"elliot" poems - Hello Poetry

"elliot" poems

What is this, Lord Jesus, that Thou shouldst make an end Of all that I possess, and give Thyself to me? So that there is nothing now to call my own Save Thee; Thyself alone my treasure. Taking all, Thou givest full measure of Thyself With all things else eternal— Things unlike the mouldly pelf by earth possessed. But as to life and godliness, all things are mine And in God's garments dressed I am; With Thee, an heir to riches in the spheres divine. Strange, I say, that suffering loss I have so gained everything in getting Me a friend who bore a cross. ~ Jim Elliot (1927-1956)

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Mar 25, 2016

Mar 25, 2016 at 11:01 AM UTC

alyssa-underwood

From the Journal of Martyred Missionary Jim Elliot

What is this, Lord Jesus, that Thou shouldst make an end Of all that I possess, and give Thyself to me? So that there is nothing now to call my own Save Thee; Thyself alone my treasure. Taking all, Thou givest full measure of Thyself With all things else eternal— Things unlike the mouldly pelf by earth possessed. But as to life and godliness, all things are mine And in God's garments dressed I am; With Thee, an heir to riches in the spheres divine. Strange, I say, that suffering loss I have so gained everything in getting Me a friend who bore a cross. ~ Jim Elliot (1927-1956)

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"The Nymphs are departed" says Elliot, the nymphs are departed, so, all the barbers dumped their tools into the lake out of the village, because all men will grow beard, the homosexuality of the high ends of the streets, is stuck to the heel of that transgender like a dust, you can not shake your head if you have combed your hair neatly, and your impotency is revealed, you reach to the tree running, and fall like a chestnut, your hands are still blue from the act of last night, there is no question that you will be accused, for the name sake there are some shovering forests, at the every rough turn of the streets, you can only enter with your grown beard, there is only one riddle to solve, "why did the nymphs depart?"

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Mar 20, 2012

Mar 20, 2012 at 5:18 PM UTC

Nymphonic Riddle

"The Nymphs are departed" says Elliot, the nymphs are departed, so, all the barbers dumped their tools into the lake out of the village, because all men will grow beard, the homosexuality of the high ends of the streets, is stuck to the heel of that transgender like a dust, you can not shake your head if you have combed your hair neatly, and your impotency is revealed, you reach to the tree running, and fall like a chestnut, your hands are still blue from the act of last night, there is no question that you will be accused, for the name sake there are some shovering forests, at the every rough turn of the streets, you can only enter with your grown beard, there is only one riddle to solve, "why did the nymphs depart?"

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Try as I might Only see things In black and white Really black spreading carrion bird Vulture wings to pick clean to bone No friend just a fake toothache smile Who wants something Too bad too late all used up Throw away mate Past best before date Rotten meat parasite infested Inevitable buried garbage pit fate Dig it just big enough for A dead little Elliot me Be my Big Sur Billie And ******* bury me

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Nov 17, 2014

Nov 17, 2014 at 5:01 PM UTC

WhereDoIGoFromHereDorothy

Try as I might Only see things In black and white Really black spreading carrion bird Vulture wings to pick clean to bone No friend just a fake toothache smile Who wants something Too bad too late all used up Throw away mate Past best before date Rotten meat parasite infested Inevitable buried garbage pit fate Dig it just big enough for A dead little Elliot me Be my Big Sur Billie And ******* bury me

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On the first day, he was pushed robust in his stance, the other forced, this boy down the spiral staircase of the Catholic church, the school had renovated, the Spring before Isaac had begun his studies, at the high school. Ballet was his passion, Latin was the language that so effortlessly, fluently was spoken from his lips in class as he smiled at his Professor, another victory accomplished in academia so proud were his parents, of their blue eyed boy. Jonah was the reject, the older brother he had been kicked out of school, not once, but twice, and was often found with a joint, his unshaven face wrapped around one of the girls, from the all girls school that ran alongside Isaacs all boys. Issac was hurt, a further blow to his stomach, rendered him broken as a waterfall of tears ran down his bruised and cut face, so ashamed as other pupils laughed, staring, pointing until the final bell rang as they fled from the high ceilings and narrow corridors. Wrapped in a ball, he waited for all halls and students to clear, and as he rolled over, picking himself up he took to the washroom, knowing he needed to be presentable for his mother waiting for him at the school gate brimming with pride, at her boys scholarship. All his dreams, mystical and serene, Romeo and Juliet fluid streams of poetry of Elliot, Poe, Hughes and of course Wilde and those love letters of Beethoven math, biology, all paled into insignificance he was born a writer, a dancer, a drawer, sketching and typing his heart to a page, prose a future love would read. Johan saw his mother's car pull up as he raced and giggled with Saskia leading her astray, he promised her all the things those boys always did, and of course not to break her sweet sixteen heart, unlike other boys as his mother smoked another Camel, the two lovers jumped into his truck, Johnny Cash blaring from speakers laughing hysterically, the world at their feet. By 4pm, Isaac was ready to leave school, tentatively walking out the main door, down concrete slabs as steps, no predators in sight he couldn't hide the dark circles under his eyes that formed as bruises, knowing he was fortunate to have not been damaged further by the haunting before last period. Walking to the gates, he listened through headphones; Tchaikovsky his release his home his saving grace. © Sia Jane

