"denote" poems
Who Am I?
Well,
I must be
that ******
the one
in the black hoodie
***** sweatpants
and an uncombed eye,
that's always wooly
scratchy,
bloodshot
with searching for
my stash spot,
that ******
in your peripherals
that you keep your eye on
because he's
not
in a polo
looking nice,
talking
"well-spoken"
and
not
a threat
to your beautiful
lily-white daughter.
Because I grew up
fixing myself
ramen noodles
and
lifting the welcome mat
after school,
I must also be
that ******
whose father wasn't
in the same house
until he was age 13,
and when I tell you that,
you weren't expecting it
because "you're not a racist."
but
you weren't surprised.
You see,
I must be
that ******
a stand-in
for all other *******
I must be that ******
who represents
all *******
not because you are racist,
but because I'm the only
******
you've met
who doesn't talk like
dis, y'know whatmsayin,
and i talk like
this, do you know what I'm saying?
I must be that ******
In order for you
to feel okay
being around me
I must be that ******
who goes to college
does the right
thing
the white thing
and gets a job
a nice little house,
a nice black wife
with a nice
new england
clear
dialect,
(what I was
trying to get at
earlier
is that ****** dialects,
by their mere intonation,
denote stupidity,
right?)
and doesn't say a word
when his white friends
make ****** jokes
or talk in a ****** dialect
mocking some Aunt Jemima
they heard at Walmart.
But,
I also must be that ******
who doesn't step out of line
and say
"WHY IS IT
THAT IN EVERY SINGLE
ENGLISH CLASS
WE READ
ONLY
TWO
BLACK AUTHORS
A SEMESTER,
AND THAT'S
ENOUGH,
JUST ENOUGH
TO KEEP THE
****** PARENTS
HAPPY."
And If I happen to be a ******
I,
by all means,
must not be that ******
who had a white girlfriend,
and
this girlfriend
after dating
a ******
tried to date a white guy
she liked,
and when she told him
that she had dated,
loved,
and yes,
******
a ******
he had said back:
"I can't believe
you ****** a ******
Then again,
I must be that ******
with the big swinging ****
able to destroy
a white girl's ******
with its pulverizing
power.
And,
please,
If I am going to be a ******
don't be the one
who writes a poem
about
having to be
that ******
because those
kinds of *******
are being
over-sensitive,
those dashiki-wearing-motherfuckers
who think
"Da white man dis."
and "Da white man dat."
Because
I am not one of those *******
descended from the first people on earth,
your brother,
not in the ****** way,
but the familial,
species way.
Why am I even writing
this, ****** isn't a main operative
word anymore.
Search and find ******
and
replace with
"Black Guy." That way it becomes
a joke.
Nov 30, 2011
Nov 30, 2011 at 7:22 AM UTC
Mother, the Word timeless Hymnals devote
Bore her Best Ribbon in Prayer and Gift
With the Earth her Nature's Theatre denote
Four Years Beyond; She would make her own Lift
I speak of the Fruit all may come to Love,
Branched with Four Maidens and a Knight do Sponsor
And the King, whose Black Gold sprouts well-above,
Branded Pride onto her; And gave her Honour
Well that their Woolen Rope I can't compete
Plus the Ring advised by the Prince of the North
Still, a Grounded Vow I plan to complete
For an Aunt called TRUST; And all that she's Worth.
Grateful much, M'am, for your Good Decision
Despite me Un-Known; The Owl you Rendition.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 5:31 AM UTC
A picture won't do justice,
For beauty is in motion.
Those thousand words are useless.
They don't denote devotion.
My rhymes and schemes may capture
A sliver of a moment,
While blinks of yours enrapture
And hold me without comment.
For words and verse are nothing
Compared to feelings fleet,
And just blinking's what I need
From you to be complete.
Aug 16, 2010
Aug 16, 2010 at 2:05 AM UTC
all things are useful, bulbs
bring light , denote ideas,
good intentions, spent,
collected.
cotton hankies, frayed hold the books,
yet those with nylon, stretch the skin
resulting in red and soreness.
shy away from dangerous commodities,
use the best, those tradtional artefacts
which are gentle on your soul, bring light.
wipe your nose clean.
sbm.
today we have added notes for your interest.
