"doh" poems
You don't know strength until you have been a real ***
You have no idea how deep this **** really goes,
Its not for the faint of heart nor you squares,
Too much of the game is not being sold but shared,
The cold breeze that chills your bones at night,
The dark eyes of other girls standing under the streetlight
They don't understand our struggle or see our strength
They only know the bad and try to stop it at any length
Yet we all share the same vision with similar goals
Inspired to stay down by his game that has no holes
We have all been given instructions to carry out fast
Breakin a trick make him give you his very last
Show him your down for him add it up
He will take care of your trap and stack it up
Every real 304 stands up when her folks is around
Every real p loves a real one who's down for his crown
Some say its silly to pay a **** your hard earned doh
But it races through our veins so when he sends me I go
Maybe I'm a dreamer and he is the merchant of dreams
And I am investing in our future crazy as it seems
But when he speaks I believe in the words that are spoken
And I make sure that I don't get too deep in my emotions
A **** is a born and from day one he is already game
To build himself a stand up *** and and get his fortune and fame.
So a message out to those of you who don't know
They say pimpin ain't easy but it takes true strength to be a real ***
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 9:23 PM UTC
You know how the Lorax spoke for the trees? I feel the need to speak for my four-year-old niece. Not because she can't speak -- she can and rarely stops once she starts -- but because there are certain concepts time has yet to grant her. So until time does, I got you covered, Lucy.
Mommy,
you call it the "poetry" of a child's sleep,
ohh 'n ahh, she's so, so sweet,
I call it child's "pose." Not the yoga neither.
I'm posing and rolling and cooing
biding time until you're tripping on the
Ambien retreating to a dream.
You're only reprieve.
'Cause when your *** is asleep,
I be mixing up the Play-doh,
red and yellow, black and white,
'till it's 50 shades of brown, alright?
Dirt pies from the backyard,
put 'em by the brownies
in the morning world-weary in your pajamys
Slip-up, slip-up, I smell a slip-up.
Ain't a direct threat, Queen Buttercup
because you'd just say, "I ain't afraid of you, shorty."
Blood flow. Blood slow. Simmering, saucy.
Mommy, looking down skyscraper balcony.
May I remind, a giant ain't bringing down Manhattan,
It's that little, wayward wrecking ball, eh Captain?
Over my shoulder, drinking from a thermos --
stumble in your step mean you gettin' nervous--
hand me piece of paper and two crayons
macaroni orange and swamp water liaisons
these coloring sheets are so bourgeoisie.
These coloring sheets are so bourgeoisie.
"Color outside the lines, eh Lucy?
don't play by the rules," my Mommy say,
but I been around long enough to know dat
'dese rules pay. Outside the lines? Is just uh sloppy.
Been outside the club in front of the line
with my fellow shawties.
Slip-up, slip-up, I smell a slip-up.
Ain't a direct threat, Queen Buttercup
because you'd just say, "I ain't afraid of you, shorty."
Blood flow. Blood slow. Simmering, saucy.
Mommy, looking down skyscraper balcony.
May I remind, a giant ain't bringing down Manhattan,
It's that little, wayward wrecking ball, eh Captain?
Chicken and fries three meals-a-day.
Chocolate milk three meals-a-day.
Tricycle boys three wheels away.
Hands on your hips can't make me stay.
Lego blocks lodged in your skull.
I've hid the Advil. The Dayquil. Drank the Nyquil though.
Alright, alright, time to get confessional.
All my ***** accidents are intentional.
I melt my own Barbies to feel alive.
Snort glue sticks just to get hella high.
Mommy, you've got a messy ketchup face.
Mommy, you've got spiders in your hair.
Mommy, you've got ****** on your pants.
Ha. Ha.
Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Bi-otch.
Blood flow. Blood slow. Simmering, saucy.
Mommy, looking down skyscraper balcony.
May I remind, a giant ain't bringing down Manhattan,
It's that little, wayward wrecking ball, eh Captain?