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Jan 10, 2014

Jan 10, 2014 at 6:53 PM UTC

On the first day, he was pushed robust in his stance, the other forced, this boy down the spiral staircase of the Catholic church, the school had renovated, the Spring before Isaac had begun his studies, at the high school. Ballet was his passion, Latin was the language that so effortlessly, fluently was spoken from his lips in class as he smiled at his Professor, another victory accomplished in academia so proud were his parents, of their blue eyed boy. Jonah was the reject, the older brother he had been kicked out of school, not once, but twice, and was often found with a joint, his unshaven face wrapped around one of the girls, from the all girls school that ran alongside Isaacs all boys. Issac was hurt, a further blow to his stomach, rendered him broken as a waterfall of tears ran down his bruised and cut face, so ashamed as other pupils laughed, staring, pointing until the final bell rang as they fled from the high ceilings and narrow corridors. Wrapped in a ball, he waited for all halls and students to clear, and as he rolled over, picking himself up he took to the washroom, knowing he needed to be presentable for his mother waiting for him at the school gate brimming with pride, at her boys scholarship. All his dreams, mystical and serene, Romeo and Juliet fluid streams of poetry of Elliot, Poe, Hughes and of course Wilde and those love letters of Beethoven math, biology, all paled into insignificance he was born a writer, a dancer, a drawer, sketching and typing his heart to a page, prose a future love would read. Johan saw his mother's car pull up as he raced and giggled with Saskia leading her astray, he promised her all the things those boys always did, and of course not to break her sweet sixteen heart, unlike other boys as his mother smoked another Camel, the two lovers jumped into his truck, Johnny Cash blaring from speakers laughing hysterically, the world at their feet. By 4pm, Isaac was ready to leave school, tentatively walking out the main door, down concrete slabs as steps, no predators in sight he couldn't hide the dark circles under his eyes that formed as bruises, knowing he was fortunate to have not been damaged further by the haunting before last period. Walking to the gates, he listened through headphones; Tchaikovsky his release his home his saving grace. © Sia Jane

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Elliot Handler, late of Mattel, has gone to his heavenly rest. The designer of Hot Wheels Made many great toys; Barbie, the doll, is known best. Barbie was shaped Like a ******* recruit; A miniature teenage wet dream. Barbie wasn't impressed When she got Ken undressed; Some equipment was lacking, it seems.

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Dec 4, 2011

Dec 4, 2011 at 6:39 PM UTC

john-f-mccullagh

Elliot Handler, late of Mattel, has gone to his heavenly rest. The designer of Hot Wheels Made many great toys; Barbie, the doll, is known best. Barbie was shaped Like a ******* recruit; A miniature teenage wet dream. Barbie wasn't impressed When she got Ken undressed; Some equipment was lacking, it seems.

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I am jiggling on that stage. The egoless strut. The humorous tap. The spectacular trip. Fall over, over. and Over again. Get up, find a ballroom Dancer. Find a hand holding Partner. Play "Spice Up Your Life". Spice Girls, listen to the bridge. tells you to Salsa. Watch that scene. Billy Elliot, With the pianist. Dancing Billy. He loves it. Just do it, you love it too. Cheesy pop, You don't need to embellish yourself. No grace notes. No flat 7th. You don't need to sugarcoat, the truth. Let loose to riddims. live on the dancefloor. Feel the ***** and the reggae. Feel the triplets. Rocksteady your way. Dancehall to sounds. Bounce and echo. Side to side. Left to right. And we'll slow it right down. The ballad starts. Your beautiful structure on the left of your head, the one called the ear. The that ear controls aural empathy. Let love be the choreographer to your moves, Play the concept album, your heart. Place it onto the record player and watch it spin Start the track track with an International groove. End. Replay.

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May 23, 2016

May 23, 2016 at 12:10 PM UTC

I am jiggling on that stage. The egoless strut. The humorous tap. The spectacular trip. Fall over, over. and Over again. Get up, find a ballroom Dancer. Find a hand holding Partner. Play "Spice Up Your Life". Spice Girls, listen to the bridge. tells you to Salsa. Watch that scene. Billy Elliot, With the pianist. Dancing Billy. He loves it. Just do it, you love it too. Cheesy pop, You don't need to embellish yourself. No grace notes. No flat 7th. You don't need to sugarcoat, the truth. Let loose to riddims. live on the dancefloor. Feel the ***** and the reggae. Feel the triplets. Rocksteady your way. Dancehall to sounds. Bounce and echo. Side to side. Left to right. And we'll slow it right down. The ballad starts. Your beautiful structure on the left of your head, the one called the ear. The that ear controls aural empathy. Let love be the choreographer to your moves, Play the concept album, your heart. Place it onto the record player and watch it spin Start the track track with an International groove. End. Replay.

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Black & Yellow – for Wiz Khalifa ✌ *“Stay high like I’m supposed to do, that crown underneath them clouds, can’t get close to you.”* On the first day, he was pushed. Robust in stance, the other forced, this boy down the marble stairs of the Catholic church, the school renovated the Summer before Khalifa began his studies, in junior high. The ballet was his passion, Latin was the language that so fluently was spoken from his lips. The Professor smiled, another victory accomplished. Khalifa’s mom was so proud of her blue eyed boy. Rapped in a ball, he waited for all students & halls to clear. Rolled over, picked himself up took to the washroom, knowing he needed to be presentable for his mom stood at the school gate, brimming with pride. All of his dreams, mystical. Don Quixote & The Nutcracker, fluid streams of poetry; Elliot, Poe, Wilde. The love letters of Ludwig van Beethoven. Born to dance all Principal roles, a lovers’ prose. By four, he was ready to leave school. Tentatively walking, no predators in sight, out the main door. Leaving behind a haunting first day. Listening to Tchaikovsky; his release, his home, his saving grace. © Sia Jane

