"despises" poems
Enrique,
Emilio,
Lorenzo,
the three of them frozen:
Enrique by the world of beds;
Emilio by the world of eyes and wounded hands;
Lorenzo by the world of roofless universities.
Lorenzo,
Emilio,
Enrique,
the three of them burned:
Lorenzo by the world of leaves and billiard *****
Emilio by the world of blood and white pins;
Enrique by the world of the dead and abandoned newspapers.
Lorenzo,
Emilio,
Enrique,
the three of them buried:
Lorenzo in one of Flora's *******
Emilio in the dead gin forgotten in the glass;
Enrique in the ant, the sea, and the empty eyes of birds.
Lorenzo,
Emilio,
Enrique,
the three in my hands were
three Chinese mountains,
three shadows of a horse,
three landscapes of snow and a cabin of white lilies
by the pigeon coops where the moon lies flat under the rooster.
One
and one
and one,
the three of them mummified,
with the flies of winter,
with the inkwells the dog ****** and the thistle despises,
with the breeze that freezes theh eart of all the mothers,
by the white ruins of Jupiter where drunks snack on death.
Three
and two
and one,
I saw them disappear, crying and singing
into a hen's egg,
into the night that showed its skeleton of tobacco,
into my sorrow full of faces and piercing bone splinters of moon,
into my happiness of whips and notched wheels,
into my breast troubled by pigeons,
into my deserted death with one mistaken wanderer.
I had killed the fifth moon
and the fans and the applause drank water from the fountains.
Hidden away, the warm milk of newborn girls,
shook the roses with a long white sorrow.
Enrique,
Emilio,
Lorenzo,
Diana is hard,
but somtimes she has ******* of clouds.
The white stone can beat in the blood of a deer
and the deer can dream through the eyes of a horse.
When the pure forms sank
under the cri cri of daisies
I understood they had murdered me.
They searched the cafés and the graveyards and churches,
they opened the wine casks and wardrobes,
they destroyed three skeletons to pull out their gold teeth.
Still they couldn't fine me.
They couldn't?
No. They couldn't.
But they learned the sixth moon fled against the torrent,
and the sea remembered, suddenly,
the names of all her drowned.
20.5k
my skeleton never liked me
very much. it cracks in unusual
places, ribcage poking out of its
skin prison, the frailty of it
breaking beneath the musical
whispers of the wind through hollow
spaces. i see
light bursting beneath the flash
of a camera and my skin
incinerates - do not look do not touch
do not look - and the charcoal in
my lungs is set on fire. i wake up
with ash beneath my tongue
far too often. my skin
despises me now that i have
bruises in places no one could
kiss better. there's this scar above
my right knee, which dislocates when
my life falls out of its socket, and it
reopens and blood pours from the
renewed wound too often. i think
i have a body that likes to believe it is dying.
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 9:30 PM UTC
Maturity is not a matter of how old, how smart or how successful you are;
It has everything to do with how well you manage walking through fire.
Maturity is not just the ability to have *** or not to have ***
It has to do with one’s ability to empathize, feel and connect with another human being, and balance one’s passion with compassion.
Maturity does not necessarily mean that you can support yourself in every each way.
But it does mean that you don’t base your peace and happiness on the emotional support, praise, affirmation or approval of others.
Maturity has nothing to do with how charming you are or how socially graceful you have made yourself to be; it has much to do with how you handle your own anger, fear, lust, greed, jealousy and other inner demons when you are away from the limelight.
Maturity does not mean to live one’s life seriously or cautiously all the time;
It is also to know when is the time to relax, to forget oneself and dance wildly as if no one is watching.
Maturity is not to value what the world values, or to despise what the world despises.
It is to see treasure in what the world discards, and magic in what is ordinary.
Maturity is knowing that one does not have to be “perfect” all the time;
It has to do with how well we take failure, rejection, betrayal and defeat and learn from them.
Maturity is realizing that one does not always have to agree with what everybody else believes in; it is the ability to formulate one’s own opinion, makes one’s own decision and having the courage to be different.
Maturity is not the ability to win many friends or attract many lovers.
It is the ability to generate joy and fulfillment from within, without relying on the company of others.
Maturity is the ability to enjoy one’s solitude and silence in the darkness of the night.
