Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
Words
"dolt" poems
I should not have blamed only my father, but, he was the first to introduce me to raw and stupid hatred. he was really best at it: anything and everything made him mad-things of the slightest consequence brought his hatred quickly to the surface and I seemed to be the main source of his irritation. I did not fear him but his rages made me ill at heart for he was most of my world then and it was a world of horror but I should not have blamed only my father for when I left that... home... I found his counterparts everywhere: my father was only a small part of the whole, though he was the best at hatred I was ever to meet. but others were very good at it too: some of the foremen, some of the street bums, some of the women I was to live with, most of the women, were gifted at hating-blaming my voice, my actions, my presence blaming me for what they, in retrospect, had failed at. I was simply the target of their discontent and in some real sense they blamed me for not being able to rouse them out of a failed past; what they didn't consider was that I had my troubles too-most of them caused by simply living with them. I am a dolt of a man, easily made happy or even stupidly happy almost without cause and left alone I am mostly content. but I've lived so often and so long with this hatred that my only freedom, my only peace is when I am away from them, when I am anywhere else, no matter where- some fat old waitress bringing me a cup of coffee is in comparison like a fresh wild wind blowing.
0
17.2k
Charles Bukowski
a wild, fresh wind blowing...
I should not have blamed only my father, but, he was the first to introduce me to raw and stupid hatred. he was really best at it: anything and everything made him mad-things of the slightest consequence brought his hatred quickly to the surface and I seemed to be the main source of his irritation. I did not fear him but his rages made me ill at heart for he was most of my world then and it was a world of horror but I should not have blamed only my father for when I left that... home... I found his counterparts everywhere: my father was only a small part of the whole, though he was the best at hatred I was ever to meet. but others were very good at it too: some of the foremen, some of the street bums, some of the women I was to live with, most of the women, were gifted at hating-blaming my voice, my actions, my presence blaming me for what they, in retrospect, had failed at. I was simply the target of their discontent and in some real sense they blamed me for not being able to rouse them out of a failed past; what they didn't consider was that I had my troubles too-most of them caused by simply living with them. I am a dolt of a man, easily made happy or even stupidly happy almost without cause and left alone I am mostly content. but I've lived so often and so long with this hatred that my only freedom, my only peace is when I am away from them, when I am anywhere else, no matter where- some fat old waitress bringing me a cup of coffee is in comparison like a fresh wild wind blowing.
Continue reading...
42
And now there would come a time a swift sharp clock on the bed Blaring its little chime in between the hard bells Like an angry little arm Charming if not for the alarm And everyday I slap the face of it Like an unwanted ***** And she is silenced Quick unlike Said chick But I am a cruel guy and have no sense of wet and dry Nor cool or heat There's nothing bothering me Time just ticks off and I laugh at it But my cells divide and turn into little old protoplasmic men And yet I am not called upon them Because they are stupidly designed and I have no sympathy for arts and crafts No masterman who failing to raise his hand Clams up With such poor artwork Slap that ***** in the dilapidated sistan Now In San Francisco Where the alley streets stink of *** And the European facades are just that Crumbling Poopy And full of **** And what yet are they dreaming to be? The church that survived fire Great conflagration God didn't make a rainbow at the end of that, Now did he? He's a water-sign Dolt And water only jolts your mind When it scatters true light, Ain't that right? But it's all the same Just different hues And the news Isn't new Just Blaring and yelling And speeding television crews Riding their stories Up and down the many stories Trying to build a city of angels On a bituminous hill Shills No life skills And I walk the city streets with a ugly old leather Brief Casing the joints and rolling my own Unhappy and alone Kerouac and the dreams on the monangular input where the triangular avenues meet And he has no road While airplanes shake their jets on the tarmac and trebuchet into the air Going god knows where Seeing a new piece of the sculpted pinball Perpetually trapped in the machine How bout Nippon Or Hangujin Or Han Chinese Or Berlin Anywhere but when A little ways along the state Of "in" All these strange things
0
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 3:00 PM UTC
TimelessWave
That ******* from Pastebin or 10it or whatever
And now there would come a time a swift sharp clock on the bed Blaring its little chime in between the hard bells Like an angry little arm Charming if not for the alarm And everyday I slap the face of it Like an unwanted ***** And she is silenced Quick unlike Said chick But I am a cruel guy and have no sense of wet and dry Nor cool or heat There's nothing bothering me Time just ticks off and I laugh at it But my cells divide and turn into little old protoplasmic men And yet I am not called upon them Because they are stupidly designed and I have no sympathy for arts and crafts No masterman who failing to raise his hand Clams up With such poor artwork Slap that ***** in the dilapidated sistan Now In San Francisco Where the alley streets stink of *** And the European facades are just that Crumbling Poopy And full of **** And what yet are they dreaming to be? The church that survived fire Great conflagration God didn't make a rainbow at the end of that, Now did he? He's a water-sign Dolt And water only jolts your mind When it scatters true light, Ain't that right? But it's all the same Just different hues And the news Isn't new Just Blaring and yelling And speeding television crews Riding their stories Up and down the many stories Trying to build a city of angels On a bituminous hill Shills No life skills And I walk the city streets with a ugly old leather Brief Casing the joints and rolling my own Unhappy and alone Kerouac and the dreams on the monangular input where the triangular avenues meet And he has no road While airplanes shake their jets on the tarmac and trebuchet into the air Going god knows where Seeing a new piece of the sculpted pinball Perpetually trapped in the machine How bout Nippon Or Hangujin Or Han Chinese Or Berlin Anywhere but when A little ways along the state Of "in" All these strange things
Continue reading...
