"detested" poems
Amanda, a crazy collector of Vanda
had such an intense dislike for Aranda
she detested the ******
when making out in tandem
her outdoor escapade once scared a Panda
(C) K.Balachandran
[email protected]
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 9:32 PM UTC
She ran into the forest.
They detested her,
even if she just did her best.
She found a spot, under a tree.
Dots of silver teased her,
"Come, see me."
With sweaty hands,
she picked with a swift gesture.
She held, it collapsed,
"What could I've done wrong?"
She took another, this time with caveat.
Still, it fell apart, in a usual format.
"Am I that destructive?"
She asked herself.
"No. Look."
The steady beads of pearls were, dancing?
Piles of rubble lifted to the sky,
like stars in the early morning.
The wind lingered, blew them quite gently
Magnificence is painted around the vivid scene she's seeing.
She inhaled every beauty.
Then, exhaled every shattered dream.
"You're right, whoever you are,
There's still beauty in breaking."
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 5:57 AM UTC
MESSENGER
Now at the Seventh Gate the seventh chief,
Thy proper mother's son, I will announce,
What fortune for this city, for himself,
With curses he invoketh:--on the walls
Ascending, heralded as king, to stand,
With paeans for their capture; then with thee
To fight, and either slaying near thee die,
Or thee, who wronged him, chasing forth alive,
Requite in kind his proper banishment.
Such words he shouts, and calls upon the gods
Who o'er his race preside and Fatherland,
With gracious eye to look upon his prayers.
A well-wrought buckler, newly forged, he bears,
With twofold blazon riveted thereon,
For there a woman leads, with sober mien,
A mailed warrior, enchased in gold;
Justice her style, and thus the legend speaks:--
'This man I will restore, and he shall hold
The city and his father's palace homes.'
Such the devices of the hostile chiefs.
'Tis for thyself to choose whom thou wilt send;
But never shalt thou blame my herald-words.
To guide the rudder of the State be thine!
ETEOCLES
O heaven-demented race of Oedipus,
My race, tear-fraught, detested of the gods!
Alas, our father's curses now bear fruit.
But it beseems not to lament or weep,
Lest lamentations sadder still be born.
For him, too truly Polyneikes named,--
What his device will work we soon shall know;
Whether his braggart words, with madness fraught,
Gold-blazoned on his shield, shall lead him back.
Hath Justice communed with, or claimed him hers,
Guided his deeds and thoughts, this might have been;
But neither when he fled the darksome womb,
Or in his childhood, or in youth's fair prime,
Or when the hair thick gathered on his chin,
Hath Justice communed with, or claimed him hers,
Nor in this outrage on his Fatherland
Deem I she now beside him deigns to stand.
For Justice would in sooth belie her name,
Did she with this all-daring man consort.
In these regards confiding will I go,
Myself will meet him. Who with better right?
Brother to brother, chieftain against chief,
Foeman to foe, I'll stand. Quick, bring my spear,
My greaves, and armor, bulwark against stones.
4.8k
To a Louse
by Robert Burns
translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Hey! Where're you going, you crawling hair-fly?
Your impudence protects you, barely;
I can only say that you swagger rarely
Over gauze and lace.
Though faith! I fear you dine but sparely
In such a place.
You ugly, creeping, blasted wonder,
Detested, shunned by both saint and sinner,
How dare you set your feet upon her—
So fine a lady!
Go somewhere else to seek your dinner
On some poor body.
Off! around some beggar's temple shamble:
There you may creep, and sprawl, and scramble,
With other kindred, jumping cattle,
In shoals and nations;
Where horn nor bone never dare unsettle
Your thick plantations.
Now hold you there! You're out of sight,
Below the folderols, snug and tight;
No, faith just yet! You'll not be right,
Till you've got on it:
The very topmost, towering height
Of miss's bonnet.
My word! right bold you root, contrary,
As plump and gray as any gooseberry.
Oh, for some rank, mercurial resin,
Or dread red poison;
I'd give you such a hearty dose, flea,
It'd dress your noggin!
I wouldn't be surprised to spy
You on some housewife's flannel tie:
Or maybe on some ragged boy's
Pale undervest;
But Miss's finest bonnet! Fie!
How dare you jest?
Oh Jenny, do not toss your head,
And lash your lovely braids abroad!