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 12:53 AM UTC
My mother's breath is tainted with alcohol
She's on my floor, sleeping away the dinner she refused to swallow
I try to forget she was never there, and remember how hollow
Her skinny love for me was, and I ate my way into her Hell
The first cigarette, the first drink, the first time I forgot to think
I was induced in her fairy tale, my morals wothout ink, to go on
I tried to slip away, grasp a hint of bliss
I did catch something, and that was a fish
Her name was Autumn
Her hands on my shoulders, mine on her hips
We were one glance away, and this time, it hit
An anchor she was, I left my dreaded life behind
I took her calloused hand, and she took mine
Our pasts weren't us, they were our luggage
We dropped it off far back, buried it, covered it
A pair of suicidal lovers, a kiss above the chin
I was pulled on a thread
Seven months of lies
She was a chameleon
No painful past of cries
She wasn't molested
Her mom wasn't at the end of the line
Her dad didn't abuse her
Now wasn't her time
She left me longing for another
Another Autumn, another lover
I didn't love her, I loved who I thought she was
I know I will see her again, when the leaves are dust
She is so sorry
Sorry I'm sad
She got to live the life
The life I never had
I yearn to forget the name of Autumn
Until the season leaves, fall from the pealing trees
I will lie in the lies of the baked brown leaves
Crumple them one by one, calming myself, forming ease
Chills form around my neck
The same spot my mother gripped my throat
It is so hard to love someone, who despises being loved
My mother, a liar, a man sitting above
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 4:23 AM UTC
"Have you met a gorgeous, lady at sunset?"
Someone said as we shook hands.
She was just a barefooted lady,
Brighter than the sunset in front of me.
Then I said, "Hello lady,
You're a lady who understands,
I'm a man who must be free."
As the sun falls asleep,
Let's walk along the beach,
Let's live a real life,
I can see it in her eyes, that she despises rainy nights,
She loves the moon reflecting off the water,
She loves sunny days,
Watching the skies just before dawn,
She loves autumn leaves.
Trying to figure a clever way, not to say goodbye,
To find some clever lines to say,
To make the meaning come through,
That's why Lady Sunset,
That's why Lady Sunset,
That's why Lady Sunset is a Goddess.
I love you.
I love...
Copyright © 2016 Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 5:32 PM UTC
Haters, haters, hiding in the closets, hiding in faeces
your putrid minds full of fears and all your weaknesses
You are not men but degenerates and cowards in excesses
but in your attempts to distract away from your deseases
Look the parents you have and you know you're like rat fleas
you lack a lot which makes you so angry and in pieces
Washing once a week on other days its wet towel on faces
smerge on stunted wieners never to be a winner at the races
You're un-cool all you do is pretend but you ain't got the aces
as charmless as chicken *** you're the left-behind in chases
Never had a true compliment because you have no graces
deep down you're a mess and petrified of background traces
You have ***** linens and bad secrets buried in bad places
you're nasty, think nasty and 've done things that debases
Always afraid you pick on your betters rocking in perfect places
full of inferiority complexes real abilities get up your noses
You've wet your bed and at night you knowyou're *********
playing macho when in reality you want to do men's *****
Nobody likes the faceless cowards and abject scorn they entices
partners and frenemies are there for themselves and free passes
They see through them and smell their weakness without paces
faking laughter at their hate and anger at winners they despises
Haters are sick sad losers miserable inferiors with dark devises
never happy, never content just slimy cowards in dumb disguises
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 8:29 PM UTC
with veins like creeks
and a heart that lays on a deserted island
where a voice calls like a mother calls her child
only this mother despises her child like poison
I swim in a lake of thoughts
disappear in the fog
I am drowning
dying
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 4:04 PM UTC
Here come I to my own again,
Fed, forgiven and known again,
Claimed by bone of my bone again
And cheered by flesh of my flesh.
The fatted calf is dressed for me,
But the husks have greater zest for me,
I think my pigs will be best for me,
So I’m off to the Yards afresh.
I never was very refined, you see,
(And it weighs on my brother’s mind, you see)
But there’s no reproach among swine, d’you see,
For being a bit of a swine.
So I’m off with wallet and staff to eat
The bread that is three parts chaff to wheat,
But glory be!—there’s a laugh to it,
Which isn’t the case when we dine.
My father glooms and advises me,
My brother sulks and despises me,
And Mother catechises me
Till I want to go out and swear.
And, in spite of the butler’s gravity,
I know that the servants have it I
Am a monster of moral depravity,
And I’m ****** if I think it’s fair!
I wasted my substance, I know I did,
On riotous living, so I did,
But there’s nothing on record to show I did
Worse than my betters have done.