A HANDKERCHIEF (also called handkercher or hanky) is a form of a kerchief, typically a hemmed square of thin fabric that can be carried in the pocket or purse, and which is intended for personal hygiene purposes such as wiping one’s hands or face, or blowing one’s nose. A handkerchief is also sometimes used as a purely decorative accessory in a suit pocket. When used as an accessory to a suit, a handkerchief is known as a POCKET SQUARE. There are a wide variety of ways to fold a pocket square, ranging from the austere to the flamboyant.
The material of a handkerchief can be symbolic of the social-economic class of the user, not only because some materials are more expensive, but because some materials are more absorbent and practical for those who use a handkerchief for more than style. Handkerchiefs can be made of cotton, cotton-synthetic blend, synthetic fabric, silk, or linen.
Historically, white handkerchiefs have been used in place of a white flag to indicate surrender or a flag of truce; in addition to waving away sailors from port. King Richard II of England, who reigned from 1377 to 1399, is widely believed to have invented the cloth handkerchief, as surviving documents written by his courtiers describe his use of square pieces of cloth to wipe his nose.
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 1:33 AM UTC
Whereto, Friend, apart this Direction goes
That Greedy Me besuch perpetuate
Must learn this: The Lock and Shackle bestrow
Reconcile that Key for True Joy rebate
And tell, how does your Prime Perception dock
To settle added Keys in Copper, chain
Took you a Lark; Which the Robin does mock
Outside your Cage those Tripe Clowns entertain
That Craft - your Splash - always Sacred devote
Once again calls for Adventure Beyond
Take a Year's Rest; Then to Spangles denote
Would sprinkle Silver Sands for mood abscond.
It was your Decision to sign by Pen
Absorb those Posted Stars Heaven does spend.
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 1:10 AM UTC
He's found himself in the closet
After he lost to himself in a game of tic-tac-toe
And tied his lobster bib tightly
Then hid his cheat sheet, for the pop quiz he knew was soon to come
It's curtains for her
She let the cat out of the bag
And now she's up **** creek with ****** for paddles to go **** herself with
Right in the birth canal
Then we'll auction off the ******
We'll pass them off as European defibrillators
Maybe some extremist will want them
If we spew out enough mindless dribble
The All Time Shit-Show is about to begin
We have
The Chronic Masturbater
The Hypochondriac
And The Pathological Liar
It was either sometime yesterday
Or sometime tomorrow
Or was it sometime today?
That you were all going to make fun of the boy with the cleft lip down at the laundromat?
Out of the three of you The Pathological Lair sticks out like a sore thumb
I can tell he was the runt of the litter
Who always bites off more than he can chew
I see the Hypochondriac has convinced himself he has eczema
He rattles off all his symptoms
Inordinate filibustering
Now there's the Chronic Masturbater
He looks like he's over the hill
He's only twenty one
But the blue circles under his eyes and the deep defined lines on his forehead denote his inelegant aging
I sign all your lives away in my horrible cursive
And now you belong to the ragtag trigger-happy posse of gun-jumpers
My billfold his happily filled
So I must go do some reconnaissance
Spy on those who have quit their day jobs
The fish out of water
You must find that thing that really rolls off the tongue with a nice ring to it
******
*******
*******
*******
No...
Go hang youself with dental flossed you home-schooled fool
Indentured servants we're just an after thought
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 4:27 PM UTC
1063
Ashes denote that Fire was—
Revere the Grayest Pile
For the Departed Creature’s sake
That hovered there awhile—
Fire exists the first in light
And then consolidates
Only the Chemist can disclose
Into what Carbonates.