You hardly know what cursed speed
The creature's making!
Those winks and finger-ends, I dread,
Are notice-taking!
O would some Power with vision teach us
To see ourselves as others see us!
It would from many a blunder free us,
And foolish notions:
What airs in dress and carriage would leave us,
And even devotion!
One Sunday while sitting behind a young lady in church, Robert Burns noticed a louse roaming through the bows and ribbons of her bonnet. The poem "To a Louse" resulted from his observations. The poor woman had no idea that she would be the subject of one of Burns' best poems about how we see ourselves, compared to how other people see us at our worst moments. Keywords/Tags: Robert Burns, louse, church, bonnet, lace, Scotland, Scots, dialect, translation
Apr 21, 2020
Apr 21, 2020 at 5:26 AM UTC
I make a pact with you, Walt Whitman—
I have detested you long enough.
I come to you as a grown child
Who has had a pig-headed father;
I am old enough now to make friends.
It was you that broke the new wood
Now is a time for carving.
We have one sap and one root—
Let there be commerce between us.
3.8k
ON SEEING ONE ON A LADY’S BONNET AT CHURCH
Ha! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie!
Your impudence protects you sairly:
I canna say but ye strunt rarely
Owre gauze and lace;
Tho’ faith, I fear ye dine but sparely
On sic a place.
Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner,
Detested, shunned by saunt an’ sinner,
How daur ye set your fit upon her,
Sae fine a lady!
*** somewhere else and seek your dinner,
On some poor body.
Swith, in some beggar’s haffet squattle;
There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle
Wi’ ither kindred, jumpin cattle,
In shoals and nations;
Whare horn or bane ne’er daur unsettle
Your thick plantations.
Now haud ye there, ye’re out o’ sight,
Below the fatt’rels, snug an’ tight;
Na faith ye yet! ye’ll no be right
Till ye’ve got on it,
The vera tapmost, towering height
O’ Miss’s bonnet.
My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose out,
As plump an’ grey as onie grozet:
O for some rank, mercurial rozet,
Or fell, red smeddum,
I’d gie ye sic a hearty dose o’t,
*** dress your droddum!
I *** na been surprised to spy
You on an auld wife’s flainen toy;
Or aiblins some bit duddie boy,
On’s wyliecoat;
But Miss’s fine Lunardi!—fie!
How daur ye do’t?
O Jenny, dinna toss your head,
An’ set your beauties a’ abread!
Ye little ken what cursed speed
The blastie’s makin!
Thae winks and finger-ends, I dread,
Are notice takin!
O, *** some Power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as others see us!
It *** frae monie a blunder free us
An’ foolish notion:
What airs in dress an’ gait *** lea’e us,
And ev’n Devotion!
3.6k
*They say that
Van Gogh ate yellow paint
To put the happiness inside him.
But she, instead, would
Cut out the sadness from her skin
And let the hatred pour out
In gushing streams of red,
Her screams echoing
The injustice of colour.
Her wheat skin looked prettier, she thought,
With the raked furrows of half healed scars
And painful slurs
Etched into the deep ochre of her soul.
She quietly detested her terracotta skin,
Smooth like a polished stone
Picked up from the Ganges.
But here in the pale waters of the Thames
She was a blot of burnt sienna on an otherwise ivory white riverbank.
And every new cut
Would heal bloodless and waxen,
Which made her vow to herself to cut off her skin completely,
Leaving nothing but
The darkened red of her fury
And a frightened echo of a scream
In a room filled with bitter laughs and slurs,
In a room filled with the muffled cries of the oppressed and unheard.*
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 8:25 AM UTC
I look down at my feet,
toes adorned with chipped nail varnish,
a pitiful plaster clinging to the sole,
and I grimace at the
purple marks, reddening blisters,
cicatrices of stories long forgotten.
The ***** of my feet are thin and worn,
my heels rubbed raw from
shoes I have loved and shoes I have detested,
faded scars from childhood accidents.
I have aged hating my feet,
the discoloured skin, dotted with odious callouses,
my throbbing, wrinkled soles.
They have grown with me,
from tiny clumps unrecognisable as a foetus,
to wide, long size 7s.
My toes are misshapen, twisting this way and that,
freckled with sun kisses from foreign countries.
They’ve been battered and bruised
repeatedly,
victims of my hurtling abuse and mortal neglect.