They talk of the money I spent out there—
They hint at the pace that I went out there—
But they all forget I was sent out there
Alone as a rich man’s son.
So I was a mark for plunder at once,
And lost my cash (can you wonder?) at once,
But I didn’t give up and knock under at once,
I worked in the Yards, for a spell,
Where I spent my nights and my days with hogs.
And shared their milk and maize with hogs,
Till, I guess, I have learned what pays with hogs
And—I have that knowledge to sell!
So back I go to my job again,
Not so easy to rob again,
Or quite so ready to sob again
On any neck that’s around.
I’m leaving, Pater. Good-bye to you!
God bless you, Mater! I’ll write to you!
I wouldn’t be impolite to you,
But, Brother, you are a hound!
3.8k
Would but indulgent Fortune send
To me a kind, and faithful Friend,
One who to Virtue's Laws is true,
And does her nicest Rules pursue;
One Pious, Lib'ral, Just and Brave,
And to his Passions not a Slave;
Who full of Honour, void of Pride,
Will freely praise, and freely chide;
But not indulge the smallest Fault,
Nor entertain one slighting Thought:
Who still the same will ever prove,
Will still instruct ans still will love:
In whom I safely may confide,
And with him all my Cares divide:
Who has a large capacious Mind,
Join'd with a Knowledge unconfin'd:
A Reason bright, a Judgement true,
A Wit both quick, and solid too:
Who can of all things talk with Ease,
And whose Converse will ever please:
Who charm'd with Wit, and inward Graces,
Despises Fools with tempting Faces;
And still a beauteous Mind does prize
Above the most enchanting Eyes:
I would not envy Queens their State,
Nor once desire a happier Fate.
3.6k
Crystallized hair pins gilded in her soft touches
Caressing earths ground
She sings the earthly creatures gently to sleep with her dream like sound
Sensible, sensitive my dear
Breathing in the clear dew drops hanging below the gibbous moon.
Natures serene dreamer planting their seeds, reaping - but soon one must choose
Difficulty arises
And despises the force of nature
Bends of the crisps wind - if shocks and stirs
It blurs her senseless ,
And shakes her earth. The goddess drinks the goblet of diamond
In silk she lays
Yet not be mistaken......
Surrounded by serendipity and indulging in life's pleasures
The crystals of the golden moon set in her hair
Beware she will leave you dreaming in heart ache
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 1:47 AM UTC
She was a child once.
Eyes wide and sparkling with hopes and dreams untarnished.
An entire future stretching out before her.
She saw the world through a kaleidoscope,
A beautiful mess of endless neon colors,
Untouched by darkness and disappointment.
Pain was temporary; A scraped knee, a paper-cut.
Band-aids could heal every injury.
Her smile was a permanent fixture of sincerity,
Radiating happiness. A gaze full of inquisitive wonder.
When she lay her head down at night,
Her chest was not heavy with worries and cares.
Her mind was not filled with the ghosts of her past.
Sleep came easily, a quilt of comforting warmth enveloping her,
Sweeping her away to the land of dreams.
Blissful in her ignorance she lived, unaware that one day,
The monsters under her bed would make a home inside her head.
That her heart would fracture and die.
That the world she had known was a lie.
She wasted all her wishes wanting to be older,
Age was overrated, but nobody told her.
At 8 she was so innocent, at 10 she was just fine,
13 was disillusionment, the start of her decline.
At 15 she was in High School, they told her, "be mature".
Society screamed conformity, now she was insecure.
At 16 she was lonely, desperation took its hold.
Love slipped through her fingers like drops of liquid gold.
Now, at 17, she's stuck in a recession.
She thought the therapy had dispelled her depression.
She looks in the mirror and despises her reflection,
She is bent, bruised and broken, a mess of imperfection.
Past mistakes, her tormenters, they tear her apart.
Her body, a cage, imprisons her heart.
Each breath is a burden as she lay in bed.
She can't sleep at night, theres a war inside her head.
No one ever told her the price of growing older.
They never said she'd have
A crushing weight put on her shoulders.
Suffocating in this life, poisoned at her core,
Once she was a child,
A child she is no more.
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 7:32 PM UTC
I find myself skipping to another page,
Moving from myself and focusing
On the people around me,
Inspecting all of the holes
In what I am supposed to call my family.