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Mar 14, 2015

Mar 14, 2015 at 10:38 PM UTC

Black & Yellow – for Wiz Khalifa ✌ *“Stay high like I’m supposed to do, that crown underneath them clouds, can’t get close to you.”* On the first day, he was pushed. Robust in stance, the other forced, this boy down the marble stairs of the Catholic church, the school renovated the Summer before Khalifa began his studies, in junior high. The ballet was his passion, Latin was the language that so fluently was spoken from his lips. The Professor smiled, another victory accomplished. Khalifa’s mom was so proud of her blue eyed boy. Rapped in a ball, he waited for all students & halls to clear. Rolled over, picked himself up took to the washroom, knowing he needed to be presentable for his mom stood at the school gate, brimming with pride. All of his dreams, mystical. Don Quixote & The Nutcracker, fluid streams of poetry; Elliot, Poe, Wilde. The love letters of Ludwig van Beethoven. Born to dance all Principal roles, a lovers’ prose. By four, he was ready to leave school. Tentatively walking, no predators in sight, out the main door. Leaving behind a haunting first day. Listening to Tchaikovsky; his release, his home, his saving grace. © Sia Jane

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Go quickly, turn the radio up, for the classics. I want to hear the Aria, and the sweep of the violin and the thud of the cello. Desire it, for me, so such that my heart beats and sways with the music. Pull black lace around my shoulders, and tie my hair up in knots and curl, should that be my desire. Read sections of Elliot, Ghibran, and Cohello to me by candlelight, barely are our knees yet to be touched, and I can hear the sound your lungs make in the pauses between the lines, trying to understand, the very moment of clarity, the writer, concedes to the reader. Allow my voice to be heard amongst the depth of the inclement music, despite how quiet it may seem in, that, moment. Do not call me by my name, I should not desire it, even if for a moment; it tastes like absinthe, without the sugar, and is bitter and intoxicating and raw on the tongue and that it would no longer be my desire, but yours. If I should desire it, I want you to be sure of yourself; I want your heart to pulse so loudly, it is the only sound you hear, and your mind becomes unconscious to my form, only my forceful presence. Tie me up, in ******* bind my feet, my arms, and my ******* use wax, and chains, and leather. Be afraid, be very afraid, to love me like this. Place your palm on my back and hold me, like, this. Be a wall I can cling to, feel my desire for my nails claw at your fascia, at your concrete chest, let me make my mark in you, and you will feel, good, very oh, so, good about that. Be slightly nervous, by my desires, but oh so tense and excited. I want you wanton and willing, but I desire you hesitant and forbidden. I am the labyrinth, I am a woman, I was not built to be understood; but bring me *** bring me braces, bring me your rough delicate touch, and you will see i was built for Desire. If I must, I must desire to be enjoyed and entertained, I want you to make me smile, yes, you. To do this, is akin to going to battle and i want to see you are ready to go to war for this very simple desirable quest. Feel the stockings on my legs and deem them available to be held between your fingers. But not yet. Desire, if it must be met, must be met by me through me, by you. If I must desire, You must desire it, too

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Dec 3, 2013

Dec 3, 2013 at 5:19 PM UTC

rachael-stainthorpe

If I must desire

Go quickly, turn the radio up, for the classics. I want to hear the Aria, and the sweep of the violin and the thud of the cello. Desire it, for me, so such that my heart beats and sways with the music. Pull black lace around my shoulders, and tie my hair up in knots and curl, should that be my desire. Read sections of Elliot, Ghibran, and Cohello to me by candlelight, barely are our knees yet to be touched, and I can hear the sound your lungs make in the pauses between the lines, trying to understand, the very moment of clarity, the writer, concedes to the reader. Allow my voice to be heard amongst the depth of the inclement music, despite how quiet it may seem in, that, moment. Do not call me by my name, I should not desire it, even if for a moment; it tastes like absinthe, without the sugar, and is bitter and intoxicating and raw on the tongue and that it would no longer be my desire, but yours. If I should desire it, I want you to be sure of yourself; I want your heart to pulse so loudly, it is the only sound you hear, and your mind becomes unconscious to my form, only my forceful presence. Tie me up, in ******* bind my feet, my arms, and my ******* use wax, and chains, and leather. Be afraid, be very afraid, to love me like this. Place your palm on my back and hold me, like, this. Be a wall I can cling to, feel my desire for my nails claw at your fascia, at your concrete chest, let me make my mark in you, and you will feel, good, very oh, so, good about that. Be slightly nervous, by my desires, but oh so tense and excited. I want you wanton and willing, but I desire you hesitant and forbidden. I am the labyrinth, I am a woman, I was not built to be understood; but bring me *** bring me braces, bring me your rough delicate touch, and you will see i was built for Desire. If I must, I must desire to be enjoyed and entertained, I want you to make me smile, yes, you. To do this, is akin to going to battle and i want to see you are ready to go to war for this very simple desirable quest. Feel the stockings on my legs and deem them available to be held between your fingers. But not yet. Desire, if it must be met, must be met by me through me, by you. If I must desire, You must desire it, too

