"discretion" poems
Perfection
The subjection of one’s interjections
Based on the world
The world of today
Can you change what you think
What others have to say
Were interconnected but not in connection
With a convection of perfection that inhibits rejection
Or constant correction of certain parts or sections
That people fail to mention for their own protection
Believing a misconception to gain desired affection
Wasting their discretion for a false obsession
Thoughts of concession and encouraging suppression
This is just one dissection of perfection
It is but one path, one direction
But this should lead to many other questions
What about succession from the term perfection?
Is it needed to drive people to higher ascension?
Maybe one day society can undergo a social resurrection
Where creed, religion, race, freedom are not held in contention
No more crimes, no need for detention
Everyone is happy, no more thoughts of depression
Everyone can be comfortable with their own reflection
Hopefully this dissection can leave a lasting impression
And drive home the need for a universal intervention
To stop and think what it means strive for perfection
For you may have it wrong upon further inspection
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 2:45 PM UTC
The body was given to us as impression of the gift of love.
We were conceived in love and born in order to love.
The Creator has given us through the body to the world.
We are therefore divine spark.
Let us look at other man as at indescribable gift.
Adam and Eve in paradise followed in the wake of ****** without shame.
Through the body we can touch the soul.
This ****** was
acceptance of a man with his limitations,
tangible form of love,
devotion to each other without mystery,
boundless openness,
freedom from lust of flesh.
Bashfulness has its roots in this original innocence.
Discretion to the body is inscribed in man.
Let us follow with pure look at man.
Purity is trying to get access through the body to soul and inside.
The physicality brings us
childish joy,
communion of souls,
inner enrichment,
sharing a beautiful relationship,
exploration of mystery of love.
Pure look at man is unconventional symphony of his gift of life.
Such scrutinizing is necessary for genuine love.
Beloved should first play simultaneously the same notes of feelings
before the symphony will flow with sexuality.
This presage will give your body speech.
Sexuality should not drown out the relationship with beloved,
it should build skyscrapers.
Sexuality is a gift, such as body and life.
Sexuality discovers endless wealth of lover.
****** expression of love is a confession of God's presence.
After all, God is love.
Only the perception of sexuality as gift saves from vulgarity.
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 12:46 PM UTC
Profound, that he lost his sight.
He couldn't get the harmonies to blend quite right,
So he gave up seeing,
For music was the life and the fiber in his being.
He didn't need another soul
To change his note from half to whole,
For he had something else to hold,
And music couldn't make his spirit old.
So, he wed the chord, he played the piece,
And he dubbed musicality the worst disease.
Funny that a musical obsession
Would correspond with loneliness at life's discretion.
--Emily Rutledge
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 12:24 PM UTC
1, for the slumber that tumbles us round,
2, for the remedy, the musics bold sound.
3, for the tree that became your canoe
& 4 for the rain, it's ambiguous blue.
5, to escape, to a world we contrive,
6 for the tricks that I played to survive.
7, because heaven, is supposedly on earth,
& 8 for my mother, and her unknown worth.
9 for the failures, the faults & mistakes,
10 for the fears that keep us awake.
11, for my father, consoles me each night, whispers advice crystal clear, filled with insight- words on courage & kindness, love & delight.
12- when you wake but it's already night.
13 forever, with strength glory and might,
14 with wisdom, discretion, insight-
both numbers together sizing up every fight.
15, for my little sister, and all her turmoil,
15, for her spirit, the last one to spoil,
she and the world but water and oil,
15 for her soul, and like the mighty cobra it's coil,
deadly & graceful defends its home soil.
16 for the evil- the wicked & cruel, the endless hate they spin into fuel.
17, for reason, justice & art,
and all the other virtues life etched on my heart,
18, to redeem, to admit your mistake, to truly move on then perhaps to retake.
19 for that shame, always the same, so familiar it almost comforts my brain. 19, for the suffering, agony & betrayal.
19 true stories retold as mere tales- how they surpass logic and induce other's fails.
20. For my years. For the moment, for now. For to the past I salute, and to the future I bow; All with the hope that next year I'll know how
to do what everyone else can.
Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 1:32 PM UTC
Lord, I need some devine redemption
Because I move like a heathen through the night
Depart some solemn words of wisdom
Deliver your blessed sacred rite
My god your wrath is so sweet
I am consumed by it's salvation
Let me offer myself to you
And save myself from your damnation
My wickedness will have me burned
I make a covenant to you from this day forth
Enter me and make me clean
Fill me with your righteous seed
Command me down on my knees
I'm praying with my mouth to please
I offer myself as your possession
To use whenever at your discretion
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 5:55 PM UTC
I'm on the run
And not for fun
The police are chasing
My heart is racing
When my life is at stake
My morality I'll break
The police release the hounds
I can hear their deadly sounds
They want to maim me
I want to stay me
I decide to fight the charging canines
Because I just snorted a ******* line
My judgement loses length
To my influx of strength
I break the dogs' legs
Until they beg
That's not enough
Sorry Scruff
The steel gun I fire
A furry cop retired
The police attack me
For defending myself
They refuse to see
The danger to my health
They chose to use crazy canines
So I feel the fault isn't mine
That doesn't change their decision
For me to die slowly in prison
I am in the teeth of the government
Much to my human wonderment
This is the way I'll spend the rest of my life
For the decisions I made at the end of a knife
The irony is cops **** dogs all the time
Yet they obstruct their vision of the line
Where it ceases to be man versus society
And becomes man versus nature
When a man is in peril
He must turn feral
But in a country that blindly idolizes aggression
The police don't acknowledge this discretion
They dig their teeth into our skin
While draining us financially
The only way we'll ever win
Is if things change substantially
Sadism fervently fuels the flames of conflict
With an exasperated public sick of being kicked
Cruelty is what they witness
To lose their mental fitness
How can they protect their babies
When the police have rabies?
The police relationship with the effected public will never shift
When there's a Cereberus between them maintaining the rift
Oct 24, 2017
Oct 24, 2017 at 5:35 AM UTC
I need to focus and to find,
This desire and obstacle that renders me blind.
Broken images of smiles and laughter,
leaves me sweating fearfull and lonely after.
Eyes wide they drown in passion,
Feel natures design hidden secret and perfectly fashioned.
Her waist so tiny and so small,
Her hair cascading like golden waterfalls.
Rap around embrace and bind,
In this ecstacy caught captured and mine.
Bite the lip and scar the skin,
Every weakness invoked by delicious sin.
Till i arrive and rip the curtain,
In actions so precise innocent and certain.
Sterile unfeeling killing all infection,
so quickly so completely it goes without detection.
You pass me by without attention,
**** my control and social discretion!
Jul 5, 2011
Jul 5, 2011 at 2:54 PM UTC
Oh perfection,
You require viewers discretion.
There are some who only look skin deep
And for them I surely weep
Others claim
You can't judge a book by the cover or name
And for those poor men
I'll give silence for seconds ten.
For perfection
You are an illusion
You cause much confusion
You cause teens depression
You are not real
You are so fake
So what is the deal?
You bite like a snake!
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 10:23 PM UTC
There's a contentious subsection
Of the homosexual community
That go in a different direction
Hoping to find social immunity
The word masculine
Is the mask they're in
To live life saccharine
Wearing a plastic grin
From the sensation
Of over-compensation
Actuating placation
To differentiate
From the effeminate
They say they're separate
But really they're just desperate
To be accepted
By their own dejectors
To not be rejected
They become defectors
To avoid ridicule
They stack their deck with nothing but physicality
Their mind minuscule
The albatross on their neck is a lack of personality
To please those that compare them to **********
Internalizing their homophobia
An infernal mighty cornucopia
Creating an over abundance of rules
One must follow to be a proper male
But we should jump out of the pool
If being miserable is what that entails
The more genuine version we see
The happier we all should be
Then we might all be free
But if I were to show glee
Someone might call me a ******
And I don't think I could hack it
When the rest of society backs it
With an approval that is tacit
So I convince myself I'm avoiding identity politics
Using total discretion
To make no impression
But my friends and family would know that's not what I'm doing
So why not tell them?