An alcoholic nan who only respected me
If she had a whole bottle of whiskey beforehand,
Aunties and Uncles who refuse to talk to me,
Another Uncle who despises me because of who I am,
A dad who left me here and went to France so I barely see him,
A brother who would rather belittle and humiliate me than love me,
And so many relatives who don't even know I exist.
But my hatred can outshine them all,
I love my dad, but I wish he was here,
The others can light another match
And continue to burn their bridges.
I know who I love and who love me in return,
Who will never abandon despite the monster I've become,
The real definition of family.
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 2:18 PM UTC
He only imbibes because of his dipsomania.
She only practices onanism because she's afraid he'll impregnate her.
He despises her monomania.
She's too affable, almost to the point of being obsequious.
He's too acrimonious and muzzy.
She knows she's a bit of a coquette.
He thinks he's a cuckold.
She used to be flighty until she fell into this convoluted dystopia.
He used to find it scintillating to get sozzled.
She just wants a lark once in a while.
His iniquity makes him want her to be lascivious.
Her every fatuity leads to a cabal.
He's too opaque and insipid.
She has to iterate and reiterate everything she says.
He feels his infatuation is unrequited.
She finds this unproblematic.
He doesn't imbue her with anything anymore.
She thinks he's unpitying of that.
He'll malinger tomorrow.
She'll wonder if it's all adventitious or kismet.
She can't handle his odium.
He can't stand her ten dollar words.
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 7:58 PM UTC
Since then...I allowed my heart to take whatever form it wanted.
I trusted the process, letting the heart mould itself as it is supposed to.
I had ample faith that the end is far....little did I realise the end is right next to me.
At first, it felt like a bulldozer had savaged my entire being.
Your words left my mind empty, without a way forward.
A deep grave of hate slowly formed...that is where you would end up.
As appetizing the thought...I want nothing to do you.
Even you residing in my den of enemies is not worth it.
I have done a thorough clean up of hoodlums and heartbreakers like you.
You seem so pointless. This anger towards you is pointless.
I look forward to the treasures that will bloom from this. I'm convinced there are treasures.
You have no hold over my dreams and I refuse to allow my heart to slump in your filth.
It was hard, felt like the world was dumped on my shoulders, soul dark and heavy, mouth dry and tears flooding my living room.
But after a serious self-talk....I remembered my worth, remembered you mean nothing to me....you have no hold on my destiny.
The love you spoke of was and is fake. I don't need it.
I don't need that sort of make-believe love which has no truth...
The kind that loves the idea of love...yet despises love itself.
I have no place for thieves and liars....robbers and fakes.
My mind keeps telling me this is for the best and that better days are to come.
I feel sorry for the one you chose, she knows nothing of your hoodlum ways and smooth tongue.
Coated with every lie possible yet disguised with a fake-romance finish.
She knows not of your empty heart...
your inability to be real...
your other side...
your effortless ways of hurting another...
precious time which meant zero to you...
your exhausted yet experienced hands..
your over used 'I will wait for you'....
your conniving ways disguised by caring efforts...
your smile and charm packaged by pure deceit.
She is clueless. And so in love....I shake my head in despair for you dear sister.
I trust you will not endure the heartache I did.
I hope he will see you a better person than I.
I trust he repects you. Genuinely loves you.
She will bear the brunt of your heart smashing ways.
I am done and over the 'could haves & would haves'...
New day brings new opportunity.
Time to listen to my soul and feed my mind.
Re-enjoy the beauty of living and re-mind myself of may chosen path.
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 1:21 PM UTC
His humour is sarcastic,
his belly is never full.
His life is filled with jokes,
his days are never dull.
He hates all the spiders
that are living in his house.
He doesn’t mind his friend,
a squeaky little mouse.
He always makes fun of the dog,
who doesn’t seem to have a brain,
and he despises “the world’s cutest kitten”
because he thinks it’s a real pain.
His owner is at his wit’s end,
he doesn’t know how to get
this big, fat, orange creature to
finally act like a real cat.
-
Because what cat eats lasagna
at every chance he has?
What cat has a teddy bear,
instead of on his arm a lass?
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 1:58 PM UTC
Seasons change, babe,
Get your winter coat on,
The weather isn't going to bend at your command,
The summer sun hates your weak shine,
The autumn moon despises your crescent smile,
And seasons differ, honey,
Get your head on straight,
Pumpkins are gonna leer,
Get over it, dear,
And snow is gonna fall,
So wrap up, darling, in your knitted shawl,
Seasons change, babe,
Nothings gonna change for you,
Oh, nothing is gonna change,
Seasons are obviously not for you,
Wait for spring, love,
'Coz when push turns to pull,
You'll want to leave seasons behind,
Changing,
Changing forever in your midst.