4.2k
My sweetest soldier left me and was dragged across the sea
My nights are now silent and my heart is drowned with fear
So, here I cannot stand to be
Through weary nights I held my guard
'till the stars came out to torment me
For, all the beauty of the night was now forever marred
My heart trembled with the candlelight
So I went to seek her chambers,but all was locked and barred
Even whispered words from my dear soldiers could do little to ease my fright
I wrote letters to my sweetest knight with sparkling, savage fury
I fought sleep away with every ounce of my might
Too soon, my hands and eyes grew weary
I filled my pages with stories of beasts we would nevermore fight
my eyes where too full of tears so I could not see clearly
I've lost my dearest companion and the bringer of my light
She sent letters back,of course, and they were wept over with many a tear
For a day, sprigs of goldenrod adorned my collar bright
for a day, at least, I forgot to think of fear
Then I had dreams of feathered serpents wrapped around her throat
her eyes were scratched out by hoary hell-kites and her heart was pierced with a spear
All my daylight hours, and all my nighttime too, to my knight I did devote
We continued writing letters and I lead my soldiers too
no one ever asked of what this did denote
'till fever caught me by my throat and threw my mind askew
My hands shook too violently and ink had streaked my page
In my letters, I tried so hard to have my pain seem subdued
My dear light-bringer needn't fear a fever's shallow rage
She saw through my ruse too quickly and I think she panicked more
I tried to calm her with winged words and locks of sage
I promised her there was a cure
My dreams were fueled by fire and the darkness lurking there
when I woke I fell sobbing to the freezing floor
She would have gathered me in her arms and kept me in her care
Beasts and berserkers set my night under siege
I could only see my sweetest knight scarred by bloodless warfare
Her spirit fell to the mercy of my new-found, thankless liege
My throat was streaked with clawing pain
cups of water I did beseech
bitter liquid assailed my body and bound my fate with chains
I saw my sweetest soldier and her hands skimmed through my hair
Her eyes shined like pearls which I hoped she would retain
Her kisses on my cheeks were so radiant and rare
I knew then never would we be apart
and in my chambers with the firelight there
I could rest with the keeper of my heart
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 12:24 AM UTC
i just lamented a more complex version of this; i just cannot believe we denote the same thing in order to share an understanding of the same by denoting as such, but when acting we feel so differently about it; imagine the noun iran in the mouth of an american, then picture the verbs subsequent... then imagine the noun america in the mouth of an iranian, then picture the verbs subsequent: words hold as much emotion as actions discard, even though the actions are worded, and the words are almost imaginary when concerned with what iraq was when given belshazzar.
i wonder if as many people would **** or die
for the noun apple, as they do for allah -
say the noun apple... apple apple apple long enough...
will you get apple juice? well no, so if you keep on saying
the noun allah allah... will that thing materialise?
the imaginary atheistic sense
of the word allah, is that humanity
turned the noun allah into a verb
of its own chosing due to man's free will,
i.e., say allah casually over coffee,
now say allah in jihad clothing...
the same noun among diverse verbs...
might as well invent a new grammatical
category of nouns and verbs mingling...
nouverbs... what noun invokes what action,
consolidated in what are excesses of adjectives,
given the quality of a life lived -
the man who casually said the noun allah
in a coffee shop in denmark managed to integrate
into danish society and start up a newspaper...
the man in syria who "casually" said the noun allah
in a coffee shop in syria didn't manage the former...
because his orientation of the noun
changed the path of the sequence of nouns / beheaded nuns,
since the cutting of the word verb,
managed to craft non-verbum-ergo-actio.
in defence of avoiding one’s own mortality,
one speaks against one’s own death,
thus one speaks with the enemy of the people
one shares a life with, for a fake chance of the feeling of prolonging.
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 8:53 PM UTC
It’s been said to cause success,
Yet its’ face is boldly grim.
Some even say it makes or breaks you,
Kills your soul, or fills the brim.
It’s been deemed the roughest test,
Where preparation meets implausible.
Whenever passion makes a breakthrough
Sounds of hell’s end become audible.
It’s received reviews of stress,
Of endless torture tearing through.
Leaving good men self-departed,
For they had no will to make it through.
It’s been seen in years of the past,
The trials of Job denote it well.
As Satan crushed his joys,
Job consummated to prevail.
It’s been said, “show no regret!”
When you look deep into your mind,
For this test is truly an artist
Creating a man, from pure divine.
So why let discouragement corrupt
Your trip through the abyss?
For it’s been said to cause success,
And that’s one hell of a gift.
Nov 20, 2011
Nov 20, 2011 at 1:03 PM UTC
Sometimes i wonder,
Wondering wonders of wonderful
World,for i living in this awful
World,spiral of life with terrific
Surroundings.
Unholy acts to the victims of
Xenophobic attacks,violence
Turns an everyday speech.
Government revolts gathers.
Towards poverty-stricken.
Diseases classic collide,remittance
Assassins rendered for intensely
Militancy.