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 7:29 PM UTC
Some people think that as an
Adult
I can be a tad rough
Rock solid skin
But as a
Child
I was exponentially
Worse
Kicked
Screamed
Cried
Teased
Scratched
A walking terror
My father deemed me
"Crab-Apple Lynn"
The neighbors would
Whisper
Of that horrid five-year-old
Girl
That would push and
Tackle
The boys down the street
And on the night
That I kicked my
Brother's friend in the
Groin
And he tumbled
Down the stairs
Word spread like
Wildfire
That Crab-Apple
Had struck again
Notorious bully
Walking with balled fists
Kicking over Lincoln Logs
Smashing Play-Doh sculptures
Sneezing purposefully
Spewing out green phlegm
And wiping the boogers
On fellow peers
Half-grinning
At their cries
Feared by all
But respect
Was the one thing
The miniature version of
Me
Could not earn
And despite my youth
Despite the over-sized chip on my shoulder
Tiny me
Found a way
To flip around
Turn a leaf
Turn a page
Turn a head
Completely change
Altogether
And suddenly
Crab-Apple disappeared
And Sarah grew in
View
It was as though
Somehow, someway
The little me knew that
Fear is worthless
Oct 10, 2010
Oct 10, 2010 at 9:55 PM UTC
I sit and watch a camel train go by and as it limps across the pale blue sky,shrouded in the clouds,I wonder if I could get upon a camels back and track along,could I learn the camel drover’s song?
A ditty,not so pretty,more a humpalong than any song I’ve ever heard with words that I can’t understand,though familiar in the camels land up in the sky,
Where I watch them going by.
Hip ,hop, clop, clump being a camel gives me the hump,how I wish to be a fish deep in the sea,like a whale.
I like a scale,a doh, ray, me,as far as I can see I’ll be a camel all my days and wander through a desert haze but my gaze is fixed as I roam free, on a cool and clear deep ocean sea.
Once,
I was a little thing until I grew and learnt to sing and now I don’t know anything,except
I want to be free,a fish in the sea,won’t some kind body please untie me,slip the noose and then un-sky me,set me on the coastal road,with my hump,without my load and let me smell the ocean breeze and slip into those lovely seas.
I want to be free and this you can see,before the clouds all break apart and with them goes my breaking heart and you could at least pretend to start to set me free.
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 6:11 AM UTC
Maa Yashoda ke tum dulaare
Tujhe tere bhakt pukare
Chale aao mere makhan chor
Tujhse bandhi hai preet ki dor
Mohini muskaan, chanchal ye maan
Teri pooja karoon mei jeewan bhar
Aayi hai teri madhur janam diwas
Meri hirdaye mei basay rahena, bas
Shama karna, har bhool ko mere Kanha
Kabhi mujhe bhool se bhool na jaana
Haath jhod kar, tujhe sumiroon
Yaad tujhe har pal karoon
Poori kar doh apne bhakto ki kami
Aap ko shubh ** ye janmastami...
©sim
Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 2:45 AM UTC
Better stop and think, you should watch your step
be careful what you say, don't want to get me upset
just button your lip, no need to leave a tip
time to dummy up, go away now and get yourself hip
better pack it up, go live with your mom
the life i choose is a bit too strong
take on a wild girl like me, the kind they say many just hate us
a **** i couldn't give, hey boy i'm not your waitress
"I'm not your waitress"
hey, get your eyes off me
"I'm not your mommy"
don't touch me. cause i don't work for free
"I'm no not some **** waitress"
no oh whoa ...
"I'm not your inflatable dolly or sweet lovely waitress"
i'm sick and tired of your simple mind
can't you tell by now, you're a waste of time
dont push me around, the envelope you've stretched it
my name's not Natalie Step and Fetch-it
this kinda of scene is ill for mental health
you want something? then go get it yourself
take on a power girl like me, the type they say many only hate us
a crap i couldn't give, hey boy i'm not your waitress
"I'm not your waitress"
hey, get your eyes off me
"I'm not your mommy"
don't touch me. cause i don't work for free
"I'm no not some **** waitress"
no oh whoa ...
"I'm not your waitress"
i'm sick and tired of your idiot mind
cant you tell by now, to me you're a waste of time
dont push me around, the envelope you've stretched it
please dont grab at me or slap my hot **** ***
im not interested in you, an old poor white stupid trash
too bad, you look confused and so hungry fool
i wouldn't serve you well: it takes more than any money can do
listen up!
"I'm not your waitress"
hey, get your eyes off me
"I'm not your mommy"
don't touch me. cause no no no ... i don't work for free
"I'm no not some cheap waitress"
no oh whoa ...
"I'm not your missy prissy kiss kiss kissy wa wa wa waitress"
fa fa fa fug-off jocko ****
"I'm not your waitress"
hey, get your eyes off me
"I'm not your mommy"
don't touch me. cause i don't work for free
"I'm no not some **** doh doh waitress"
no no oh oh whoa ...