I have punished them
with verruca socks and freezing ointments,
pin ****** small shoes, razor blades, nail clippers and
not once
have I nurtured them, soaked them with praise.
These feet have walked me up mountains,
aided me in athletic championships,
withstood six inch heels on weekends,
ran me through marathons,
enduring my never-ending physical torment and though
they may buckle,
with weeping blisters and aching pains,
dry skin, broken bones and sprained ankles,
they will recover,
rebuilding the scabrous skin.
Regardless of how unstable my life may become in later years,
whether I am stranded on a deserted island,
or walking the ***** streets of the city, no room to call my own,
my feet will always,
undoubtedly, lead me to safety.
And when I am old
and withered, an exhausted heap of human life,
with my last dying breath,
I will thank my durable, reliable feet.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 11:28 AM UTC
Through those long hours of indiscretion
And those long wept nights
I have detested
The constant echoing of that one word
In the alleys of my mind
With each passing second, hour and night
The echoes got
Louder
Shriller
Noisiest
Those echoes of 'undefined'
The echoes of what you left me with
After I offered you all that I was
In my body, soul and mind
You said what we shared was undefined
Transforming my life
Hours of my day and my nights
Into a struggling realm
Where I struggled to find
Some invisible strings that might
Lead me to a ray of light
Where I can start my search for myself
Left by you as 'undefined'.
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 4:23 PM UTC
1:49 a.m.
a thought : only you.
i think love needs to redefine itself in my head, now that it has met you. a.m.'s are not times of daydreams and unintended smiles, at least not to me. a.m.'s are more of emotional breakdowns and trying to cool myself the **** down. sometimes a.m.'s are transient thoughts and other times just deep sleep. but all a.m.'s have been about lately are you. an unsteady heart beat, a churning stomach, and a nervous laugh. surprisingly, i don't hate it all that much.
9:45 p.m.
i slept while thinking of you yesterday, i think that's the best sleep i've had in a while. anyway, you know how they say you're ****** when the thoughts that only hit you at night, start taking over 24/7? well, i don't agree. my nights have always been about you, and now my days are too and i cannot think of anyone other than you who's worth thinking about, dreaming about, talking to, laughing with.
9:52 p.m.
i forgot that i'm supposed to write these hours apart from each other. i guess i can't wait a whole lot to start talking about you again. i don't think i've ever craved someone's presence so much. i don't think i detested anyone's absence before i met you either. they say time is not to go to waste, but even if i spend an eternity trying to figure you out, i'd still have managed my time well. nothing ever goes to waste when you're involved.
10:56 p.m.
my mind has been wandering off for the past hour. i think i'll create a new language to describe you with, i might've run out of adjectives that exist. i'm not one to ever get speechless, i think you know this by now, i talk more than i breathe, but my emotions for you sometimes render me speechless and i don't want to spend a second not telling you how beautiful you are.
11:11 p.m.
a time in which people wish upon. now, i don't believe in this crap at all but i still wish for your well being every 11:11 just in case it's not as unrealistic as it sounds. i may not pray much, but when i do i always ask for you to be okay and i may not always appreciate good when good comes but once i had you back, i swear i've never been more thankful.
11:28 p.m.
i keep saying you're beautiful but that's not even the point i want to get across. beauty envies you, beauty tries to be you, because beauty will always only be appearance and you'll always be more than only that.
you can never be only one thing, you're not that limited. i know i talk about you like you're holy but that's only because you are and you always will be.
12:00 a.m.
i just realised that maybe i love you too much. you deserve all the love in the world though, all of it.
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 6:28 PM UTC
Bam! Bang!
WHAMP! Scream!
There's a leg out in the street
There's an arm against my door
A head is rolling down the way
No!
It's just a soccer ball!
It's just a bunch of kids at play'
EVERYTHING IS STILL ALRIGHT!
Everyone is still at peace
IN AMERICA!
It's just MEDIA stories
Driving everybody crazy
AMERICA!
We
Are so fortunate to live in what will be known as
THE HONEST GENERATION!
THE MOST COMPASSIONATE OF ALL NATIONS!
THE GOD CHOSEN BANKING INSTITUTIONALIZED
CORPORATE MILITARIZED
DRONE SCRUTINIZED
POLITICIZED
UNPROTESTED
TOO FEARED TO BE DETESTED
place
EVER !