Objection!!my lord,
Shysters bailing out
Evil-doers,juridical system
Not pertained.Poverty-trap
Pounding,chemical gases
Filling lungs of little
Ones.
Somebody play nice to
This,God play part to
This,denote dualism of
Good and evil.
Yesterday they gang banged
One of your children.
Drugs co-operate infection of
Young minds,youth gangsterism
Uproar.
Father herd your sheeps
To the right path,we seek
Guidance from above.
Family horror-strucks unites,
Matrimony rending day by
Day,onto religion segregations
Strickes by ??????.
Keep holy to this life *Life
Testimony* and paste
Amen...
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 4:32 AM UTC
Is mystery dependent on me thinking of mystery?
It is a safe bet.
For when what is central is knowledge, then I can only become aware of mystery if upon something new or unknown.
Thus, mystery is not knowledge, but the lack of it.
Mystery is ignorance.
Thus, my meditation is rather reflection on ignorance,
As if I'm trying to better describe ignorance, or find a way out of ignorance with only the experiential.
I think of mostly consciousness and the universe here, in terms of my and humanity's ignorance of them.
Not only am I limited by my own understanding but also the understanding of others, however much they are even more intelligent than me.
I see others working on problems that have proven to not solve the mystery, the mystery being ignorance.
The only thing that could solve it is omniscience.
Then it follows that what I'm really trying to solve is omniscience.
"Infinite cognition" as the Buddha put it.
Even if a person could have omniscience, it would be colored by how they can make sense of reality.
Knowledge would take the form of what is most familiar.
Thus, when wondering about a question as to what is pi, they may say about 3.14.
The answer conditioned on how people and the omniscient one would have the capacity to hear.
Maybe this seems more like intuition.
But omniscience would denote the person as a speaker, yet only allowable to speak as what was conducive for everyone's best.
This is how Baha'is look at Manifestations of God: only allowed to share a certain amount at a time.
Just as the Son said "I have many things to share with you, but you cannot hear them now".
Still their capacity would be limited to what they themselves were interested in.
For one who is marginalized and oppressed or even thronged by multitudes, often has no willingness to delve deeply into subject matter, it causing some to stray from a correct path.
Since fractal systems work strongest in more diverse settings, it would seem that the very thing that makes it strong also makes its capacity to hear weak.
Omniscience therefore, if given to only a few, has a limited range of effect.
But even this limited range would change the entire system.
As Baha'u'llah calls His followers "the leaven" and the Son calls His followers "the salt".
"Many are called but few are chosen" seems derogatory in a world where "ye are all the leaves of one tree".
World consciousness almost arose to love tonight, but the lover ensared it in his anger once again.
If I close my ears to them, will it go away?
If they close my ears to me, will I go away?
Strength in the diversity of parts.
Strength really meaning pain.
E Pluribus Unum.
Mar 8, 2021
Mar 8, 2021 at 1:30 AM UTC
The Atlantic Ocean and I sigh
in unison against the shoreline
of Amagansett Beach
and as she inhales;
she drags the land above below,
one grain of sand at a time.
In a few generations
she will have devoured this entire beach,
eventually the whole Island
and with it the multi-million dollar estates
which decorate its topology
like an effigy to human vanity.
I would say never before in history
has there been so few with so much
who have done so little
but that would denote
some kind of significance
and they are hardly worth noting.
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 4:51 PM UTC
Tonight,
Like lambs to the slaughter,
You're drowning in water,
Because you're mine.
Consuming,
I'm filling the spaces,
And all the safe places,
Of your mind.
Tonight,
Crawl on back to your circus,
Yeah you've lost your purpose,
Now you're mine.
Infected,
Stealing your body,
Possession and blackness fill the corners,
Of your mind.
My words,
They wrap around your throat,
Your fractures they denote,
That you're mine.
You're blind,
Lost in the darkness,
You're stolen, you're heartless,
So give me your hand,
And your mind.
Broken,
You'll sleep in the lion's den,
And all of your amen's,
Are maligned.
Tonight,
You'll ask me to love you,
To please take hold of you,
Because you're mine.
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 3:26 PM UTC
Fear death?—to feel the fog in my throat,
The mist in my face,
When the snows begin, and the blasts denote
I am nearing the place,
The power of the night, the press of the storm,
The post of the foe;
Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form,
Yet the strong man must go:
For the journey is done and the summit attained,
And the barriers fall,
Though a battle’s to fight ere the guerdon be gained,
The reward of it all.