...I'm not your waitress!
© 2009 david clare clairvoyant music / BMI all rights reserved
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 12:53 PM UTC
A life dedicated to serve both God and Man,
A Srilankan beauty with an Indian fragrance.
Came into my life like a sweet soft melody,
Teaching me the Doh, Reh, Meh of music and the depth of life.
A pianist, a perfectionist, a disciplinarian;
A teacher, a friend and a sister.
As I reached great heights and moved on,
You remained in the shadows like the wind beneath my wings.
The creator has called you back,
To enchant his paradise with your music;
Knowing that your memory will echo,
In every note of music we hear!
Feb 28, 2011
Feb 28, 2011 at 5:24 AM UTC
doh re mi fa so la ti doh,now that's a sweet melody
but when love turns sour,the chords get broken,melody becomes a felony
my mama said "son,be careful when anybody comes to say,'i love you' "
my heart bleeds from all sides,a result of the expression "i love you"
the taste of sour love is worse than vinegar
it feels like ur locked up during the winter in a prison in Siberia
i never wanted it this way but this love became like a subway
it cant be repaired oh no! even if the parts are on lay away
when love turns sour,everything goes down the drain
i gave much,too much but don't know what ill get
cold nights,slow music,thoughts of what should have been in my brain
they told me love doesn't last,i shouldn't have made that bet
when love turns sour,you get a heavy heart on a skinny chest
its 50/50 fighting for love is like playing with the dead man's chest
still yet i'll take my chances in this Russian roulette
i tried so hard,but still my forehead got the bullet
this is what i get,mending the holes in my heart
i cant fight this alone,i tried,i tried :(
broken hearts,thoughtful heads,solitary lives,fear to commit,insecurities are all you get
WHEN LOVE TURNS SOUR
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 3:45 PM UTC
Khair choro ab rahney bhi doh,
Beetey wqt Ko jubaa pr aaney bhi doh,
Bhut Khel li Khel isq-mohbat ka,
Bachpan Ko jra zindagi se rubru honey doh!!
Bichurey saal Huey,
Na yaad hum aaye na tum,
Jaaney kaisey sbhi begaaney Huey,
USS gali se kyu anjaaney Huey!!
Sidhiyo pr chadhna seekha,sang mitti Mai girna,
Dosti ka mtlb ** ya pyaar ka fsana,
Hum sabney yhi seekha zindagi ka saath nibhana!!
Kya tum bhool gye wo yaadey,wo baatey,
Ghr jaaney ke raastey,
Barsaat Mai bheegtey,kichad Mai kudatey,
Bus ke pichey gulaab liye firtey,
Koi kuch khey toh whi adig ** jaatey!!
Kitni haseen hai wo yaadey, Bachpan ki baatey,
Fir kyu ek dujey se begaaney Huey,
USS gali se kyu anjaaney huey,!!
Khair choro ab rahney bhi doh,
Zindagi Ko Bachpan ki meethi yaado se rubru toh honey doh!!
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 10:35 AM UTC
i saw a glimpse of you in that landscape.
it was painted with the colors of your time management
but sometimes you were too impatient.
i swore on biblical verses and too many shots that
you had skyscrapers for fingers and you knew
how to take the best out of me.
we shaped play doh into giants that would walk,
just to renovate and play god for a day since
sometimes we felt too little to even be alive.
we heard the top of buildings laugh,
golden cities never found a place in my heart,
but what do i know?
maybe we just tried to direct, reflect, dissect.
i can't pinpoint my points on your cork board
because there are too many ads telling me about
the things we lost, the moments
we left on the grounds, like low light second levels
and fish bowl blemishes on saturday afternoons.
your catholic boy demeanor, or lack thereof,
was nothing short of a misunderstanding and those who
had the time wanted the resources but those who mattered
didn't have the watch to tell them when to listen.
heart listeners don't show up and god only talks to
skyscrapers,
building off of what is closer when we all need
something to reach out to touch.
heart listeners negotiate by linguistics and wooden
tables,
mapping out the streets and yet
some of us just recycle the paper so we can start
all over again.
some of us just want to be a city,
beating hearts leading giants
to maybe someday talk to time.
Sep 18, 2011
Sep 18, 2011 at 5:52 PM UTC
It smells like loneliness outside.