68
God knows how our neighbor managed to breed His great sow: Whatever his shrewd secret, he kept it hid In the same way He kept the sow--impounded from public stare, Prize ribbon and pig show. But one dusk our questions commended us to a tour Through his lantern-lit Maze of barns to the lintel of the sunk sty door To gape at it: This was no rose-and-larkspurred china suckling With a penny slot For thrift children, nor dolt pig ripe for heckling, About to be Glorified for prime flesh and golden crackling In a parsley halo; Nor even one of the common barnyard sows, Mire-smirched, blowzy, Maunching thistle and knotweed on her snout- cruise-- Bloat tun of milk On the move, hedged by a litter of feat-foot ninnies Shrilling her hulk To halt for a swig at the pink teats. No. This vast Brobdingnag bulk Of a sow lounged belly-bedded on that black compost, Fat-rutted eyes Dream-filmed. What a vision of ancient hoghood must Thus wholly engross The great grandam!--our marvel blazoned a knight, Helmed, in cuirass, Unhorsed and shredded in the grove of combat By a grisly-bristled Boar, fabulous enough to straddle that sow's heat. But our farmer whistled, Then, with a jocular fist thwacked the barrel nape, And the green-copse-castled Pig hove, letting legend like dried mud drop, Slowly, grunt On grunt, up in the flickering light to shape A monument Prodigious in gluttonies as that hog whose want Made lean Lent Of kitchen slops and, stomaching no constraint, Proceeded to swill The seven troughed seas and every earthquaking continent.
0
6.5k
Sylvia Plath
Sow
God knows how our neighbor managed to breed His great sow: Whatever his shrewd secret, he kept it hid In the same way He kept the sow--impounded from public stare, Prize ribbon and pig show. But one dusk our questions commended us to a tour Through his lantern-lit Maze of barns to the lintel of the sunk sty door To gape at it: This was no rose-and-larkspurred china suckling With a penny slot For thrift children, nor dolt pig ripe for heckling, About to be Glorified for prime flesh and golden crackling In a parsley halo; Nor even one of the common barnyard sows, Mire-smirched, blowzy, Maunching thistle and knotweed on her snout- cruise-- Bloat tun of milk On the move, hedged by a litter of feat-foot ninnies Shrilling her hulk To halt for a swig at the pink teats. No. This vast Brobdingnag bulk Of a sow lounged belly-bedded on that black compost, Fat-rutted eyes Dream-filmed. What a vision of ancient hoghood must Thus wholly engross The great grandam!--our marvel blazoned a knight, Helmed, in cuirass, Unhorsed and shredded in the grove of combat By a grisly-bristled Boar, fabulous enough to straddle that sow's heat. But our farmer whistled, Then, with a jocular fist thwacked the barrel nape, And the green-copse-castled Pig hove, letting legend like dried mud drop, Slowly, grunt On grunt, up in the flickering light to shape A monument Prodigious in gluttonies as that hog whose want Made lean Lent Of kitchen slops and, stomaching no constraint, Proceeded to swill The seven troughed seas and every earthquaking continent.
Continue reading...
49
# You have brought back these feelings Resurfaced those fears Of the fire inside that had so many tears A weak flame that was dying Alive once again Has now muddied the line between lover and friend That's how it goes for me I don't know about you The words passing might be in that moment were true They kept traveling on Possibly a comet As my feelings grow strong Expectations not met Once again feel a fool Even though it's not true And my heart gave to you Time again I will do But this time not the same It's because you weren't here Could not reach out and touch So our bodies weren't shared Just the words that were said And the sound of your voice Resurrect from the dead Could not stop; Had no choice Seems like that's how it is In your lasso I'm snared All it takes is one tug And again I will care Pilot light to a stove A slight twist and it strikes You've invaded my heart Bursting flame will ignite But if carelessly handled It's me who gets burned Walked all over and trampled Same dolt who won't learn I have built up the walls But we're both trapped inside The tight space is so small There's nowhere I can hide Face-to-face with you now It begins and it ends I'll get through it somehow Are we lovers or friends? #
0
Dec 3, 2018
Dec 3, 2018 at 8:56 PM UTC
micrography-mike-d
Lovers or Friends
# You have brought back these feelings Resurfaced those fears Of the fire inside that had so many tears A weak flame that was dying Alive once again Has now muddied the line between lover and friend That's how it goes for me I don't know about you The words passing might be in that moment were true They kept traveling on Possibly a comet As my feelings grow strong Expectations not met Once again feel a fool Even though it's not true And my heart gave to you Time again I will do But this time not the same It's because you weren't here Could not reach out and touch So our bodies weren't shared Just the words that were said And the sound of your voice Resurrect from the dead Could not stop; Had no choice Seems like that's how it is In your lasso I'm snared All it takes is one tug And again I will care Pilot light to a stove A slight twist and it strikes You've invaded my heart Bursting flame will ignite But if carelessly handled It's me who gets burned Walked all over and trampled Same dolt who won't learn I have built up the walls But we're both trapped inside The tight space is so small There's nowhere I can hide Face-to-face with you now It begins and it ends I'll get through it somehow Are we lovers or friends? #
Continue reading...