I was ever a fighter, so—one fight more,
The best and the last!
I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forbore,
And bade me creep past.
No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers
The heroes of old,
Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life’s arrears
Of pain, darkness and cold.
For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave,
The black minute’s at end,
And the elements’ rage, the fiend-voices that rave,
Shall dwindle, shall blend,
Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain,
Then a light, then thy breast,
O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again,
And with God be the rest!
1.9k
Let me write you a poem
Between blue lines and red crosses and silly hairstyles
A poem that will eloquently tell
How you shone like dim stars on a pitch black beach
Figuratively
Full of HYPERBOLES! and synecdoches
About your misaligned teeth and your roaring, cackling laugh
It will drown you in allusions,
In perfectly crafted hybrid adjectives
That will tell
How you got caught in revolving doors
And how I laughed.
I hope you have seen the Spolarium
Because the poem will use it to denote
How I knew you were fine
But I never knew you'd be so huge
If you haven't,
We can see it together
The poem will trump Poe and O'Hara and Bukowski and Neruda
They will call it God's gift to Poetry
Studied and deconstructed
For the next few centuries
It was found taped under a desk they will say
And they will scour the world to find
That lovely mysterious beautiful person in the poem
Let me write you that poem
So that when they find you
Only the greatest people on this planet
Will read it to you.
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 5:30 AM UTC
Stifled existence
Limpness in my veins
In all things reticence
At least I'm free of any stains
Silent build-up in my throat
Semi-solid chunks of liquid fear
Worry what sickness might denote
Perhaps it's best I disappear
Better hope ***** is symbolic
Because now I have to go
And so, of me, my stomach's *******
Is all you'll ever know
Dec 22, 2021
Dec 22, 2021 at 8:07 AM UTC
Dear feminism,
You're doing it wrong.
Showcasing your gender
in physical form
does not open awareness
of a woman's
mental
and
emotional
wealth.
It merely confirms
misogynist thoughts.
If you want
to make a point,
don't generalize your targets
as pigs.
Rather,
express what makes women valuable.
Men can be deeper
than your delusions
let you know.
----------
Dear homosexual male community,
I am repulsed
that people can
associate me
with you.
Emotion
or thought
or open-mindedness
or expressiveness
should not denote
****** orientation.
I love women to the point
that I am overly chivalrous;
why should me
being in touch
with my emotions
or being different
than the
'male status quo'
change my sexuality?
P.S. - Homophobia is fear of homosexuals,
not,
as you'd havepeople believe,
the dislike or refusal
to treat the act as natural.
P.P.S. - The way
you portray yourselves,
you are still straight,
you only prefer your
women
to have a ***** attached.
----------
Dear fellow men,
A lot of you are
perverted.
You focus on
superficial things;
the *****
the rear,
the hair color,
the eyes,
the shape...
For what purpose?
It is the mind
and the personality
that matter most.
It is because of you
that women have
painted our gender
as monsters,
pigs,
rapists.
And many of you are,
because,
in your minds,
can the women give any consent?
May 16, 2010
May 16, 2010 at 2:58 PM UTC
In all ado
ten months in misery
It wasn't me
nor was even you
shrills at the back
of my aging doors
I mind my business
As you—
you only mind yours
Red laces tied to leave
forget twas before
Nothing—
nothing was concealed,
we leered in uncertainty
As we're losing—
losing our vast imageries
our bond was never—
just never denote to be
Cease by now
of these tortured schemes
lashing out and say
"wish it was all a dream"
departing to nowhere
as each wing soars
and all of we— all of we
used to be lovers before
and all of we— all of we
used to be lovers before**
Nov 4, 2017
Nov 4, 2017 at 12:47 AM UTC
Stick straight trees line hills, their arrangement phony
less than 5,000 feet in elevation but elevating humanity for over
sixty thousand.
For more than sixty thousand human beings,
think of fish stuck, are stampeded by shiny black
blocks of detonation.
Explosion for extraction, and teeny tiny port-o-potties
sit, enjoying relaxation where an ecosystem once
enjoyed rehabilitation after March.
We Marched on, up a gravel hill where wind
blew but we bolted our boots to the soil.