The smell of a hot dog on a grill after a storm,
mingled with propane and cigarettes.
The smell of solitary.
A string of “cold and broken hallelujahs”
no longer dulls the senses.
It’s senseless anyway.
I eat my brown rice in front of the sink
and I am reminded of the taste of Play-Doh.
It’s funny how loneliness creeps in on the wind,
the cars’ wheels in the rain,
the braking of the bus,
scuttling of squirrels...
Maybe a hot tea or toddy
(maybe something stronger)
will keep this autumn-ness at bay.
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 10:25 PM UTC
You are a money hungry hungry ***** you are
You just sit there counting your doh
You are definitely a money hungry
Money hungry ***** you are
You don’t care for the poor on no
You go into the country club
As the poor go to the pub
And after you say goodbye to your Mates saying I had a great day
The pub people are having a brawl
The poor aren’t free
But you are mate in that great
Country club
And that makes you are money hungry *****
Every day to go
You are a money hungry money hungry ***** you are
Enjoying spending money like wearing
Underwear
Money hungry money hungry ***** you are not caring for the little guys
Oh no
The poor head off to the football match thinking any seat will do
But as they get there the rich avoid the queues and head straight up to the members stand for a great view
What a money hungry money hungry ***** they are enjoying the match and the view
While the poor are fighting for the best spot and sometimes it can be a brawl when you go to a concert to listen to the lovely tunes you get your spot thinking it is good
But the money hungry ****** have found a better spot
In the middle in the box
With champagne and nibbles oh yeah but we have to sit there watching them be total total fools oh yeah
You are being pushed over by the crowd while they are sipping champagne it is enough to drive a poor man nuts
Come on mate move out of the way
The rich are driving me nuts
Money hungry money hungry money hungry ****** always seem better than you, you know **** them
I don’t care the rich don’t care about me I prefer to stay here enjoying being poor saying the rich have nothing on me
Apr 27, 2019
Apr 27, 2019 at 5:35 AM UTC
We doh cur fer fancy werters
Bring us bangers in mashed terters
Gie us pork-pie caressed wi mustard
Rhubarb crumble topped wi custard
If yo’ve got a full day werkin
Black-pudding, eggs, beans and bercon
Un doh keep saying, ‘it’ll do ya no gud!’
We wont loads o’ graerty pud
If yo’me hungry jus the job
A great big hondfull of suetey gob
Grannies rice-puddin wi a gob o’ jam
Branston pickle on hunied-ham
Fish-un-chips wrapped in old newsperper
Ma’s bread puddin, nah that’s the cerper
Un if yo’ve got a babby-sitta
Wash it daen wi Bonks’s bitta
Black-Country fowk doh wont fancy starters
We wont bercon wie grey farters!
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 1:48 PM UTC
if I should ever leave this town
I'll never change my ways to fit the plan of success
but rather use success as Play-Doh and mold it into what I want it to be
beautiful like the sea with wild waves crashing along with shores
or silent like the moon; forever following the earth with loyalty
forever holding the hands of the ones I love
never changing no matter who discovers me
no matter how many small steps for man or giant leaps for mankind may happen to occur upon the crevices of my very being
I will not crumble under those who try to walk all over me
but I will walk with confidence
and confide in those whom I love my deepest secrets
making sure that they become my diary
and "dear diary," I will say
and they will remain dear to my heart because I will end with "love always"
and always "diary" will now be synonymous for rock
for they will be the rocks I lean on when I’m stuck in a hard place
and when they're stuck in the grand canyon
I’ll be the rocks they'll grab on to, to climb to the top
and also the rope to pull them up when their hands slip
because you can only hold on to so much at one time
and I’ll also act as a backpack
and carry as much for them as I can
I’ll always have their back
because nobody has eyes on the back of their head to see what’s coming your way when you're not looking
a sort of "night vision" goggles for life
for the evils that they can't see
evil vision goggles for evils trying to evade into the molding of their very own success
and "dear diary" I will say if I happen to fail
maybe the Play-Doh was left out too long and dried up before the success was built
but sometimes tears can wash away the sadness, or bring back life to your Play-Doh
so it’s okay to fail and let your plans turn ever so frail
because you can be like the moon: loyal and quiet
but you can be like the sea too
you can reach for the shore again and again, trying to grasp your dreams with hands like liquid, salty from tears
and this can happen over and over until a strong wind or an earthquake in your soul erupts causing you to gain strength and take the world by storm
proving that you are more than a just follower
but you will still always follow your dreams
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 10:10 PM UTC
i just turned 17 and i bought a ****** e-cig
off some guy in venice.