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Now I'm An UNTOUCHABLE... !!! UNLIKE.... Cliff Huxtable... !!! Or YES I Mean... " Bill "... !!! I'm UNTOUCHABLY... ILL... When It Comes To My Will... !!! I Lyrically **** Well I Hope... NOT **** !!! But WILL- FULLY Build... Verse That INSTILS... UNTOUCHABLE Levels... of Using Your MENTAL... !!! Stencilled Pencilled... ... Mental Rhymes.... Kinda Like UNTOUCHABLE Guys... When It Comes To The Mic... !!! ME... Well INDEED... Some Do Believe... That I Flow My Rhymes Alright... Now That's A Humble Line... UNTOUCHABLY Designed... To Let... YOU Decide... If I Flow Like MIKE... ?!? AIR JORDAN Like... !!!!!! Well ONE THING I'll Claim... !!! Is That My Wordplay... Deserves A Place... In Halls Where Fame... ONLY HOLD What's GREAT... !!!!! But Skill On A Mic' Is NOT A Claim... I... Choose To MAKE... !!! Because UNTOUCHABLE Names... !!! DESERVE.... Such PRAISE... In How They're Viewed... And That's The TRUTH... !!!!! I'm UNTOUCHABLE Yeah... Just Like... " JERU' "... !!! Because I've Walked Through... Where... DARKNESS RULES... !!! But Moved TOO COOL... For UNTOUCHABLE Crews... To... Want To PULL... Their TOOLS And ABUSE... Because They KNEW... " Big Virge Is Cool ! AND UNTOUCHABLE Dude ! " Because I Choose... To Just... " Hang Loose "... EVEN WHEN Violence Is Used... Because of... Moods... UNTOUCHABLY Crude... !!! Where IGNORANCE Moves... To... FEEDING FEUDS... !!!!! I RISE......... ABOVE....... So DO NOT Touch... The... IGNORANT... !!!!!! Because In TRUTH... They're UNTOUCHABLE Too... !!!! Because of How... Their Energies Sound... FAR TOO LOUD.... !!!!!! For Me To Receive... !!!!!!!! Because Like THIEVES... They Feed DECEIT And ROBBERY... !!! of Things I KEEP... UNTOUCHABLE... !!! Like The Way My CHI... DENIES These FIENDS... A Chance of Getting... TOO CLOSE To....... ME... UNTOUCHABLE... IS... The Theme of THIS Piece... Because YES It's TRUE... !!!! My Poetry Is UNTOUCHABLY.... A Way For Me To Offer YOU... A Piece of..... ME..... A Piece of My Heart... And YES... My Soul... !!! Now It Can Get DARK... Like...... Al Capone...... !!!!! But Shows MORE LOVE... Than... GANGSTER Thugs... !!!! It's More Like... " NESS "... !!! When I EXPRESS... !!!!!! NOT ELLIOT.... Or... Loch MONSTER Bred... !!! I'm Just Blessed With A... NESS... That Moulds And Blends In... With......... " FINESSE ".......... !!!!!!! That's ME... BIG VIRGE... !!! So My Final Words... In TRUTH... " ACCEPT "... That When It Comes To... ... Government... Their Court Systems... And FEDERAL Friends... They'll TRY Their Best... !!! To Cause... PROBLEMS... BUT NO Matter WHAT... !?! They TRY TO.... PULL.... My SPIRIT Will Stay UNCRUSHABLE... !!! So I'll... ETERNALLY Be... ...... " UNTOUCHABLE "..... !!!

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Sep 23, 2020

Sep 23, 2020 at 1:03 AM UTC

"Untouchable" ... A Poem written by Big Virge 14/10/2016

Now I'm An UNTOUCHABLE... !!! UNLIKE.... Cliff Huxtable... !!! Or YES I Mean... " Bill "... !!! I'm UNTOUCHABLY... ILL... When It Comes To My Will... !!! I Lyrically **** Well I Hope... NOT **** !!! But WILL- FULLY Build... Verse That INSTILS... UNTOUCHABLE Levels... of Using Your MENTAL... !!! Stencilled Pencilled... ... Mental Rhymes.... Kinda Like UNTOUCHABLE Guys... When It Comes To The Mic... !!! ME... Well INDEED... Some Do Believe... That I Flow My Rhymes Alright... Now That's A Humble Line... UNTOUCHABLY Designed... To Let... YOU Decide... If I Flow Like MIKE... ?!? AIR JORDAN Like... !!!!!! Well ONE THING I'll Claim... !!! Is That My Wordplay... Deserves A Place... In Halls Where Fame... ONLY HOLD What's GREAT... !!!!! But Skill On A Mic' Is NOT A Claim... I... Choose To MAKE... !!! Because UNTOUCHABLE Names... !!! DESERVE.... Such PRAISE... In How They're Viewed... And That's The TRUTH... !!!!! I'm UNTOUCHABLE Yeah... Just Like... " JERU' "... !!! Because I've Walked Through... Where... DARKNESS RULES... !!! But Moved TOO COOL... For UNTOUCHABLE Crews... To... Want To PULL... Their TOOLS And ABUSE... Because They KNEW... " Big Virge Is Cool ! AND UNTOUCHABLE Dude ! " Because I Choose... To Just... " Hang Loose "... EVEN WHEN Violence Is Used... Because of... Moods... UNTOUCHABLY Crude... !!! Where IGNORANCE Moves... To... FEEDING FEUDS... !!!!! I RISE......... ABOVE....... So DO NOT Touch... The... IGNORANT... !!!!!! Because In TRUTH... They're UNTOUCHABLE Too... !!!! Because of How... Their Energies Sound... FAR TOO LOUD.... !!!!!! For Me To Receive... !!!!!!!! Because Like THIEVES... They Feed DECEIT And ROBBERY... !!! of Things I KEEP... UNTOUCHABLE... !!! Like The Way My CHI... DENIES These FIENDS... A Chance of Getting... TOO CLOSE To....... ME... UNTOUCHABLE... IS... The Theme of THIS Piece... Because YES It's TRUE... !!!! My Poetry Is UNTOUCHABLY.... A Way For Me To Offer YOU... A Piece of..... ME..... A Piece of My Heart... And YES... My Soul... !!! Now It Can Get DARK... Like...... Al Capone...... !!!!! But Shows MORE LOVE... Than... GANGSTER Thugs... !!!! It's More Like... " NESS "... !!! When I EXPRESS... !!!!!! NOT ELLIOT.... Or... Loch MONSTER Bred... !!! I'm Just Blessed With A... NESS... That Moulds And Blends In... With......... " FINESSE ".......... !!!!!!! That's ME... BIG VIRGE... !!! So My Final Words... In TRUTH... " ACCEPT "... That When It Comes To... ... Government... Their Court Systems... And FEDERAL Friends... They'll TRY Their Best... !!! To Cause... PROBLEMS... BUT NO Matter WHAT... !?! They TRY TO.... PULL.... My SPIRIT Will Stay UNCRUSHABLE... !!! So I'll... ETERNALLY Be... ...... " UNTOUCHABLE "..... !!!