50
She could not abide a stupid man. If you could not feed her curious mind then you would never satisfy her in any manner. If you looked like a Greek god but were basically a dolt, she might have a motherly affection to you, but you never would truly able to pull at her lust. **No, it was not a man's physical beauty but his brains that turned her on.** If, when she was with you, her mind could stretch deep into a galaxy or swim in an ocean of philosophy then you had what it took to open her up. And when she did, open up, well **** It was like a 3D Georgia O'Keeffe painting. You were lost in folds, creases, valleys, and fascination. And then that's it, you were ruined to all other women. You would love her until the end of time.
0
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 11:54 PM UTC
jolene-heather
sapiosexual
She could not abide a stupid man. If you could not feed her curious mind then you would never satisfy her in any manner. If you looked like a Greek god but were basically a dolt, she might have a motherly affection to you, but you never would truly able to pull at her lust. **No, it was not a man's physical beauty but his brains that turned her on.** If, when she was with you, her mind could stretch deep into a galaxy or swim in an ocean of philosophy then you had what it took to open her up. And when she did, open up, well **** It was like a 3D Georgia O'Keeffe painting. You were lost in folds, creases, valleys, and fascination. And then that's it, you were ruined to all other women. You would love her until the end of time.
Continue reading...
20
The fascination of what's difficult Has dried the sap out of my veins, and rent Spontaneous joy and natural content Out of my heart. There's something ails our colt That must, as if it had not holy blood Nor on Olympus leaped from cloud to cloud, Shiver under the lash, strain, sweat and jolt As though it dragged road metal. My curse on plays That have to be set up in fifty ways, On the day's war with every knave and dolt, I swear before the dawn comes round again I'll find the stable and pull out the bolt.
0
3.1k
William Butler Yeats
The Fascination of What's Difficult
The fascination of what's difficult Has dried the sap out of my veins, and rent Spontaneous joy and natural content Out of my heart. There's something ails our colt That must, as if it had not holy blood Nor on Olympus leaped from cloud to cloud, Shiver under the lash, strain, sweat and jolt As though it dragged road metal. My curse on plays That have to be set up in fifty ways, On the day's war with every knave and dolt, I swear before the dawn comes round again I'll find the stable and pull out the bolt.
Continue reading...
12
Lines of life through gene transmission When handed down through ***** Tho’ rugged, sound or sickly matched, Are caste about like coins. Luck ensures a robust chance Of longevity and health With intelligence or dolt hood As a final gauge to wealth. Traits of blue eyed, fair haired lovelies Brown eyed, freckled, long of limb, Temperaments across the spectrum Placid fat to fiery slim. Aptitude to run the long race Good endurance, depth of heart, Lady luck decrees their worth Tho' the Priesthood may depart. Frontal lobes of clear retention Heightened rationale of thought, Reasons through the problematic, Resolutions made as ought. Capacity to empathise In tears of joy and sorrow spent, Capacity for true belief When wrong is righted with repent. Goodness and black evil Are caste about like chaff, Depends upon the show of cards Who laughs the final laugh. Conscience can be virtuous But then, so can be greed, Depends upon the circumstance And if approached at speed. And finally indulgence Plays a massive hand in this, For love and lust determine If a union is remiss. And should that union founder, Should Lady Luck throw in her hand ...You can blame it on the chromosomes Which confounds the Makers stand! Marshalg @theBach Mangere Bridge 14 June 2011
0
Jun 13, 2011
Jun 13, 2011 at 8:42 PM UTC
marshal-gebbie
March of the Chromosomes.
Lines of life through gene transmission When handed down through ***** Tho’ rugged, sound or sickly matched, Are caste about like coins. Luck ensures a robust chance Of longevity and health With intelligence or dolt hood As a final gauge to wealth. Traits of blue eyed, fair haired lovelies Brown eyed, freckled, long of limb, Temperaments across the spectrum Placid fat to fiery slim. Aptitude to run the long race Good endurance, depth of heart, Lady luck decrees their worth Tho' the Priesthood may depart. Frontal lobes of clear retention Heightened rationale of thought, Reasons through the problematic, Resolutions made as ought. Capacity to empathise In tears of joy and sorrow spent, Capacity for true belief When wrong is righted with repent. Goodness and black evil Are caste about like chaff, Depends upon the show of cards Who laughs the final laugh. Conscience can be virtuous But then, so can be greed, Depends upon the circumstance And if approached at speed. And finally indulgence Plays a massive hand in this, For love and lust determine If a union is remiss. And should that union founder, Should Lady Luck throw in her hand ...You can blame it on the chromosomes Which confounds the Makers stand! Marshalg @theBach Mangere Bridge 14 June 2011
Continue reading...
44
O HEART, be at peace, because Nor knave nor dolt can break What's not for their applause, Being for a woman's sake. Enough if the work has seemed, So did she your strength renew, A dream that a lion had dreamed Till the wilderness cried aloud, A secret between you two, Between the proud and the proud. What, still you would have their praise! But here's a haughtier text, The labyrinth of her days That her own strangeness perplexed; And how what her dreaming gave Earned slander, ingratitude, From self-same dolt and knave; Aye, and worse wrong than these. Yet she, singing upon her road, Half lion, half child, is at peace.