it squeaks when i try to use it
and the vapor scares my cat,
and i’m in love with this girl who tried it
while she was tangled up in my sheets —
she said she hated it but hey,
i just turned 17 and i can’t be the only kid
in this city who doesn’t need a nicotine fix.
on thursday nights i stand outside coffee shops
with the ones who smoke those reds
and blues and velvet blacks
that come in wooden boxes like fine cigars.
i hate that scene but i’m addicted to it
because i just turned 17 and everything
about me is being reshaped like play-doh.
my mom calls it impressionable, i call it fearless.
i just turned 17 and i’d like to think i’m not as insecure
as i feel, but i had to move the full-length mirror
out of my room and nothing i do counts
unless i put it on instagram.
i just turned 17 and that’s the age all the
songs are about, the year of dancing queens
and cheap red wine and sneaking through
the suburbs to get to your girlfriend’s house.
i used to think i wanted to see the world but
i just turned 17 and i can’t stop falling in love
with the city i live in —
you can’t see too many stars here but it feels
safer that way, like i’m less likely to float into space.
tethered is a good thing to be,
at least until all the different parts of me
finally get strung together.
i just turned 17 and i’m scared the nicotine
can’t hide that i’m just a work in progress.
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 12:22 AM UTC
yud say av gorra chip on me shoulder
if i adunett it
am from fukkn inner city liverpool la
an a won' letya fuggerit
yer posh scrans jus werds ter me
so gerrit down ya neck
instedda waxin lyrical abar it
coz a doh no wot ya jus sed
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 2:43 PM UTC
Wake,
stretch,
give thanks,
stay blessed,
yoga is a daily meditation,
that always beats a head depression,
mix my asanas with vegetables,
but no pasta nah because I’m gluten free,
stay hydrated and celebrated because I made it,
out of the gutter and into the upper echelons of society,
now I practice Jiu-Jitsu,
with the Gracies in Beverly Hills,
now I’ve got beautiful guy friends,
and amazing lover girls,
see these hands and massage your tensions,
or they can choke you into submission,
I could plant a seed that gives birth to life,
or I could take a life away in 8 seconds,
we can give life and taketh away,
I’d say it’s all just a matter of intention,
and they say that necessity,
is the mother of all inventions,
shout out to Plato for coming up with that one,
as we mold our future like Play Doh,
see we literally made everything we have,
we are literally our own creators,
it’s incredible what we can manifest,
as cliche as that sounds,
see you are the Master of your own destiny,
you decide if you win or lose,
every morning is a new day and a new chance to choose,
don’t let Yesterday’s regrets,
hold you back from Tomorrow’s goals,
get rid of any addiction you might have,
if that addiction doesn’t serve the soul,
see maybe reincarnation is real,
or maybe it’s not,
either way you’re alive right now,
and right now this life is all you’ve got,
to live your life,
that’s why they call it living,
and give thanks before every meal,
as if every meal is Thanksgiving,
see I have a saying,
if you don’t thank God for your blessings,
then you’ll soon have no more blessings,
to thank God for,
so give thanks,
not only to God but to your friends,
and not only to your friends,
but also to your self,
stay focused,
be true,
and remember this is only advice,
ultimately it’s all up to you,
so what are you going to do,
what choices are you going to make,
are you going to be one of the Real Ones that shine,
or are you just going to be another fronting fake,
choose wisely,
and over all be good,
give thanks nightly,
remember to rest well,
get as much sleep as you need,
so you can awake refreshed,
pay attention to your dreams,
and let go of all regrets,
wake,
stretch,
give thanks,
stay blessed.
∆ LaLux ∆
New Book Is FREE To Read & Download Here: www.scribd.com/document/367036005
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 3:17 PM UTC
(20 minute poetry)
This day,
what day?
Monday
that day!
On my way,
the pilgrimage to
work,
It is a sacrifice
which I make
five days a week
and two days shall I rest
one more than God,
quite odd
considering we think
that he knew best
or am I mistaken?
If the proof is in the pudding
'let them eat cake'
we need no validation
for this is
occupation
an occupation,
the formulation of a man.
I wear my armour like
a decongestant,
am I not a contestant
sitting out the race?
spitting in the face of
evolution.
and who cares who wins
anyway?