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mee lords! let thy speak a little phase! thy shadow of mee dreams.? my little rose love of life.mee lady at castle steel one evening. a ghostly person she be . i love her but then you see. she a ghost of castle steel she was mee friend, mee love of life. when she was liveing. she call out the window one evening on moon lite night . my dear lord elliot where thy be mee lovely friend. by the meadow stream water of of life. and then a little bird flying around came down from sky that night. bite my love. on her hand. so i said over here my love . by the garden by our tree . what is love mee lords i'll be in the castle steel because mee lady spirit. live in these wall at castle steel. these is true story of us. we are children of forest an castle that live once upon a time in story. mee sweet love mee little rose flower of life that she be mee lady julie . a flower of my heart. the sunrise an sunset of my day. she the spring water of my life. my love of life my soul my heart thy true friend i had 400 hundred years ago she was wonderful person. my julie

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Jul 13, 2010

Jul 13, 2010 at 8:49 PM UTC

dennis-gunsteen

mee lady at castle steel

mee lords! let thy speak a little phase! thy shadow of mee dreams.? my little rose love of life.mee lady at castle steel one evening. a ghostly person she be . i love her but then you see. she a ghost of castle steel she was mee friend, mee love of life. when she was liveing. she call out the window one evening on moon lite night . my dear lord elliot where thy be mee lovely friend. by the meadow stream water of of life. and then a little bird flying around came down from sky that night. bite my love. on her hand. so i said over here my love . by the garden by our tree . what is love mee lords i'll be in the castle steel because mee lady spirit. live in these wall at castle steel. these is true story of us. we are children of forest an castle that live once upon a time in story. mee sweet love mee little rose flower of life that she be mee lady julie . a flower of my heart. the sunrise an sunset of my day. she the spring water of my life. my love of life my soul my heart thy true friend i had 400 hundred years ago she was wonderful person. my julie

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Miss Elliot is not just a single mom Miss Elliot is not just white trash Because Miss Elliot must stay calm In the lunchroom, though she grins wide, she’ll crash In the West End High lunchroom peak hour Miss Elliot, our warrior stands strong "You ugly white trash," they scream at the door But she keeps quiet, she won't yell you're wrong At home, she has a little one to watch She packs her bag, cleans off her recipe She claws in her mind for hope hard to catch As she quietly gives us a whisper "So what will it be Chris, Molly, Rudy?"

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Mar 17, 2015

Mar 17, 2015 at 9:55 PM UTC

Miss Elliot is not just a single mom Miss Elliot is not just white trash Because Miss Elliot must stay calm In the lunchroom, though she grins wide, she’ll crash In the West End High lunchroom peak hour Miss Elliot, our warrior stands strong "You ugly white trash," they scream at the door But she keeps quiet, she won't yell you're wrong At home, she has a little one to watch She packs her bag, cleans off her recipe She claws in her mind for hope hard to catch As she quietly gives us a whisper "So what will it be Chris, Molly, Rudy?"

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The hp deathstar had all but sqaushed are rebellion. And the pub falcon was being looked for parked in front of everycyber bar across the net so it really ****** cause capt Gonzo was really thirsty. We had taken refuge on endor for awhile untill thoose fury bastards got pissed over a simple misunderstanding they sure were some horney little teddy bears . In thinking over were to hide there was mention of eurainus to which I replied. Get your mind outta the gutter man. you just said eurainus. Cp bathsebo and R2 Swanson said s0mething to which I jokingly replied hush the men are talking once wasnt to smart. Ever been kick to the grown by a steel high heel shoe hopefully the numbness will wear off. Master golden had taught me much but that was many drinks ago. How am i supposed to remember that far back yesterday was a blur. So **** it lets kick his *** already jack skyhorner said. Darth Elliot was mighty the battle was hell. I would have joined in but someone had to rob the liqour cabinet besides Honzo Gonzo a bit of a hangover. As the stormtroppers aproached screamed like a 13 year old girl and ran to fire up the pub falcon. As the others said what about jack I said im sorry but he's gone it was brutle i took out as many as could. But Jack would want us to move on. Just then Jack appeared and said nice scream gonz. We blasted across the gallaxy with no direction cause ya know how guys are about asking for directions. Fully stocked and and reloaded so to speak. Drath Elliot was amighty foe. But no match for the outcast girly screaming Capt Gonzo