--
BELIEVE!!!
--
So
I
Won't listen to the hippies
With their communist tricks !
..
I'll just go make me a fatburger
And
See
What's on net flics!
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 4:17 PM UTC
Separate joins birth with the universe,
It's origin is still the unknown.
It's a word simply of difference,
The spaces in-between everything else.
The Separate starts wars and punches you,
yes it can be very unkind.
Yet The Separate can replenish and nourish you,
quench any thirst that you might find.
The Separate starts new life,
though it takes with it so many.
Still The Separate must be respected
and even detested.
The Separate is ugly and lonely,
beautiful and connected.
We are Separate,
every one and all.
No spot is the same.
Nobody's to blame.
Innocent.
Ignored.
The Separate roars.
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 6:35 AM UTC
A fly in his
Short life
Grew up, fell in love
And found a good wife
Flying, buzzing around
Flaunting their six legs
Proud parents of
250 eggs
Theirs was a life
You would think so
But wait till you listen
To their unending woes
All the fuss
About their buzz
Their lifestyle
Declared vile
And if that was not enough
To make their life tough
They were even called self-invited bore
And were detested therefore
And every time they tried
To go near a batter
They were stalked
By humans with a swatter!
Where ever they went
People were so curt
But I guess that happens when you
Live in so much dirt…
Jul 15, 2011
Jul 15, 2011 at 10:17 PM UTC
Something changed today
I looked in the mirror and saw a stranger
the cute pudgy girl I detested was gone
she was replaced by a skeleton
with empty, frightened eyes
With wrists so thin you could tear them in two
She always wanted to be skinny
To lose just enough to be accepted
Maybe then a guy would talk to her
Maybe then her father,
wouldn't think she was such a ******
A few turned to fifty
Meals went from three to none
She found herself disgusted at the mere thought of food
There were days where She desperately want to eat
but didn't remember how
change is supposed to be good
so why did she look so afraid?
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 11:23 PM UTC
How does it feel -
this life equation balanced thing you hold in your hand
where this adds up to This
and we are all so much easier to control
and he wanted to be a poet but his father
gave him a maclemore CD so
now he's a rapper
And to her the sunrise was an immemorial ritual
that she danced to every day
but you turned it all even anyway
in an equilibrium
of balance and an equals sign
And at school you always detested algebra.
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 1:57 AM UTC
Innocent saucer eyes open wide,
Sweet budding lavender laughter.
We’ll all go down-
One by one.
Silence aggravates the wreckage
Of what I used to be.
Into an abyss of false love
I’m falling.
A love that is mistaken,
Shown in the form of tender kisses
In detested secret places-
On a moldy couch
Covered in cat hair.
The crippling angst of your fingertips
Against my cold youthful cheeks-
Tracing the outline of my fatty jaw.
Slow circles of smoke escape your chapped crusting lips,
As chunks of flesh turn to rotting hostility
Against ones own body-
The bitterness of the cold turns to sweet comfort
As a lovely numbness becomes my regularity,
And emotions and physicality become one
Persisting to disintegrate-
my soul has become
a boiling bubble of spoiled milk
With the putrid stench of pillaged skin-
The devastating devouring desecration
of a ravaged--
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 4:19 PM UTC
Heathcliff my love,
Had I known you at times before
Before the glory days of your tormentor
Perhaps your future would not be so bleak.
Heathcliff my love,
If you had not been so hated
Your misery and doom lain fated
Your life might have reached its peak.
Heathcliff my love
Were you not bruised and beaten?
Were you not shamed without reason?
Until you had no cause to be weak.
Heathcliff my love
Once you have broken free
With your rage contained barely
Will you find the revenge you seek?
Heathcliff my love
When terror is six feet below ground
And all that remains is offspring dumbfound
Will equivalent wind render his oblique?
Heathcliff my love
The one you detested you have become
And young son’s potential left unsung
Do you finally see the havoc you wreak?