(Wrote this on the way to work and promptly forgot I had) Doh.
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 11:49 AM UTC
I made a heart out of Play-Doh
Handed it to my son
Said I LOVE YOU
He gazed at it for a while
Then squeezed, poked, pinched, patted and rolled it
There was no sign of what it's original form was
But that's my heart
No matter how you treat it
It still loves you, beats for you and lives for you
Love you baby
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 5:06 AM UTC
Poorly equipped,
Painfully whipped.
A threadbare Abyssinian
Did shuffle on
With all hope gone
In search of an opinion
But much deplored
When not ignored
This abject Abyssinian
Did seek in vain
Something arcane
To exercise dominion
And as he sought,
So lost in thought,
Through sands of Kalahari
He wondered how
He might avow
The freedom held so dearly
It struck at last
With trumpet blast
Amidst fields green with barley,
He boldly rode
And proudly crowed
The statement: “I am Charlie.”
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 5:40 PM UTC
Blood of a blueberry gushing down with tears.
Simple song and a car ride, maybe I feel something.
Your textual messages arouse my soul.
I helped my dad **** the front garden and we found a praying mantis.
Babies go from hopscotch to jumping street lines.
Blue glitter nail polish on a white coffee table.
I made an alien out of Play-Doh yesterday.
Wanting has driven me insane.
Chapstick, skim milk, platypus, wooden door,
Tickle me until I cry.
I don't know what anything means,
Least of all, this poem.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 12:00 AM UTC
Yesterday, while waiting for a bus on the corner of Newbury Street
I found God.
She carried a burlap sack over her shoulder a map of the world in her right hand and a bottle of whiskey in her left.
She asks me where I’m headed and I tell her I’m running.
She tells me she is too
She says: “ It all started when I was a kid, I held the solar system in my palm and took the colors from the palette of galaxies and finger painted the Earth.”
I took something that was nothing and made it everything.
And every day since, this world has thinned me.
Asking too much out of something too little.
I fear the darkness that was created from the light I produced.
Some days, all my body can do is act like the Earth and tremble.
And in the deepest hour, my heart grew heavier than the sky that watches us all so I let it go.
I let the pain rain down like morning dew getting caught on people’s cheekbones.
I want to purify the air and our oxygen of all that is unjust in every atom.
When I look into your eyes I see bigots,
I see sexists,
And killers
And I want to want to rid our days of the night but I can’t.
So instead, I hit children.
May they stay forever full of laughter and light
Of pigtails and play-doh and gummy worms and popsicle sticks.
white dresses and untied shoelaces.
In a world where guns double for dignity
Where love is a receipt
Where self-worth is measured by grade point average.
Dare not the dark fault their fair eyes.
Dare their souls not fall victim to the tainted being that is our sleepless nights and alleviated anguish.
When I look into your eyes, I see hate. But when I look through them, a see a child.
And so I lose myself on the bench of a bus stop on the corner of Newbury street.
Watching the world tumble down like a toddler learning to climb a staircase.
In my absence, the polluted cloud that makes its bed on our sky dissipates among the rain storms.
Should you run, you steal light from this fading life.
And I say to her
Show me how to be the bravery I ever so seldom see in the world.
I wanna lift bridges with poems
And I wanna lift poems out of my warm breath.
And she tells me
What rocky roads you have in front of you.
What hands you have yet to hold.
But I’ll tell you one thing
You’re already something
And something’s better than nothing
And that is everything.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 5:47 PM UTC
During fermentation,
Yeast organisms
Consume sugars &
Produce alcohol, i.e.,
Yeast eats sugar &
***** alcohol.
Makes you want to go
Right out and get drunk,
Don’t it?
Donut?
Doh!
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 2:36 PM UTC
Visage of an angel,
Just a mirage,
Lies from a stranger,
All a facade.
A halo, of play-doh,
Wings made of clay, no
One would ever guess this fallen angel's far from faithful.
Apr 27, 2012
Apr 27, 2012 at 9:28 AM UTC
Everyone is talking small
Whats on T.V. and sales at the mall
Their words pester you like flies
Which girls like which guys
Its an endless flow of ********
An ever deepening pit
Reality shows, tabloids and radio
Make us malleable as play-doh
See through the illusion
And reach the same conclusion
Oct 17, 2011
Oct 17, 2011 at 12:16 AM UTC