I haw and I hem
Because the underlying ghostly shame
Is the true nature of this social game
When you have the fame of the flame
You're told to get in a lane of the same
Erase my ******* sin
With the title masculine
There are practical reasons to hide it
But how much time will be bided?
Will my life be derided
Until the evil are delighted?
Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 12:58 AM UTC
Don't believe, for one second,
They'll hear nice things from me.
Were you dying for some kind of originality?
Well, let me just say,
It's still death by stupidity.
I'm telling you now,
I have nothing to say.
No one will hear of your generosity
(though we all benefitted);
Or your loyalty (of which I know firsthand);
Your discretion (none ever accused you of less).
I can't find the words. I'm speechless.
I warned you.
Stop smoking (both)
Stop drinking (especially every morning, afternoon and evening)
Stop being idle (and your posture *****
Stop being a lap dog (stop licking boots)
Stop this slippery slope of a lifestyle (there's ground below)
Stop taking bad advice.
You didn't Stop.
Now you're stopped.
That's all I have to say. Not much. Is it?
Jun 28, 2022
Jun 28, 2022 at 7:31 AM UTC
our bread and butter...
*the web of stars,
the scatter of moons
and orbiting planets.*
the entire universe
harvested and crammed
into the metre,
of a poetic verse.
our bread and butter...
*harnessing the regal rays of the sun.
inflating the fluff of quiet clouds.
drinking up the winds of the weather.
revering the magic in the flight of birds.*
we fill our cups to the brim...
with fantastical dreams
and let spill
over parchment
the cornucopia of idealised words.
our bread and butter...
the incessant peeling and picking
on healing wounds.
of which we have learnt to savour...
*let bleed
the willing blood...
feed the seeds
with impending flood.*
nurture to fruition
thoughts stunted in discretion.
bring to light
thoughts hidden in the nether.
our bread and butter...
we dip...
the nibs,
of our word worn feathers.
let them sink,
shallow beneath the surface
to the sanctity of a familiar place.
*casting our trials,
and tribulations...
pent up emotions,
and what we think
unto paper
with the burn of
everlasting ink.*
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 9:16 AM UTC
I love your curvaceous contours, whilst physiological precipitations calmly shoot their nectar across longitudinal and latitudinal expressions of ontology.
How seductive are your displayed features of blatant enticements.
I truly give thanks for your explicit revelations, where blatancy and discretion collide with dialectical icebergs.
So, my friend of uncertain deliberation, put it on the altar of sacrifice where botanical skies of elliptical infernos resound throughout the classical universe.
I love this revealing and scientific corridor of acknowledgement.
Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 11:50 PM UTC
As i throw it, watch it shatter
Pick discretion-make them matter
As i fumble for the clock
And **** upon his lovely ****
Because my tongue is sharp and wicked
You taste of lemons when i lick it.
Remember when I'm going down
This queen wears a jaded crown.
And when your grip has found my hair
Pull it till the devil's there.
Sahn 4/16
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 2:46 AM UTC
-the global strongman, and how to survive him
"Our leader is a good man,
he knows what is right."
He needs no wicked science,
all he needs is strong believers.
They don't like competence, they hate discretion.
Cast down your glance for their eager eyes.
"Ang aming mga lider ay isang mabuting tao,
alam niya kung ano ang tama."
He is an ardent lover of justice,
killing criminal vermin at all cost.
They want to bring you down, my friend,
they like us unlike them.
"Wǒmen de lǐngdǎo shì yīgè hǎorén,
tā zhīdào shénme shì duì de."
He needs no shrewd lawyers,
he senses who is guilty.
By hunger and chaos they make you foul your mouth,
our hate and cursing will set us all apart.
"Nash lider - khoroshiy chelovek,
on znayet, chto pravil'no."
Now don't get naughty,
you know, just behave.
Raise your head, man, raise your feeble voice:
let's sing our songs, let's come together.
"Liderimiz iyi bir insandır,
doğru olanı biliyor."
He's towering above all of us,
he'll crush the faintest uprising upfront.
Heureux qui comme Ulysse a fait un beau voyage
- et puis est retourne plein d'usage et raison.
