times .. even though she's coming back in a week.
While I was sitting there a man caught my eye he was with a lady a smaller asian lady , she was dressed very simply looks like she doesn't have much, her hair was messy .. she doesn't seem to care about how she looks , he was pushing her from her hand joint and not her actual hand .. his grip firm .. like she was a stray dog and he was containing her from runing wild . He was dressed more decently and he seemed from the gulf and he seemed like he wanted to get this over with .. he kept pushing her as my eyes involuntarily followed their every move he had a passport in his hand seemed hers and a small bag .. no luggage.
I saw her passing throught the checkpoints and I lost them for a while Finally it was time to leave my mom at the check point where only the travelers can pass .. that's when I saw that lady again and the security was behind her again guiding her like a stray puppy to the man who happened to be next to me .. the security handed her over to the man who didn't seem so happy to see her again as the security said " the captin won't allow her on his flight like this, she needs to wake up from whatever she's in" ... that's when I lost them again as my mother was waving to us the final wave I got occupied by waving back and then watched her leave .finally we decided to leave the airport and for the last time I found the lady agian sitting alone starring into the ground her head waving back and forth like her neck was not strong enough to hold her head .. as I saw the man leaving the airport door with a key in his hand .. he left the bag and passport with her and left .. and we left too
But she stayed there
Unaware and rejected
lost but no one was searching
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 8:35 AM UTC
I burnt the tip of my cigarette into my
Tumbler to **** two habits with one stone.
Though the **** coughed its last sigh and polluted a decently-priced
Rye, I don't trust that the addiction died.
Tipped my finger to the 'tender to fill a new glass,
Struck the flint to the tinder, a tobacco mask.
They poison slow, but the effects are fast.
You, like these habits, are in the past,
Waiting for me at the bottom of a flask, swearing always
"It'll be the last."
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 7:30 AM UTC
I couldn’t wait for my class to end so I could run outside and find
el carrito (Stand)
I fell in love with the feeling and the taste before I even knew what love was.
I stood outside holding my mother’s hand waiting for her to ask
the times she did not ask I would pull on her plaid, decently long skirt and looked over towards the man selling raspados
She knew what I wanted and she knew how much I wanted it.
I focused on ...
el carrito
as if looking at it would be enough to call the gods of raspados to have mercy over me
They cost $1.50. My mother gives me the money
I run over
The man says
te faltan, no es suficiente (not enough)
I was devastated, I began to take step back slowly, I dared to not look at my mother with this disappointment.
I barely noticed the lady standing behind the man, she was the boss
I noticed she was looking towards my mother
Maybe she saw in my mother’s face something convincing, or maybe my confusion triggered a mother instinct
Whatever it was, it was enough
As I walked away slowly with my first heart break,
the lady behind says,
tiene antojo, tu daselo (She has a craving, give it to her)
I thanked her with my smile and with a slight flitter in my heart of happiness and even more with my taste buds having a celebration just by looking at how this raspado was being made
The beautiful sound of the mountain man, holding a metal, rectangular shaver of ice
containing it all inside until it was ready to be placed in the cup. The small stones pile one by one when crushed
Just big enough to hold shape and small enough to enjoy
Then the miel con sabor a tamarindo being delicately set on top, like a creamy blanket in liquid form
Si, con limon y sal, porfavor, y poquito chile (add salt and lemon, and a bit of spice... Please)
because my mom taught me how to be polite
and then, to my surprise the actual fruit
tamarindo on top, a light brown coloring with a soft cover on the hardened seed inside
It decorated with grace and delight, the treat awaiting for me
I felt the richness
There I learned my first lesson of kindness
Mar 17, 2018
Mar 17, 2018 at 12:06 AM UTC
Thy innocence, thy innocence is more than what words have to say
Passionate face with youth that shall never decay
Oh, and stay mute amongst those bitter roses of May;
vanished worlds are real to me today.
Yester' firmly thou startled the wooden door
And grinningly stepped into the carpeted floor.
Vibrant speeches then thou began to tell;
thy voice silenced souls like a spell!
And how nature celebrated thy sound-
ah! as I could feel it on my bare ground.
Look! How those wheels just whirled round and round-
but bits of thy keen presence they never found.
Windy were just the dusky moors
Just as the brisk rainfalls turned worse.
Rattling against frail, murky hedges,
sweeping over cross, old shaky branches.
O! But shy, shy were thy glistening cheeks-
with shadows that were genuinely sweet!
Charming thy crowds with pretty wit-
as the new night grew darker and bleak.
Ah! But times for thou are forever;
while songs to thee are just curious and everlasting.
As death thou shalt never encounter;
with a life as long and unbending.
Aye! With that gaze so listless and melancholy-
but days so suspicious and full of poesy!
Thy steps still light but not playful;
amongst those tasks too hasty and dreadful.
Oh! Vivid clarity, and its colourful rainbows
are like the talents thou decently show.
Thy modesty might they but adore
Lightly and gaily, later and before.
O my willow! Thou art the fir tree to my green ferns;
dust and pale fire are thy dignified young heirs.
Last time when their suffering was hard and stern-
resolve thou did, their lonesome affairs.
And how dreary this smoky haze-
that once put me in grayish days!
But now strangely it has it been lifted-
and my whole conscience has now returned.
Ah! And how thou, thou wert there, once more!
As soon as I escaped from my dry stupor
and to safe convenience I restored;
thou wert within, just behind the door.
But like singing clouds thou drifted away again-
undead and undying, just like souls shalt always remain.
For thou there might never be tomorrow;
for thou art still, in thy here and now.
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 6:19 PM UTC
I've never received a drunken text.
I keep on hopping, this one to the next,
I see them every day, searching each
other, kissing, loving, they reach
out and hold arms and hands, I can
not contain my stare, a jealous man
does the wrong things. Someone please,
decently put my many needs at ease,
at least my inner vain can feast on less
fortunate girls, unequal to my being,
too good, but they will never be seeing
that, if I don't hurt them, bound to make a mess.
It has to end, it can't go one for ever,
I'll be waiting for that day, whenever.
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 6:26 PM UTC
I keep flashing to
Candlelit quarters and
Cramped pockets of privacy
Where you exchanged love
And exchanged it for history.
And pieces of memories
You forget about in time
Will decay into silence
And a decently put rhyme.
I keep flashing to
Sidewalks lit by
Young love and infinite
Possibility,
With cracks in the cement
And holes in the hearts
That skipped over them.
I blink and I am
At your door, to say goodbye,
Though we both don’t know it,
And I’m holding some ******
Hallmark Valentine,
Cradling rejection in the palm
Of a well-turned hand that
Knocks – one, two, three – at your door.
And what will happen if
Instead of your smile I see
A million reasons why we Should Not,
And in lieu of flowers
I get extra gas money and a new future
With one more poem
And one less You?
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 1:39 AM UTC
I'll wake up earlier than usual and for a split second, I forget what happened 24 hours ago. It seems like a blur, like it didn't happen.
But I know it did.
And I can't change that.
So I'll throw on a checkered shirt and look at myself in the mirror as I put on my key necklace and rings, looking dangerous and ready to ****
I wonder whether or not it's worth it to button up my shirt, but I seem to like the aesthetic of looking like I'm helpless. So I leave the shirt open to seem lazy too.
But I will roll up the sleeves. I'll always roll up the sleeves. Can't risk snagging the cuffs of a good, bad, decently fashionable looking shirt.
Pick out a complimentary hat and go.
Face the day why don't you?
Because I know I'll still end up crying eventually.
And I'd rather have those shirt cuffs in tact to wipe away the pain when I do.
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 11:56 PM UTC