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Mar 23, 2010

Mar 23, 2010 at 1:45 PM UTC

john-patrick-robbins-aka-gonzo

The hp deathstar had all but sqaushed are rebellion. And the pub falcon was being looked for parked in front of everycyber bar across the net so it really ****** cause capt Gonzo was really thirsty. We had taken refuge on endor for awhile untill thoose fury bastards got pissed over a simple misunderstanding they sure were some horney little teddy bears . In thinking over were to hide there was mention of eurainus to which I replied. Get your mind outta the gutter man. you just said eurainus. Cp bathsebo and R2 Swanson said s0mething to which I jokingly replied hush the men are talking once wasnt to smart. Ever been kick to the grown by a steel high heel shoe hopefully the numbness will wear off. Master golden had taught me much but that was many drinks ago. How am i supposed to remember that far back yesterday was a blur. So **** it lets kick his *** already jack skyhorner said. Darth Elliot was mighty the battle was hell. I would have joined in but someone had to rob the liqour cabinet besides Honzo Gonzo a bit of a hangover. As the stormtroppers aproached screamed like a 13 year old girl and ran to fire up the pub falcon. As the others said what about jack I said im sorry but he's gone it was brutle i took out as many as could. But Jack would want us to move on. Just then Jack appeared and said nice scream gonz. We blasted across the gallaxy with no direction cause ya know how guys are about asking for directions. Fully stocked and and reloaded so to speak. Drath Elliot was amighty foe. But no match for the outcast girly screaming Capt Gonzo

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MC Lyte was lightweight The Queen Bee was unseemly compared to this woman who shared you and all you went through And Queen Latifah wasn't half the leader spoken word speaker singer soul seeker that Oo La La was that Fu Gee La was Missy Elliot lost her 8 stars when she lost weight (that's when she lost bars) Lauryn Lauryn Hill will always always be ours she might be modest but she'll always be my Hip Hop Goddess

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Sep 11, 2012

Sep 11, 2012 at 5:04 PM UTC

Hip Hop Goddess

MC Lyte was lightweight The Queen Bee was unseemly compared to this woman who shared you and all you went through And Queen Latifah wasn't half the leader spoken word speaker singer soul seeker that Oo La La was that Fu Gee La was Missy Elliot lost her 8 stars when she lost weight (that's when she lost bars) Lauryn Lauryn Hill will always always be ours she might be modest but she'll always be my Hip Hop Goddess

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I have a Friend And he has Me We met right here on HP He is noble and strong A good man, through and through Humble, insightful and gentle too Complex stories he does tell From experience and diaries kept so well Extraordinary accounts, he shares Creating poetic stories that shows he cares He's witty and charming He is oh so brave Many a life has he saved He came to Hp wondering if this was a place for him Safe to share his heart and tender skin At first, shy and tenuous to learn his skill Now he commands his work, Weaving words at will Our fascination he does hold With gritty stories so well told Epic adventures, first hand accounts Alway a moral, insight abounds Yes, I chose him And he chose Me Mark Cleavenger, My Poetic Friend here on HP In resonse to Elliot's #HPfriend Challenge (please read his latest Blog) Mark Cleavenger was my very first friend here at HP. Hello Poetry has opened my world to many fascinating Poets, from all around the Globe. (How cool is that?) I appreciate all of my Friends here at HP. I love being a member of this amazing, supportive community. ThankYou to all my HP friends ▪○●☆●♡♢♡●☆●○▪

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Jan 12, 2016

Jan 12, 2016 at 2:35 AM UTC

ChristiMichaels

I have a Friend And he has Me We met right here on HP He is noble and strong A good man, through and through Humble, insightful and gentle too Complex stories he does tell From experience and diaries kept so well Extraordinary accounts, he shares Creating poetic stories that shows he cares He's witty and charming He is oh so brave Many a life has he saved He came to Hp wondering if this was a place for him Safe to share his heart and tender skin At first, shy and tenuous to learn his skill Now he commands his work, Weaving words at will Our fascination he does hold With gritty stories so well told Epic adventures, first hand accounts Alway a moral, insight abounds Yes, I chose him And he chose Me Mark Cleavenger, My Poetic Friend here on HP In resonse to Elliot's #HPfriend Challenge (please read his latest Blog) Mark Cleavenger was my very first friend here at HP. Hello Poetry has opened my world to many fascinating Poets, from all around the Globe. (How cool is that?) I appreciate all of my Friends here at HP. I love being a member of this amazing, supportive community. ThankYou to all my HP friends ▪○●☆●♡♢♡●☆●○▪

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some of our teachers were awful nice and the harbour of sweet peccadillos (having to deal with us every day would make anyone crazy..) and i suppose they took refuge in their insect collecting in abyssinia.. (pasttimes tinged in the exotic and a nod to the sadistic..) but love of keats and wordsworth (etc)... miraculously remained undiminished.. (while demonstrating lethal aims and a plethora of different pain.. one used the leg of a chair and another gave his weaponry girl´ s names.. i guess they were just as bored as we were how the season´ s waxed and wained..) they still retained their soulful natures a wonder of testament to the great genius of elliot yeats and so forth..! their fundamental faith undimmed...

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Aug 19, 2018

Aug 19, 2018 at 8:40 AM UTC

some of our teachers were awful nice

some of our teachers were awful nice and the harbour of sweet peccadillos (having to deal with us every day would make anyone crazy..) and i suppose they took refuge in their insect collecting in abyssinia.. (pasttimes tinged in the exotic and a nod to the sadistic..) but love of keats and wordsworth (etc)... miraculously remained undiminished.. (while demonstrating lethal aims and a plethora of different pain.. one used the leg of a chair and another gave his weaponry girl´ s names.. i guess they were just as bored as we were how the season´ s waxed and wained..) they still retained their soulful natures a wonder of testament to the great genius of elliot yeats and so forth..! their fundamental faith undimmed...