Feb 3, 2011
Feb 3, 2011 at 7:36 AM UTC
fruitful fusion attempt is futile
check initials, official refusal
mutual solution brutal removal
essential pupil proving useful
amplified emphasis is corrected
amended but certified detested
time invested in suggestion
hard headed and hectic method
confusion of mission emotion
a hand woven illusion implosion
caution in frustration spoken
no objective inside exploding
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 10:29 AM UTC
i. this poem is not about that thursday afternoon
you spent holding me in your arms, swaying
back and forth in the middle of your bedroom
because i mentioned that no one understood me
and you told me you liked my dark hair and
my olive skin and the fact that i wrote poems about
confused teenagers in love and that i had a heart
that was just as confused as yours was
ii. we whispered sweet nothings to each other and
kissed under your navy blue duvet for two years
and the reason i still cry over that is because
you knew how much i detested dancing and that
i hated when my peas touched my potatoes and
that i never went to bed before two in the morning,
but you never learned that i am an iceberg
iii. i asked you to describe me and you failed
to mention that i'm afraid of the dark because
it reminds me of a sky without stars and that
my favorite song is skinny love by bon iver
because it reminds me of the relationship that
i shared with you and you never understood
why i liked sad things (it's because i like the
way rainy days and sleepless nights make
me feel something worth writing about)
iv. this poem is not about love or heartbreak
but it is about you, and i must admit that it
feels awkward to write about you without
feeling any ounce of admiration or hatred
pulsing through my tired veins. this poem
is not about me missing you, or how i wish
that you still thought about me, because i
am glad that i no longer float across your
mind whenever you watch a baseball game
v. you were like the titanic and our feelings
were the ocean that carried you closer to me.
you saw the surface of my being, consisting
of all the things you liked about me and the
things that you could put up with. but your
ignorance became too much and every
quality you failed to pay attention to came
crashing into you all at once and i
absolutely destroyed you and i don't know
whether to say i'm sorry or
you deserved this
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 12:42 AM UTC
Carefree drizzles softly sings as bliss and ease taken wing.
Gaze upon the auric blooms while sweet melodies, mellowing.
Alleviate our friend's crises, their debts, paid in purple silvers.
Eliminate those pesky mortal threats, lest blood spills in liters.
Toward our star, astride the verde, vibrant beauteous noise.
Abating virtues, without the merde, cometh Byronic poise.
A smoken distance, famished flames, fiery tongues yearning.
A fearful master, ***** dames, merry songs flowing.
Parallel meridians lovingly caress floating wisps of white.
Quarreling impulses embracing soaring orbs of light.
Bright.
See... sigh.
Lavender shades cushion our convents of misty mysteries.
Serene panacea tease me upon sapience; argent histories.
Ebullient crush casting glaring lights into the hostile wind.
Beneath dusky whirlwinds come hazel sparks of sand.
Glory guilty of detested crimes, anon trembling tears.
Inspiration follow thy limelight; guidance of young seers.
A canvas of blue, emotions ablaze through one hundred days.
Amber pillars burdened with wishful horizons... come what may.
Never believe our luxurious dreams under the rainy rainbow.
Drowning in sunshine, tis the era to escape the clutches of limbo.
Cease our anthropocentrics to soar on frozen blooms tonight.
Taste vermillion pain, lest we be gluttons, spying; useless insight.
Mirrors refracting broken perfection, for ever-clear prisms.
Commit altruist favors for all our mistaken rhythms.
Behold the mind, mightier than a sword, bitter tool of priests.
Crusading zen, grander than any reward, come join the feast. <3
Aug 28, 2010
Aug 28, 2010 at 5:13 AM UTC
Dont compare your life
With mine with her
How could you dare
You think it was easier
i was a bad kid
Whi never had a stable home
Was molested, detested
Cuz I was too young to be left alone
Mistreated, beaten
but i was rotton
For no reason at all
13 yrs old forgotton
Juvenile hall
Very few loved me
Hated by all
Like i asked to be here
i made this call
Then when someone
Did have love for me
smiled at my success
She made sure i felt
Unwanted and a worthless mess
Even when she was given the tools
For her and I to make amends
She choose to toss them aside
like i was a means to an end
I couldnt of felt more abandoned
And so a wall was built
Of course i left
Why would i stay
So i could continue
To be treated this way
She didnt miss me at all
those were their best years
Everyone was so happy
When i wasnt there
Why do you think
I feel its better this way
When she died
All ties vanished away
I dont neeed her parasites
Take on her worries
Her problems
In this life.