Fortunate the guy who fared well on his travels
- and returned, a man of the world, full of wisdom.
"Our leader is a good man,
he knows what is right."
Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 3:44 PM UTC
Regrets, they come in waves and break around his feet
And he begins to wonder who he might have been
Had roads diverged in different woods and fields
Not yellow or yet any colour still unseen
But clearer now by day than windless nights
Still nearer than the objects of his dreams
It'd rained late into the evening, and when the lights were shaded
Around the pool outside and with the windows shuttered
He'd thrown on loose clothes, flicked open an umbrella
While high outside the stars the lightning flashes muttered
Pulled open doors that led to the veranda
And moved outside once more with all his thoughts unuttered
The smoke, from fires on Java lies heavy on his senses
An omen of the time of year and of the past condition
He shrugs, ***** in the acidic nighttime odors
Reviving lives not lived but revealing his admission
That time beyond the present that mirrors every movement
Within, without, and yet again, the flicker of suspicion.
The pistol in his pocket, illegal not unloaded
A symbol of his state of mind and by his sole discretion
He kneels beside the water, deep-set and in the shadows
Lips forming wordlessly around the last confession
Images of where and what and who and why and whether
A portent of that final action, sensing and impression
The smoke from fires on Java lies heavy on the water
The reek of cordite mixing with the smell of burning grasses
Indignant birds protest the crack of one small set expulsion
The echo round the swimming pool reverberates and passes
Nothing more and nothing less and time and space and matter
Slick red upon the treacherous tiles, the shattered bloodied glasses.
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 6:19 AM UTC
viewer discretion is advised. The following program has graphic images that may not be suitable for all audiences
The television stains my eyes
I can barely see myself in the mirror
While steady reporters shed not one tear
Don't you see the dead behind you?
Don't you feel the pain of their families
While you just "tell the story"?
27 dead, most of which young children, in a school shooting
The sickness creeps into my bones
Its impact rattles my spine
Debilitating me, confining me to a stupor
Why? Why?
Why end such bright futures and presents?
Do you not see the damage that you've done?
Do you not feel the blood pouring from
Your own body? Do you?
back to you, overpaid talking man
A three minute blurb
That's it
Hundreds of people have been forever changed
Millions more afraid
And all you can do is harass them
Beg for interviews
While they still are in disbelief?
But beyond that
You show it over and over and over
All with the political lean
Of your respective stations
Could you not stop for once
And let mourners mourn?
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 10:27 PM UTC
I don't ask you to be faithful - you're beautiful, after all -
but just that I be spared the pain of knowing.
I make no stringent demands that you should really be chaste,
but only that you try to cover up.
If a girl can claim to be pure, it's the same as being pure:
it's only admitted vice that makes for scandal.
What madness, to confess by day what's wrapped in night,
and what you've done in secret, openly tell!
The ****** about to bed some Roman off the street
still locks her door first, keeping out the crowd:
will you yourself then make your sins notorious,
accusing and prosecuting your own crime?
Be wise, and learn at least to imitate chaste girls,
and let me believe you're good, though you are not.
Do what you do, but simply deny you ever did:
there's nothing wrong with public modesty.
There is a proper place for looseness: fill it up
with all voluptuousness, and banish shame;
but when you're done there, then put off all playfulness
and leave your indiscretions in your bed.
There, don't be ashamed to lay your gown aside
and press your thigh against a pressing thigh;
there take and give deep kisses with your crimson lips;
let love contrive a thousand ways of passion;
there let delighted words and moans come ceaselessly,
and make the mattress quiver with playful motion.
But put on with your clothes a face that's all discretion,
and let Shame disavow your shocking deeds.
Trick everyone, trick me: leave me in ignorance;
let me enjoy the life of a happy fool.
Why must I see so often notes received - and sent?
Why must I see two imprints on your bed,
or your hair disarrayed much more than sleep could do?
Why must I notice love bites on your neck?
You all but flaunt your indiscretions in my face.
Think of me, if not of your reputation.
I lose my mind, I die, when you confess you've sinned;
I break out in cold sweat from hand to foot;
I love you then, and hate you - in vain, since I must love you;
I wish then I were dead - and you were too!