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Elliot, please add to the HP rules: Caution: Don't drink and read!

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Apr 5, 2018

Apr 5, 2018 at 1:37 PM UTC

For Liz & Everyone With Wine Up Their Noses

Elliot, please add to the HP rules: Caution: Don't drink and read!

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Even in certain circles in certain minds in certain frames at certain times We can't know what's true And misconstrue can ring like Miss you too Self titles Reign demeaning And a finished product Watched like a B-Rated pre-screening Fed my gray matter But the rest of me is depleting Craig Morgan's playing baseball Elliot Smith in the background screaming Drinking OJ, it's how the Kardashians got there money, Nothing good even came from the cover, trust me it didn't. "She's in your hands now Treat her like a Princess You gotta respect her mind and her body" "Welcome to Shaboom Shaboom"

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May 6, 2017

May 6, 2017 at 2:04 AM UTC

"Welcome to Shaboom Shaboom"

Even in certain circles in certain minds in certain frames at certain times We can't know what's true And misconstrue can ring like Miss you too Self titles Reign demeaning And a finished product Watched like a B-Rated pre-screening Fed my gray matter But the rest of me is depleting Craig Morgan's playing baseball Elliot Smith in the background screaming Drinking OJ, it's how the Kardashians got there money, Nothing good even came from the cover, trust me it didn't. "She's in your hands now Treat her like a Princess You gotta respect her mind and her body" "Welcome to Shaboom Shaboom"

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Sin glows With sparkling richness Of all luminaries of blanketing galaxy Sin is worshiped and enshrined Righteousness is but blase fallacy With all over-flowing Affluence of new pentecostal churches and their greedy pastors And easy-come riches of Chiadzwa diamond fields with her flippant Gwejas and Gwejerinas Life is but black like Soddom's **** I hear the knell of dawning doom As Angels of doom boom... I swear by ****** Mary's blessed **** I saw a Stephen preaching down Rekai Tangwena Ave And was run down by a speeding motor car "O poor chap, was a good fellow," muttered God I saw drunken Thomas roaming the streets Of cogitation convincing himself it was true news That brother Jesus, pot-bellied in Armani suit Was back riding a top of the range Lamborghini And God shrugged his shoulders,kept quiet Afraid it may be fatally true I saw God wet his pants When listening to Elliot The Idiot's "Songs of Sobs" That applaud Simon and Peter fishing From people's pockets Songs that revere and adorn the vigilant Pillar of Salt Scorn and mock the meekness and softness of heart At Golgotha... Sin is vermin spreading In this our home,the infierno grande -dougwa-

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Mar 12, 2013

Mar 12, 2013 at 8:10 AM UTC

Sin glows With sparkling richness Of all luminaries of blanketing galaxy Sin is worshiped and enshrined Righteousness is but blase fallacy With all over-flowing Affluence of new pentecostal churches and their greedy pastors And easy-come riches of Chiadzwa diamond fields with her flippant Gwejas and Gwejerinas Life is but black like Soddom's **** I hear the knell of dawning doom As Angels of doom boom... I swear by ****** Mary's blessed **** I saw a Stephen preaching down Rekai Tangwena Ave And was run down by a speeding motor car "O poor chap, was a good fellow," muttered God I saw drunken Thomas roaming the streets Of cogitation convincing himself it was true news That brother Jesus, pot-bellied in Armani suit Was back riding a top of the range Lamborghini And God shrugged his shoulders,kept quiet Afraid it may be fatally true I saw God wet his pants When listening to Elliot The Idiot's "Songs of Sobs" That applaud Simon and Peter fishing From people's pockets Songs that revere and adorn the vigilant Pillar of Salt Scorn and mock the meekness and softness of heart At Golgotha... Sin is vermin spreading In this our home,the infierno grande -dougwa-

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Winter’s releasing us from its perpetually gray and gloomy grip. Who can study in their room, on a beautiful spring afternoon? Azaleas assail ya, with champagne petals of bubblegum fuchsias, they blush in near neon reflection, with a mathematical, fractal perfection. Courtyards that were once dark and uninviting, frosty scenes, sport impromptu manicured carpets, of flawless, vibrant greens. Dogwoods explode, abruptly overnight, with cherry blossom whites they blush like brides on parade, they sachet, swaying flag-like bouquets. Ordinary maples become emerald queens by unfurling avocado, hunter and chartreuse leaves, accented with vibrant electric limes and honeydews, as if to say, ‘We too can please.’ New life stretches, almost yawning, in the seemingly reborn sun, insects hum as they cultivate, birds flit excitedly, as if to say, ‘Why’re you inside? Come out and play - why do you even hesitate?’ I know there’s something in spring that’s irresistible, pheromonal, hormonal, surfeit and emotional. Is it the solar zenith angle or the sun’s declination that produces these delightful inclinations? . . Songs for this: Funky Galileo by Sure sure You get what you give by New Radicals New World Coming by Cass Elliot

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Apr 18, 2024

Apr 18, 2024 at 3:09 PM UTC

Winter’s releasing us from its perpetually gray and gloomy grip. Who can study in their room, on a beautiful spring afternoon? Azaleas assail ya, with champagne petals of bubblegum fuchsias, they blush in near neon reflection, with a mathematical, fractal perfection. Courtyards that were once dark and uninviting, frosty scenes, sport impromptu manicured carpets, of flawless, vibrant greens. Dogwoods explode, abruptly overnight, with cherry blossom whites they blush like brides on parade, they sachet, swaying flag-like bouquets. Ordinary maples become emerald queens by unfurling avocado, hunter and chartreuse leaves, accented with vibrant electric limes and honeydews, as if to say, ‘We too can please.’ New life stretches, almost yawning, in the seemingly reborn sun, insects hum as they cultivate, birds flit excitedly, as if to say, ‘Why’re you inside? Come out and play - why do you even hesitate?’ I know there’s something in spring that’s irresistible, pheromonal, hormonal, surfeit and emotional. Is it the solar zenith angle or the sun’s declination that produces these delightful inclinations? . . Songs for this: Funky Galileo by Sure sure You get what you give by New Radicals New World Coming by Cass Elliot