0
2.2k
William Butler Yeats
Against Unworthy Praise
O HEART, be at peace, because Nor knave nor dolt can break What's not for their applause, Being for a woman's sake. Enough if the work has seemed, So did she your strength renew, A dream that a lion had dreamed Till the wilderness cried aloud, A secret between you two, Between the proud and the proud. What, still you would have their praise! But here's a haughtier text, The labyrinth of her days That her own strangeness perplexed; And how what her dreaming gave Earned slander, ingratitude, From self-same dolt and knave; Aye, and worse wrong than these. Yet she, singing upon her road, Half lion, half child, is at peace.
Continue reading...
20
WHAT woman hugs her infant there? Another star has shot an ear. What made the drapery glisten so? Not a man but Delacroix. What made the ceiling waterproof? Landor's tarpaulin on the roof What brushes fly and moth aside? Irving and his plume of pride. What hurries out the knaye and dolt? Talma and his thunderbolt. Why is the woman terror-struck? Can there be mercy in that look?
0
2.2k
William Butler Yeats
A Nativity
WHAT woman hugs her infant there? Another star has shot an ear. What made the drapery glisten so? Not a man but Delacroix. What made the ceiling waterproof? Landor's tarpaulin on the roof What brushes fly and moth aside? Irving and his plume of pride. What hurries out the knaye and dolt? Talma and his thunderbolt. Why is the woman terror-struck? Can there be mercy in that look?
Continue reading...
12
Gentle ladies, take a while And choose your mate with lesser style. Beware the charismatic charm Of the misogynistic arm. He’ll ply with love charms, charmingly, Until he has you all at sea With this imagined love you’ve found. He’s swept your feet right off the ground And carried you away with stars That twinkle in your laughing eyes. Yes he can play this game for years If need be.  But slowly he tears You right away from those you love, For you to him your love must prove In every tiny detail now. And if you can’t then face this row He’ll find your weakness, badger you Until your broken health ensue. His buffets then you can’t oppose Yet constantly inflicted those Abuses in the verbal might Turn physical, and then the fright Brings on its shame.  You will not tell. Results of that you know full well Amount to just some more abuse And then some, coming so obtuse From left and right.  It’s your own fault. Well so he tells it.  You’re the dolt Who so upset him, made him fire Assaults at you.  Not his desire. And you believe him.  P’rhaps if you Had not done this or did eschew That other thing.                                   You cannot win. You finally will see this thing For what it is, and pack and leave. That’s if there’s some-one who’ll receive Your brokenness, and take you in To give you time to heal again. ‘But he’s so nice’, they say in town. “We can’t imagine him knocking you down.” He tells them how you selfishly Took off with children.  You must be The meanest woman round this place. He’ll find someone to take your place. He must have someone on his arm Whose looks are sweet and full of charm, Who’ll do the work he needs her to. What else is there for him to do?
0
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 7:41 AM UTC
helen-murray
Western Misogynist
Gentle ladies, take a while And choose your mate with lesser style. Beware the charismatic charm Of the misogynistic arm. He’ll ply with love charms, charmingly, Until he has you all at sea With this imagined love you’ve found. He’s swept your feet right off the ground And carried you away with stars That twinkle in your laughing eyes. Yes he can play this game for years If need be.  But slowly he tears You right away from those you love, For you to him your love must prove In every tiny detail now. And if you can’t then face this row He’ll find your weakness, badger you Until your broken health ensue. His buffets then you can’t oppose Yet constantly inflicted those Abuses in the verbal might Turn physical, and then the fright Brings on its shame.  You will not tell. Results of that you know full well Amount to just some more abuse And then some, coming so obtuse From left and right.  It’s your own fault. Well so he tells it.  You’re the dolt Who so upset him, made him fire Assaults at you.  Not his desire. And you believe him.  P’rhaps if you Had not done this or did eschew That other thing.                                   You cannot win. You finally will see this thing For what it is, and pack and leave. That’s if there’s some-one who’ll receive Your brokenness, and take you in To give you time to heal again. ‘But he’s so nice’, they say in town. “We can’t imagine him knocking you down.” He tells them how you selfishly Took off with children.  You must be The meanest woman round this place. He’ll find someone to take your place. He must have someone on his arm Whose looks are sweet and full of charm, Who’ll do the work he needs her to. What else is there for him to do?
Continue reading...