I won't investigate or check whatever you try
to hide: I will be thankful to be deceived.
But even if I catch you in the very act
and look on your disgrace with my own eyes,
deny that I have seen what I have clearly seen,
and my eyes will agree with what you claim.
You'll win an easy prize from a man who wants to lose,
only remember to say, 'I didn't do it.'
Since you can gain your victory with one short phrase,
win on account of your judge, if not your case.
3.4k
I imagine the angelic way you move like the earth is your runway
Seeing your pretty eyes hidden behind eyelashes that resemble silk
I ponder your frame
Your silhouette is a stencil for a goddess
No one’s perfect
But your my perfection
I think about how I would grace your lips with discretion
Gently placing mine on yours and floating to a ****** purgatory
Where we just leave the wrongs and the rights of the world
Then I imagine the lips between your thighs puckered up with the elegance of a freshly blossomed May flower
I think about you so much my thoughts don’t know any other thoughts
Ideas of how I can be yours
Plans on how I can make you my forever
Well forever doesn’t last
So, lets be together until we both cease to be
I just would love to hear the words of you
You speak and I hear Maya Angelou
You speak and I hear Erykah Badu
You speak and I hear Lauryn Hill
You speak and I hear my wife
You are what I need to make us
“We” needs to be
As I think of you I can envision you looking at me and telling me yes
Feb 16, 2011
Feb 16, 2011 at 3:06 PM UTC
The Doctor has a Sense of Humor!
<|>
give a surgeon a scalpel
and an excuse,
and the artist emerges,
for creativity is a good surgeon’s
natural habitat
Sure, sure, there’s a plan,
with best and acceptable outcomes,
but when messing with a real heart,
a sly ***** with numerous deceptive guises
at its disposal, you never for sure never know,
despite all the advanced imaging techniques,
exactly
what you will find once you go
spelunking
in caves of life and death
so, he takes a bit from here,
and a bob or two from there,
there a cut, here an incision deep,
Old McDonald provided a body,
or a canvas, and the Doc
is happy.
So I uncover holes where he
probed, redeploying the healthy,
like a good designer, Doc rearranges
and repairs, a travelogue of splicing and dicing,
his handiwork
Now standing over you for many hours,
can get tiring, though each ***** be
different, unique even, but leaving
a little marker, a stylized signature,
is well, is the rightful discretion of the artiste!
So you can imagine my surprise
when the tubes removed (ouch!)
the bandages ripped off in a
signature move of a delighted nurse whose
loves seeing grown men cry from lesser trivialities,
you cannot imagine my surprise
when I discovered my new tattoo,
upon my chest front and center!
*Herein please find your heart repaired,
and revitalized:
Please Note!
We guarantee our work for minimum 15 years
(Aug. 3, 2038),
but our disclaimer
we assume NO responsibility after that
if you should
happen to live for 30 YEARS or more*
Dr. P.
Sep 21, 2023
Sep 21, 2023 at 7:58 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
From the streets
Of the windy city
In a cold world that
Showed him no pity
He used his gift of gab
To sell their kitty
And it wasn’t done
By committee
Iceberg Slim
I know you heard of him
He was a **** a playa
A consummate lady slayer
Who knew the game
So what’s his name
Iceberg Slim
I know you heard of him
He had no shame
Or second thoughts
He was true to the game
Followed the dots
He ducked the law
Sidestepped their plots
Paid his dues
And carried knots
Iceberg Slim
I know you heard of him
He was a **** a playa
A consummate lady slayer
Who knew the game
So what’s his name
Iceberg Slim
I know you heard of him
Iceberg Slim was
A legend
True to the game
And his profession
Handled his business
With discretion
Then wrote a book
A true confession
He tired of the **** life
In the end
He couldn’t go through the motions
And just pretend
He started feeling like
He might have been condemned
And he didn’t like
What that might portend
Iceberg Slim
I know you heard of him
He was a **** a playa
A consummate lady slayer
Who knew the game
So what’s his name
Iceberg Slim
I know you heard of him
Cedric McClester, Copyright (c) 2016. All rights reserved.