Sunglass-clad woman concealed her hurt eyes,
but her voice hurt enough to inspire a kind of
throat retching sensation.
***** up that black, ooey-gooey you old, weathered mountain top.
Explosives like a firm finger shoved down the throat
denote a rock spew; regurgitate and repeat a dozen times over.
Flatten and deform, never to reform
the water-giving, life-renewing, shady shelter, stable
stool, magic majesty of my mountain.
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 7:08 PM UTC
Recollections on Chaliyar.
In youthfulness was Chaliyar.
As I saw her next , from afar
Amidst the greenery was, she
Dancing in pleated clothes.
In spotlight of the setting sun
In tune the Air that hummed
On rail the wheels trumpeted
Gallery across the river I stood
Watching her”jahiliat” life moves
Lured all by giggle and smile
Ripples, eddies her beauty spots
She was mine I was hers!
Oh! My Chaliyar, recall, whence
We started and parted;
Made our veins venomous.
By-gone are by-gone-
God loves and pardons ;
He is with them that pardons
God won’t hear our prayer
If we keep deaf ear to prayer.
Unrelenting oars push a yacht.
The fume of trade shrouded me
With the smoke of train chocked
Down in water I plunged, yelled
Help, Help Oh! helpless yelp.
THE TIME rippled, wriggled
Coiled around while none
But Allah held me around.
On a delta I lay bare; hence
I write on rights we need.
……….
Note : Chaliyar is a river in northern Kerala, India, once most polluted.
“Jahiliat’ is an Arabic word means uncultured/impure period in life.
Allah is the name to denote the Almighty Creator that all religions expected to worship.
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 10:00 PM UTC
i
there is still a bottle
of cola
in the freezer..
ii
as i have grown older
i have loved more
which must denote
success
although i read in
luke rhinehart´ s the
dice man that this
might indicate
regression..
for those unaware
of this classic
a bored psychiatrist
throws a die and each
number has a different
directive..
he is a ******
he is christ
he suggests
that the idea of self
based on consistancy
a fallacy..happiness
is a fundamental
of change..
iii
if one is a tortoise
reluctant to emerge
one´ s bleary eyes
from one´ s shell
a world spent within..
always asking why..
worrying about what´ s
been..or what´ s to come..
a crepuscular hell..!
there is no i
only a difference..
so flap one´ s little
flippers and make
a change..!!
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 8:03 AM UTC
In a Christian world.
The star an ensign.
A symbol.
Pointing out wicked wounds inflicted on Christ .
While was crucified.
By ignorance cruel.
The points denote an insult on his tragic dying soul.
Our saviour saved by pointed pain.
Babylonians long since gone.
Showed Heaven in four quarters.
Jupiter, Mars, Lady Venus and Mercury.
Houses in which archangels dwell.
Quarters denoted by a star.
Ishtar at the top.
Five points, a symbol.
The Grecian star divides by elements.
And beautiful phases of the moon.
Breathe in the air.
Walk on earths mantle.
Let fire not tempt fingers.
Water to extinguish.
Vision on the facets of the luna moon.
Seasonal in phases.
Young moon in spring, with water brings..seen in the West.
Vernal equinox provides the life rebirth.
Moon in youth is the summer brings..Second quarter in the South.
Autumn comes with harvest moon.
Middle age of lunar cycle.
Dry as earth.
Almost barren beauty.
Three quarters of the cycle.
Arises in the east.
During autumns changing face and fruit filled feast.
Coldness carries death in chains brings winter.
In the North faces of the moon.
Hidden in winter nights of death.
Bring on the winter solstice.
The final point I bring to you.
Is in spirituality.
Inspirational!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 3:38 PM UTC
Words,
they have some arcane power, the
ability of adjectives to steer our mind subjectively.
The presence of nouns, now, they'll denote something of note,
could be a cookie, a concept, a cart, a coat. Of course
there's pronouns abound to substitute these nouns,
from her to him, and from me to you;
it's pronouns that make a sentence feel new. Now
we musn't forget the versatile verb, the essence of to do,
verbing verb is quite absurd though possible, it's true. But how to
enhance the explanation of an action, for example if I'm acting,
who's to say it's great or lacking,
well that's an adverbs job to do.
And...
We can't forget the connective.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 10:18 AM UTC