49
. You do not know my name, or maybe you do. Either way, I do not know yours, too. I may have met you already. Maybe our shadows have already crossed. Maybe I know you so well, yet I have not a hint that it is you. You may be the person that sat beside me on the long, long 'couch' of a jeepney or that girl that dropped her hanky inside the bus on its aisle. You may be my classmate; my neighbor, perhaps. My friend. My friend's friend. Or the cousin of my friend's friend that once set my heart a galloping horse but I then realized - laughed at myself, even - that I was such a foolish dolt to feel that way and utterly air-headed to believe  it, so I 'ended everything between us'.                I may have seen you already, taken a good look at your face - your eyes having no sparkles and the fireflies in my stomach asleep being the only difference. You may have liked me or even 'fell' for my stupid smile and I had no idea at all.  So I apologize if my apathy made your heart numb or my blindness shattered you.                Away from these hundreds or maybe even thousands of possibilities and ineluctabilities;  the chances of me already meeting you and not knowing that it was you; all I ask is your love abided by the love from the skies. Love, not affection nor attraction, nor any of the temporal abstracts. A four-letter piece-of-cake-to-spell word, yet too involuted to be brought to living definition. Love, my dear, and fidelity is what I ask.                I long to see you, know you. To be stifled by the fragrance of your hair, know the color of your eyes; to be deafened by your voice in its saccharinity, watch how those delicate eyelashes of yours lay gently on your cheeks as you close your eyes upon sleeping.                Life is a book wherein the plot depends on how the protagonist writes it. Tell me how many more pages would it take for me to get to our chapter 'cause darling, I swear I would skip even a hundred or two. If only I can, and if only you can. But apparently, I'm stuck in this chapter called 'present'. **Sincerely, Your present Future**
0
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 6:11 AM UTC
gabtrrs
Dear future Forever,
. You do not know my name, or maybe you do. Either way, I do not know yours, too. I may have met you already. Maybe our shadows have already crossed. Maybe I know you so well, yet I have not a hint that it is you. You may be the person that sat beside me on the long, long 'couch' of a jeepney or that girl that dropped her hanky inside the bus on its aisle. You may be my classmate; my neighbor, perhaps. My friend. My friend's friend. Or the cousin of my friend's friend that once set my heart a galloping horse but I then realized - laughed at myself, even - that I was such a foolish dolt to feel that way and utterly air-headed to believe  it, so I 'ended everything between us'.                I may have seen you already, taken a good look at your face - your eyes having no sparkles and the fireflies in my stomach asleep being the only difference. You may have liked me or even 'fell' for my stupid smile and I had no idea at all.  So I apologize if my apathy made your heart numb or my blindness shattered you.                Away from these hundreds or maybe even thousands of possibilities and ineluctabilities;  the chances of me already meeting you and not knowing that it was you; all I ask is your love abided by the love from the skies. Love, not affection nor attraction, nor any of the temporal abstracts. A four-letter piece-of-cake-to-spell word, yet too involuted to be brought to living definition. Love, my dear, and fidelity is what I ask.                I long to see you, know you. To be stifled by the fragrance of your hair, know the color of your eyes; to be deafened by your voice in its saccharinity, watch how those delicate eyelashes of yours lay gently on your cheeks as you close your eyes upon sleeping.                Life is a book wherein the plot depends on how the protagonist writes it. Tell me how many more pages would it take for me to get to our chapter 'cause darling, I swear I would skip even a hundred or two. If only I can, and if only you can. But apparently, I'm stuck in this chapter called 'present'. **Sincerely, Your present Future**
Continue reading...
7
You're a botfly in the snot of something way bigger than you. A nuisance. If it had hands it'd **** you. You're hopeless. You little **** stain, you driveling dolt, less than pathetic; You're gorgeous and I love you.
0
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 11:12 PM UTC
austin-heath
"You Little Stain..."
You're a botfly in the snot of something way bigger than you. A nuisance. If it had hands it'd **** you. You're hopeless. You little **** stain, you driveling dolt, less than pathetic; You're gorgeous and I love you.
Continue reading...
9
In ancient times the joker buffoon, **** or dolt Town fool, and choker ****** dunderhead, and dope In every time and place named, reviled and/or revered Humor to the masses Smiles, laughs, grins, and jeers Where would I be and how would I know the fool that's fooling here with wits not fast, but slow lets have another beer
0
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 10:56 AM UTC
TemporalFugue
Fooling myself
In ancient times the joker buffoon, **** or dolt Town fool, and choker ****** dunderhead, and dope In every time and place named, reviled and/or revered Humor to the masses Smiles, laughs, grins, and jeers Where would I be and how would I know the fool that's fooling here with wits not fast, but slow lets have another beer
Continue reading...
14
One day I was happily sitting and looking around. And With quiescence my heart said To whom you are making dolt.
0
Apr 23, 2019
Apr 23, 2019 at 11:43 AM UTC
Sb
And he caught...
One day I was happily sitting and looking around. And With quiescence my heart said To whom you are making dolt.
Continue reading...
4
I ironed my fingers To my blouse this morning They make a fine accessory
0
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 9:00 PM UTC
carrie-ross
Fashionable Dolt
I ironed my fingers To my blouse this morning They make a fine accessory
Continue reading...
3
My thoughts have been making me struggle... I don't know what I want. But I know what I shouldn't say... I shouldn't say anything I can't live up to... I shouldn't say anything about how I feel because how I feel changes everyday... my truth changes everyday... which one prevails? yesterday's? today's? the following day's? I don't know. I want to get out.. Forget about the truth - the truth is crazy. What's right is what matters. The right thing to do is to pretend you haven't done anything to me. ..pretend that you don't matter.. I wish my brain would skip every little thing that comes down to you whenever it thinks..... You may be my impossible dream... But you' re not my unthinkable thought... though you should be.. as much as I need you to be... I can still picture you with me.. It's not an unimaginable scene... You should be history to me. Today is a new day... But there's nothing new... I wake up and you're here again... I'm stuck again, with your more than perfect image... like you're right before my eyes.. It's obvious enough that these four walls didn't crush my head... They didn't.. But I'm thinking of you..I'm seeing you... I'm not totally fine, after all. Fact is I'm not fine, after all. But I have to be. But I don't know when.