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 1:37 PM UTC
gun unslung
hanging by his side
swaying with his step
his step thorough
leaving sand behind
floating like particles of dust
dust now forgotten
as his step imprints
upon broken glass
glass shatters more
crumbling
like the cities of Israel
beneath the feet
of falsely declared gods
gods that now drive the mind
with intrepid pace
towards the unsuspecting
the unsuspecting victim
of such malice
that can only be embodied
by death
death
only defied by those
who can truly consider themselves
wholesome and true
and yet the truth struggles
to stop this relentless growth
of pride and self righteousness
and thus the marksman
raises the gun to his target
his breath steady
his heartbeat in his ears
a resonance that he despises
his imperfections are his enemy
And if not to be perfect then what else?
he pulls the trigger
Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 9:09 AM UTC
Controversy started over the images this device receives. Hormones control this impulse, she's making each ***** convulse, and I can tell I'm still in love by the palpitations of my pulse.
Thus, proving that her actions indicate the prequel to her return. Her affection distant but still yearn, expressing sentiments, guess I'll never learn, spoken without biting my tongue
and now it's your turn.
Conquer hearts and take over,
**** her off when I'm not sober,
**** her off when thoughts become somber, **** her off when I say I won't be here much longer, **** her off for many reasons, **** her off once during every season and **** her off the most when in myself I stop believing.
Her perfection an extension of accessible recollection, to the woman who despises the notion of wearing articles of clothing.
Not the best at displaying her emotions, so in combination the words she's chosen seem broken, unable to withhold the growth of sentiments cut at the root, and as they now reproduce, sunflowers inhabit her garden and all the revelations of truth.
Lapse of time passes, lasting longer
than activities that involved
me being on her.
Inappropriately timing events perfectly.
Summer seems to have visited me in the fall, her memories now more than ever I recall and wishing I wasn't missing the woman who had it all.
Concluding it's a blessing, for continuing to have your presence present, writing by only depending on your recollection, and since poetry is my obsession, make new memories with me as I practice the act of ceding back to a former possessor, definition of recession.
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 7:10 PM UTC
Nothing can open a narrow mind if it's third eye blind
Knowledge is key that the fool despises
Disguises his face with hair
Beware of strangers
She can make up her face but can't make up her mind
Unkind to others
Are the third eye blind...
D. Clare
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 10:41 AM UTC
The moon is my lover,
He and I love each other like no love there ever was nor ever will be,
I share him with many a fortunate soul,
His love sprinkled amongst all our hearts,
Yet there are millenniums where he despises me,
What love is this? I ask the moon,
The moon stares at me with an unrelenting glare,
This love is one of neither time nor rhyme nor you or I,
But of our own big bang,
Both catastrophic and melancholic yet filled with eternal bliss found and derived nowhere else by no one else,
Not even those others whom shower me with underserving love,
No our love is a Silverstone amongst pebble rocks.
An anonymous girl ©
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 6:20 PM UTC
There is a certain devil in my eyes
a twinkling trickster who despises
all pomp and proper posers who lie
to gain the affection of the less informed.
There is a puckish knave who raves
to undue the chains of those enslaved
by creative play and poetry
by active explorations of prose and nobility.
I know such endeavors are things of futility
for if they knew my form of Anansi
silk spinning spider
or my formidable four legged figure of coyote
who runs under the Nordic name of Loki,
I am certain they would try to lightning fry me.
Instead, I buy some time masking my mind
tapping out binary bridges of ones and zeroes
with mythic folk and fairytales to educate
my elves who have lost
their pointed ears and no longer hear
the sound of nature’s truth
concealed in their very flesh.