Feb 21, 2016
Feb 21, 2016 at 3:28 AM UTC
Suicide is not an option
Everything has to be done with caution
Be it wrong accusation or depression
Taking your life will reduce our population
Believe me, all you need is affection
Speak to someone who'll relieve you of your oppression
Who'll give you nothing but compassion
You may need trust and care in addition
When facing life challenges and tribulation
Take not suicide for a compensation
Try to have a little comprehension
Of the afterlife using your discretion
And also have a little conversation
Involving you and your intuition
Considering suicide may be as a result of impression
Or thought in abstraction
Or even to punish a relation
No matter the condition
It doesn't worth your life as a rendition
If you do plan of taking this action
I beg you take this into consideration
And do a bit of cogitation
That suicide is not an option
Though, it's taking it toll on the nation
Leading many to quick expiration
My fella, suicide is not an option
Try to do some reconciliation
And make sure to somebody you mention
To get your mind in a good position
Or perhaps it might change your situation
And set you in a new direction
Again I say suicide is not an option
Take this into admonition
That your afterlife may as well be in inversion
That live each day with vision
Devote smile to your face a portion
Do activities in admiration and jubilation
And in you life begins a resurrection
Thereby killing the ulterior notion
And also averting a possible perdition
Because suicide is never an option.
Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 5:07 AM UTC
I got a thing for you
And I’m pretty sure you know it
I regret yesterday
For I let my feelings show it
Ever wonder why
The skies weep from above?
It’s to hide the tears
Of the dejected from rejection
There’s no objection
To my explanation
Pardon my lack of discretion
We do it all for love
We do it all for hate
There’s no neutral territory
There no time for explanation
There’s no time to set my mind straight
If only you could fall in love with me
Then we do it all
For the possible chance
That our one true slice of heaven
Will be sweeter than,
All our past miscalculations
Apr 4, 2021
Apr 4, 2021 at 4:46 AM UTC
Hey man, what's good?
Good;
Is good.
It is good.
I am good.
Gin is good.
Air is good.
Art is good.
Tea is good.
*** is good.
Tao is good.
Zin is good.
Yin is good.
Life is good.
Zen is good.
Beer is good.
LSD is good.
We are good.
*** is good.
Love is good.
Cake is good.
Time is good.
Yang is good.
Wine is good.
Black is good.
Sleep is good.
You are good.
To be is good.
Syrah is good.
Logic is good.
Metal is good.
Piano is good.
Feet are good.
Water is good.
White is good.
Steam is good.
***** is good.
Legs are good.
Music is good.
Coffee is good.
Guitar is good.
Honor is good.
Poetry is good.
Colour is good.
Cheese is good.
Arms are good.
Cellos are good.
Portal 2 is good.
Respect is good.
T'ai Chi is good.
Writing is good.
Context is good.
Literacy is good.
Hands are good.
The Sun is good.
The Past is good.
Wisdom is good.
Humour is good.
Fingers are good.
Whiskey is good.
Friends are good.
Teaching is good.
Learning is good.
Thinking is good.
Empathy is good.
Dreams are good.
Cannabis is good.
The Earth is good.
Digestion is good.
My pets are good.
Harmony is good.
Discretion is good.
Shrooms are good.
The Moon is good.
The Stars are good.
The Future is good.
Meditation is good.
Experience is good.
Philosophy is good.
Spirituality is good.
Dissonance is good.
Knowledge is good.
Perspective is good.
Respiration is good.
My Guitars are good.
Being myself is good.
My lovers were good.
Civilization V is good.
My Computer is good.
Self-discipline is good.
Video Games are good.
Having a Body is good.
Having a Mind is good.
Team Fortress 2 is good.
Having a House is good.
Having a Mother is good.
Being a Philosopher is good.
Being an Autodidact is good.
Kerbal Space Program is good.
Being here and now as me is good.
Being alive as a Human Being is good:
Having this opportunity to experience this holy reality is more than I was ever guaranteed.
Thus I give thanks
to all of these things
and Thus I give thanks
for all of these things.
Thus I give thanks.
Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 7:00 PM UTC