0
Dec 11, 2009
Dec 11, 2009 at 6:48 AM UTC
ochre
A+dolt
My thoughts have been making me struggle... I don't know what I want. But I know what I shouldn't say... I shouldn't say anything I can't live up to... I shouldn't say anything about how I feel because how I feel changes everyday... my truth changes everyday... which one prevails? yesterday's? today's? the following day's? I don't know. I want to get out.. Forget about the truth - the truth is crazy. What's right is what matters. The right thing to do is to pretend you haven't done anything to me. ..pretend that you don't matter.. I wish my brain would skip every little thing that comes down to you whenever it thinks..... You may be my impossible dream... But you' re not my unthinkable thought... though you should be.. as much as I need you to be... I can still picture you with me.. It's not an unimaginable scene... You should be history to me. Today is a new day... But there's nothing new... I wake up and you're here again... I'm stuck again, with your more than perfect image... like you're right before my eyes.. It's obvious enough that these four walls didn't crush my head... They didn't.. But I'm thinking of you..I'm seeing you... I'm not totally fine, after all. Fact is I'm not fine, after all. But I have to be. But I don't know when.
Continue reading...
40
a stitch, tingle, tingling twinge - oh my, my choler, my choler don’t let me be the last to know, I beg; livid in its nature, discolored by the bruising - in the beasts of things; wrath. such a heavy tone for this indignation or your denseness; dolt neverthelesser, I’ll vent my spleen ‘til you’ve vanished back into that bathroom I found you in
0
Dec 12, 2011
Dec 12, 2011 at 1:29 PM UTC
joelemmanuel
stirring
a stitch, tingle, tingling twinge - oh my, my choler, my choler don’t let me be the last to know, I beg; livid in its nature, discolored by the bruising - in the beasts of things; wrath. such a heavy tone for this indignation or your denseness; dolt neverthelesser, I’ll vent my spleen ‘til you’ve vanished back into that bathroom I found you in
Continue reading...
18
What a gullible twit I was To ever believe for a second That those world from your mouth Ever held any meaning at all What an idiotic imbecile I was To think you had chosen me That no longer were you hers Ever did you see me What a moronic simpleton I was To think all you wanted was me That nothing else mattered Ever was I yours What a blockheaded buffoon I was To give myself wholly to you That I gave you my all Ever waiting for you to give back What a dimwitted sucker I was To show you my deepest secrets That no one else ever saw Ever was I trusting you What a foolish dolt I was To grasp onto the past That I should have let go of Ever do I make this mistake What a beautiful liar you were To ensnare me with your wiles That I could never resist Ever were you scheming
0
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 11:18 PM UTC
dustyn-smith
The Beautiful Liar and the Fool
What a gullible twit I was To ever believe for a second That those world from your mouth Ever held any meaning at all What an idiotic imbecile I was To think you had chosen me That no longer were you hers Ever did you see me What a moronic simpleton I was To think all you wanted was me That nothing else mattered Ever was I yours What a blockheaded buffoon I was To give myself wholly to you That I gave you my all Ever waiting for you to give back What a dimwitted sucker I was To show you my deepest secrets That no one else ever saw Ever was I trusting you What a foolish dolt I was To grasp onto the past That I should have let go of Ever do I make this mistake What a beautiful liar you were To ensnare me with your wiles That I could never resist Ever were you scheming
Continue reading...
28
Little sir, LONELY SIR Why are you so alone? SPEAK UP DON'T MURMUR No flowers litter my gravestone BECAUSE PEOPLE WALK AWAY I just want to blend in THEY TREAT YOU LIKE AN ASHTRAY My problems lie within I JUST WANT YO PLAY I need to close my self off IT ALWAYS RAINS ON A DARK DAY So there is no trade-off THEY DON'T SEE YOU ANYWAY She's always there for me PEOPLE CHANGE ON DOOMSDAY She protects me from myself who is beastly RAISE YOUR CUP I refuse to listen THEN BURN UP You won't darken my mind, it glistens! LISTEN TO MY WHISPERS Leave me alone SUFFER MY BLISTERS You won't break my capstone ALL I WANT IS A SMILE OR TWO This is a beautiful day NOT IN YOUR FIELD OF VIEW You won't have your way WE ALL RUN OUT OF TIME What if they look for me? THE BLACKNESS IS ONLY SUBLIME They can always see THEY ARE BLIND LIKE ALWAYS This is my happy life YOUR TRUTH IS JUST A LIE IN HAZE Just me and my wife SO WHY ARE YOU LONELY You aren't really there YOUR OPINION ONLY We GrEw Up OnLy To FaLl AnD TeAr YOU JUST LOVE THE PAIN All I seek is happiness NOT IN MY DOMAIN Why are you fueled by my sadness? DOLT YOU DON'T DESERVE TO LIVE I shall and nothing will stop me DEMONS INSIDE ALWAYS MAKE YOU SHRIVE They all decay eventually I'm NoT WeLl BuT No OnE CaN TeLl As I SiT AnD StAy TrYiNg To KeEp ThE DaRkNeSs AwAy Please help me Before the rest of me is locked away with a skeleton key HE WON'T LAST LONG BECAUSE I'M HERE ALL ALONG My MiNd Is On FiRe It BuRnS LiKe HeLlFiRe
0
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 3:58 AM UTC
bram-cyrusocyrus-addams
My ScHiZoPhReNiC InTrIgUe