Jan 4, 2017
Jan 4, 2017 at 9:58 AM UTC
Her voice echoes through the empty hallways. She is loud but alone. The tears that you see are only a fraction of all the tears she actually cries. Her hair is long and blonde, but she despises it. She wants to shave it all off, to tattoo her skull to show that caring is superficial and WRONG. She lines her blue eyes with a liner called "denim". She throws on jeans that hug her body and a t-shirt stained with hot chocolate. She covers the brown stain with a scarf. She puts on chapstick because who knows? Maybe someone will think she's important enough to kiss her. Her brand-new bangs cover her forehead and eyes. They cover the hoop earrings that feel too girly, too pretty. Everything about her today just feels WRONG. The boy she likes is just one table over, and he doesn't glance at her once the entire hour. She hurries out of the room , not looking back. She bursts into spanish class, out of breath and ready for the boredom that will be the next hour. And then it is back to study hall. It is all too repetitive for her. It is her first day back and already she looks out the door, ready to go home. It isn't like she's got any friends there either, she's an only child and her dad works overseas. The rest of the day is a blur. It passes and she doesn't notice or care. And that boy still hasn't noticed her. No one has. She is but an empty shadow of a heart in a hollow shell of a body that wants to be warmed by another.
But it isn't meant to be...
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 10:20 AM UTC
When the silence takes the stage,
and I am called upon to perform, oh what a fool I shall be.
Dance monkey dance they'll say, and dance I shall.
On all fours I crawl,
your *****
Leash me up
in a tight collar
speaking for your laughter.
Here it is,
my self respect,
I present it to you,
I give it all, unto you.
For I no longer need it.
It's a small price to pay for this life.
It's a simple token
for the price of a fancy gown,
for the reward of approval... from strangers.
To be able to buy that fancy car
To be the envy of it all.
To be admired...
For this handsome repayment
loss of self worth
seems nothing.
and it is nothing
until late at night
when I stare at my skinny bones
in a large
but empty apartment
with the city's lights
shadows dancing out my regrets on the walls,
reminiscing of the whole person I used to be.
when I was someone you could respect...
someone who could say no
and had control
and didn't live under constant contract
and scrutiny of the monster that is the media.
Late at night,
with a morning soon coming,
a morning filled
with my stripped body
contorting itself
and writhing
for the camera
to please a generation I will never know.
To flaunt materialism
and narcissism
expected to sound sagacious
and preach this deceitful verisimilitude
but teaching the youth
to be broken and hateful-
to live with these quixotic expectations.
and
it
is
disgusting.
Yet here I am.
Stripped,
broken and battered,
pouting my photoshop lips
and limp, sick body
to preach it day after day.
For It was so long ago,
that I was respectable.
perhaps I could better remember those days-
but in this life
with a restriction on ennui
you are not allowed to be anything but
deliriously content
and that is not a problem so long as this bottle doesn't run out,
so long as I keep swallowing these pills,
drowning out the voice
that despises me.
So long as I keep on acting.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 1:59 AM UTC
Be-be-be-because, he starts,
stutters breaking words apart,
intoning what he’d overheard;
it’s painful listening, like darts
prying loose repeated words.
Naught’s amiss, we say, the birds
they laugh at us, ignored lampoons
and bullies’ taunts, how absurd.
He sits and watches his cartoon-
two mice who call a cat buffoon
I hate mieces to pieces! shouts
Jinx the cat; it ends too soon.
Our son despises school, flat out.
We believe him, there’s no doubt,
But he’s a well-adjusted sprout
But he’s a well-adjusted sprout.
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 3:45 PM UTC
We the people of America say killing is against the law! In defense, chilling either condensed killing! I further write to all, including the eluding law! As I chat, what of biblical and tribal law? That clever severed lucky monkey’s paw, ma and pa. We the people of America the cranky, the donkeys and the funny. The grumpy, the honey the
honkies and the hungry! The junkies, the money, the stinky and the
sunny! We the people of America, achieving, breathing, breeding, cheating, dreaming, feeding, feeling and freezing! We the people of America our delights, fights, flights, freight, heights and plight. Our allies, byes, cries, despises and disguises. Our lies, outcries our skies,
spies, ties and wise. We the people of America preying and slaying the weak, the meek and those who seek, every day of the week. The able,
the-benign, the blind, the disabled, the labeled and unkind. We the people of America of awesome, blossom, fearsome, freedom, gruesome, handsome and loathsome! We the people of America of
desire, fire, inspire and perspire! We the people of America will this still be the sum of our capture and rapture? Another frightful chapter with spiteful laughter thereafter. Our concern, discern and yearn of
foil, oil, soil, spoil, toil and turmoil! We the people of America verily I quote; let’s cope in hope to clearly and fairly vote! Every race and trace must face and disgrace this war-race. The displaced and misplaced the fast, last, past and vast. The adored, the gore, the ignored, the poor, the sore and the ****** we the people of America.
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 10:23 PM UTC