If she did so right by you
Go be hurry
Do what you do
Im not sorry
For leaving that way
I will neber be back
There is no someday
Very few things
That were good
happened to me there
So for the life of me
I dont see how you compare
Also your father
Couldnt stand me
And nor i him
Like i needed
Another alcoholic screaming
His drunk slurs again
That ***** was crazy
If she thought it was happening
Thats why at 14 yrs old
Me and nana lived alone
just on the other side of town
Oh where was precious mother
no where i was found
Now think about that
And tell me how you compare
Cuz she didnt fall through
For a while ******* year
the only reason she knew
I was pregnant
Cuz she would gossip
With ******* who were ignorant
Not cuz she tried to be around
Ask our dear brother he will tell
how much effort she roused
Think i felt abandoned and alone
That poor kid oh my god
He was left with schizophrenic soul
Cuz it was too much for her
To be provided for on a silver platter
ridiculous and so low.
So dont come to me with your mess
Of how lessyou feel
Without me in your home
You dont know what your saying
Less then half my age
And trying to make me change
All cuz we came from the same hole.
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 8:38 AM UTC
Sirens, ballads of anguish are singing, ears are ringing,
Our nightingale is shrieking, and children are clinging.
Our Kalyna is red, but wrapped in blood now, not love,
From the massacres aeroplanes bring from far above.
My uncle, enters the now upside-down house of his,
“Welcome”, with a phoney grin, and wariness he says.
The house holding memories is now clogged rubble,
In the land that shall never greet occupiers or trouble.
His daughter's dreams shattered, for the reverie of filth,
It matters not; the nation of his deserves blood spilth,
We deserve not peace, but the delusions of a hag pass,
May he rest in peace, along with the delusion he has.
My mother may never hear the raindrops fall again;
Missiles seal ears with noise, and the death of men.
The men, women and children, who will lead us all,
Through scorched fields with whispers old and small.
She is a hairdresser, she might braid hair for the fun,
But other mothers, braid the hairs of daughters gone,
They keep them safe under a pillow where they smell,
The warmth of days before the dictator's missiles fell.
Red and black are the only colours they pervaded here,
They wish for our colours to diminish and spring adhere,
But beauty routs the devil of ugliness and his conceit;
Our colours saturate our resistance, painting your defeat.
They shall not sprout in our fields, like poisonous herbs,
They "rescue" us, but the gunshots my brother disturbs,
We did one day exchange our dreams for a pistol facing -
Facing the bear who is destruction, within embracing.
Blood accumulated in heaps on the sleeves of killers,
Like a marvel detested in a chapter of stained thrillers.
But thriller this is not, it is lives of the innocent lost;
He plays chess in reality, after a coin he has tossed.
Mothers, daughters, sons and fathers are everyday slain,
but spring soars today, prevails tomorrow - in Ukraine.
Apr 23, 2022
Apr 23, 2022 at 10:06 AM UTC
I went swimming today
Twice
Which is weird because
In the past 4 years
I have been in the ocean a total of 6 times
Even though I live
In a small ocean town
Where the beach is
A short walk away
I went in the water today
Even though I have always hated
Being wet and
Salty the feeling on my
Skin is so uncomfortable
I always detested it
I went in the water today
Because I hate the person I am
And I thought that if I changed
One small part about myself
The rest could follow
And maybe if I could learn to
Love the water
I could learn to
Love myself
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 11:41 PM UTC
Once I was in England, and happened to encounter the carpenter’s ire,
He was struggling to get out of the lot of poverty, with all mighty,
He woke up every day at dawn, pushing the plane throughout a day,
He liked no stories when working, as Europe’s economy is no joke,
It needs toughness of mind, soul and muscles, hence his work ethos,
His wife covered no space in his hearty, as she was only a cost center
He like not eating all the time, foodiusness weakens the wallet anyhow,
He liked not whistling as he pushed nails into the wood,
He detested lest doing it makes him look like a *****
His son often played around, when he was working
One day the heaps of sawdust covered up his claw-hammer,
He thought his boy had stolen it, to pawn for candies
At the notorious Jewish shop in the neighborhood,
But in contrast the lad said he knows not,
Where the hammer was, he did not take it,
Carpenter’s ire went fluvial, amokish age,
He sledge hammered his son to death,
Only to discover the hammer
Was underneath saw dust
Where he wanted to hide
The cadaver of his son.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 4:52 AM UTC