Little sir, LONELY SIR Why are you so alone? SPEAK UP DON'T MURMUR No flowers litter my gravestone BECAUSE PEOPLE WALK AWAY I just want to blend in THEY TREAT YOU LIKE AN ASHTRAY My problems lie within I JUST WANT YO PLAY I need to close my self off IT ALWAYS RAINS ON A DARK DAY So there is no trade-off THEY DON'T SEE YOU ANYWAY She's always there for me PEOPLE CHANGE ON DOOMSDAY She protects me from myself who is beastly RAISE YOUR CUP I refuse to listen THEN BURN UP You won't darken my mind, it glistens! LISTEN TO MY WHISPERS Leave me alone SUFFER MY BLISTERS You won't break my capstone ALL I WANT IS A SMILE OR TWO This is a beautiful day NOT IN YOUR FIELD OF VIEW You won't have your way WE ALL RUN OUT OF TIME What if they look for me? THE BLACKNESS IS ONLY SUBLIME They can always see THEY ARE BLIND LIKE ALWAYS This is my happy life YOUR TRUTH IS JUST A LIE IN HAZE Just me and my wife SO WHY ARE YOU LONELY You aren't really there YOUR OPINION ONLY We GrEw Up OnLy To FaLl AnD TeAr YOU JUST LOVE THE PAIN All I seek is happiness NOT IN MY DOMAIN Why are you fueled by my sadness? DOLT YOU DON'T DESERVE TO LIVE I shall and nothing will stop me DEMONS INSIDE ALWAYS MAKE YOU SHRIVE They all decay eventually I'm NoT WeLl BuT No OnE CaN TeLl As I SiT AnD StAy TrYiNg To KeEp ThE DaRkNeSs AwAy Please help me Before the rest of me is locked away with a skeleton key HE WON'T LAST LONG BECAUSE I'M HERE ALL ALONG My MiNd Is On FiRe It BuRnS LiKe HeLlFiRe
Continue reading...
58
Winter is up to my ears Water's in my eyes, the dull chanting squeaks of Frollicking field mice, dark hungry souls eat dark hungry shrubs They tear apart the grass until the dirt is overturned. The ministry is dead, into the shapes they throw, weapons in the syllables where voices dear to go. The Spring is hazing the moon, and the gallow falls, the Pines of Rome are just a symptom of autumn's calls. The mouse while he saunters in, gives no notice to the gray wolf's evil grin. Panting the tousle takes them both, no insides give, into the night I sit and stare from my window's ledge. No apothecary seems to work, all the medicines they give like names, until the doctor fools the patient she's well again. Cloaking in the shadowy stirs of the wicked herbs we picked from our garden and yard. Mellow to the taste, cold to the face, and stings like the tantrum does when the pain is just too much too much. Have you seen the stirring woes of the frogs, stuck to the cement, thrown from the heavens by so many angry gods. Children hated for their voice, their skins and arms and legs dispersed, any dolt can name a common cure. Sicker than the pain it shoves, while the mood settles into to a rain water bath. In a crevice their may be some thought, but it doesn't even help at all, then the cold comes in and shucks awe and feeling where the aches and screams haunt the unhealthy whims. After Easter and beyond each birth, no one calls and everything's inert, in the desert we call to the stars, but the birds return to us and make us stop asking for cause. Misunderstanding takes its awful view, and the children stop asking too. The events of hatred unfold weirdly, broken glass bottles splinter on the ears, even blood runs warm, we run hot, and shake our chills through the spine until stranger's call us out on our eyes. Even the wanting can't, and no one can. But the help makes the worst of it even more wrong. Until they can't speak or sing to themselves, whispers on the night break the shapes on the shores.
0
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 12:44 AM UTC
martin-narrod
Spring Hazes The Moon
Winter is up to my ears Water's in my eyes, the dull chanting squeaks of Frollicking field mice, dark hungry souls eat dark hungry shrubs They tear apart the grass until the dirt is overturned. The ministry is dead, into the shapes they throw, weapons in the syllables where voices dear to go. The Spring is hazing the moon, and the gallow falls, the Pines of Rome are just a symptom of autumn's calls. The mouse while he saunters in, gives no notice to the gray wolf's evil grin. Panting the tousle takes them both, no insides give, into the night I sit and stare from my window's ledge. No apothecary seems to work, all the medicines they give like names, until the doctor fools the patient she's well again. Cloaking in the shadowy stirs of the wicked herbs we picked from our garden and yard. Mellow to the taste, cold to the face, and stings like the tantrum does when the pain is just too much too much. Have you seen the stirring woes of the frogs, stuck to the cement, thrown from the heavens by so many angry gods. Children hated for their voice, their skins and arms and legs dispersed, any dolt can name a common cure. Sicker than the pain it shoves, while the mood settles into to a rain water bath. In a crevice their may be some thought, but it doesn't even help at all, then the cold comes in and shucks awe and feeling where the aches and screams haunt the unhealthy whims. After Easter and beyond each birth, no one calls and everything's inert, in the desert we call to the stars, but the birds return to us and make us stop asking for cause. Misunderstanding takes its awful view, and the children stop asking too. The events of hatred unfold weirdly, broken glass bottles splinter on the ears, even blood runs warm, we run hot, and shake our chills through the spine until stranger's call us out on our eyes. Even the wanting can't, and no one can. But the help makes the worst of it even more wrong. Until they can't speak or sing to themselves, whispers on the night break the shapes on the shores.
Continue reading...
7
Can a blind man Become a poet How can one write about the things they have never seen Could a deaf man Write poetry How could he express the sounds of things He has never heard Would a dolt even think About writing poetry and if he COULD put down on paper what he feels Who on Earth would ever listen There's a professor at Harvard Who teaches poetry left, write, upside down, and sideways but, she was never Write for me
0
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 10:09 AM UTC
david-ehrgott
It's Impolite To Stare
Can a blind man Become a poet How can one write about the things they have never seen Could a deaf man Write poetry How could he express the sounds of things He has never heard Would a dolt even think About writing poetry and if he COULD put down on paper what he feels Who on Earth would ever listen There's a professor at Harvard Who teaches poetry left, write, upside down, and sideways but, she was never Write for me
Continue reading...
20
God you're a dolt You just blather on about stuff you know nothing about Think you're the boss, when you're really a tool Convinced you're a genius, but the world knows you're a fool You preach from the sewers and think you're supreme But you're truly just a narcissist who's insecure and mean So happy you're gone Hopefully we're not as dumb as before Cuz I'm pretty certain we'll be seeing you in 2024
0
Aug 21, 2021
Aug 21, 2021 at 3:58 PM UTC
zoe-mae
The Don
God you're a dolt You just blather on about stuff you know nothing about Think you're the boss, when you're really a tool Convinced you're a genius, but the world knows you're a fool You preach from the sewers and think you're supreme But you're truly just a narcissist who's insecure and mean So happy you're gone Hopefully we're not as dumb as before Cuz I'm pretty certain we'll be seeing you in 2024
Continue reading...
9
ere the vapid dolt of lengthy light we writhed inexorably salacious as serpents on our bones in the passive leather of extrapolating guilt
0
Jan 17, 2011
Jan 17, 2011 at 12:01 PM UTC
patrick-wakefield-1
Untitled
ere the vapid dolt of lengthy light we writhed inexorably salacious as serpents on our bones in the passive leather of extrapolating guilt
Continue reading...
5
revising revisions fulfilling obligation the road to a degree is strewn with barriers mostly living within doubt, inadequacy, languishing in obscurity or worse class clown/ dolt cheezburger memes rectify nothing as is the case with poetry but they feel better than empirical research so here I sit longing to share a moment with all of you all the while formulating links drafting expansion within postulating presumptions quantified with statistics qualified with love and summer breezes bending grass blades springing back to upright as kisses from the surrounding air seem to heighten the aura clacking keyboard brings me to the present and a small window holds my capstone mocking my imagination blocking me from enjoying the birth of springtime that I see all around but mostly notice within
0
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 2:46 PM UTC
s-lyman-temple
--within--
revising revisions fulfilling obligation the road to a degree is strewn with barriers mostly living within doubt, inadequacy, languishing in obscurity or worse class clown/ dolt cheezburger memes rectify nothing as is the case with poetry but they feel better than empirical research so here I sit longing to share a moment with all of you all the while formulating links drafting expansion within postulating presumptions quantified with statistics qualified with love and summer breezes bending grass blades springing back to upright as kisses from the surrounding air seem to heighten the aura clacking keyboard brings me to the present and a small window holds my capstone mocking my imagination blocking me from enjoying the birth of springtime that I see all around but mostly notice within
Continue reading...
26
The Golden Boy on the Tube, from his dolt Spiked his Presentation in fervent bear Meaning well, his bold and corned Mouth would bolt Approximate garments his Tongue did wear Knowing this, only his choicest words decide Cautious enough to maintain your Good Grade Like this Poet - less Skeletons to hide Yet eager to brush his lively Cats fade Feign him then. If he capsulates the False Though firm in my own review I could doubt Spring mountains, stones...Much anything at all Reap his Harvest made humbled as about. Tell him then. His ears should coral up-front To sip your Tears; His Feathered Friendship wont.
0
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 2:25 AM UTC
xavier-paolo-josh-mandreza
SONNET TRIBUTE SUNDRY - ONE HUNDRED AND FOURTY FOUR - TOM DALEY
The Golden Boy on the Tube, from his dolt Spiked his Presentation in fervent bear Meaning well, his bold and corned Mouth would bolt Approximate garments his Tongue did wear Knowing this, only his choicest words decide Cautious enough to maintain your Good Grade Like this Poet - less Skeletons to hide Yet eager to brush his lively Cats fade Feign him then. If he capsulates the False Though firm in my own review I could doubt Spring mountains, stones...Much anything at all Reap his Harvest made humbled as about. Tell him then. His ears should coral up-front To sip your Tears; His Feathered Friendship wont.
Continue reading...
14