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21 hours ago received the message below, from a fellow poet, here, now somewhat, more disappeared, resting in the shady quietude of Elliot's servers a mere 21 hours ago, a thunderbolt telegram of virtual dots and dashes, well received she, whose name you have forgotten, even if you knew it back when and, I shan't knowingly now reveal... ***perhaps if you were one of the multiyear variates, still here, still seeking solutions to the equations of the human formulation, one of the veterans of the early word wars, when the line between fellow poet and human being was full of invitational openings, tween those dots and dashes, we all eagerly entered those places, crossing over into those human openings, making poets into friends, yes, if you webbed here back then, you may have known her too...*** 21 hours ago - "there's a reason I got to know you, even though that might sound silly. In a way, you saved me two summers ago..." ~~~~~~ this message, teaches me to remember the power of words supercharged, be careful what you write, you just might save a soul... didn't not ken, well enough the pressurized curve of her bend, though read all her private journals, her thesis academic, her private ascetic analysis and poems that milked & masked the angst of a life really real hard today reread, tried anyway, two years of messages ***could not feign the pain unintentionally recovered while looking for clues to myself, this purported savior*** all I recall is a woman near her ends woman near no means but knowing the meaning of the power drink meaning of "just going on" that was dug deep in between, and how we traded poems for each other, and I called her, daughter but from now on and within, when I see a message time stamped 21 hours ago I'll be better ready for the explosions of myself

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Apr 4, 2015

Apr 4, 2015 at 6:34 PM UTC

21 hours ago (2015)

21 hours ago received the message below, from a fellow poet, here, now somewhat, more disappeared, resting in the shady quietude of Elliot's servers a mere 21 hours ago, a thunderbolt telegram of virtual dots and dashes, well received she, whose name you have forgotten, even if you knew it back when and, I shan't knowingly now reveal... ***perhaps if you were one of the multiyear variates, still here, still seeking solutions to the equations of the human formulation, one of the veterans of the early word wars, when the line between fellow poet and human being was full of invitational openings, tween those dots and dashes, we all eagerly entered those places, crossing over into those human openings, making poets into friends, yes, if you webbed here back then, you may have known her too...*** 21 hours ago - "there's a reason I got to know you, even though that might sound silly. In a way, you saved me two summers ago..." ~~~~~~ this message, teaches me to remember the power of words supercharged, be careful what you write, you just might save a soul... didn't not ken, well enough the pressurized curve of her bend, though read all her private journals, her thesis academic, her private ascetic analysis and poems that milked & masked the angst of a life really real hard today reread, tried anyway, two years of messages ***could not feign the pain unintentionally recovered while looking for clues to myself, this purported savior*** all I recall is a woman near her ends woman near no means but knowing the meaning of the power drink meaning of "just going on" that was dug deep in between, and how we traded poems for each other, and I called her, daughter but from now on and within, when I see a message time stamped 21 hours ago I'll be better ready for the explosions of myself

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If drinking were a sport. I think Id take the gold. Even without your support. But if it there were such a whiskey laced dream. I think id have to start my own drinking team. You know in wine. We could clean house. With Baths everytime. For the wild turkey relay yours truley Gary and Jack would hold it down. Make the whole team hello including Elliot frown. Chris can drink his weight in Guinness. and so easily win us a god medal for sure. Who need rehab were in trainning no problem to cure. All the rest of the HP family will hang there head in shame. Cause when it cause when it comes to beer pong weve never lost a single game. Thank God for Paula. and Kerry cause sombobodys gotta stay sober to remember the story. And we always got Golden to write about are glory. And amoungst are group Danny is the youngest in are humble dive. Even if he doesnt have a license . Id rather let him than my drunk *** drive. In the showcase are medals shall gleam. Do you think your liver could handle. Being part ofthe pubs drinking team

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Mar 11, 2010

Mar 11, 2010 at 5:50 PM UTC

john-patrick-robbins-aka-gonzo

The Pubs Drinking Team

If drinking were a sport. I think Id take the gold. Even without your support. But if it there were such a whiskey laced dream. I think id have to start my own drinking team. You know in wine. We could clean house. With Baths everytime. For the wild turkey relay yours truley Gary and Jack would hold it down. Make the whole team hello including Elliot frown. Chris can drink his weight in Guinness. and so easily win us a god medal for sure. Who need rehab were in trainning no problem to cure. All the rest of the HP family will hang there head in shame. Cause when it cause when it comes to beer pong weve never lost a single game. Thank God for Paula. and Kerry cause sombobodys gotta stay sober to remember the story. And we always got Golden to write about are glory. And amoungst are group Danny is the youngest in are humble dive. Even if he doesnt have a license . Id rather let him than my drunk *** drive. In the showcase are medals shall gleam. Do you think your liver could handle. Being part ofthe pubs drinking team

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"It is a postulate implicit in all metaphysical poetry that nothing is ineffable, that the most rarefied feeling can be exact and exactly expressed. If you cease to be able to express feelings, you cease to be able to have them, and sensibility is replaced by sentiment, in the end by the vague expression of the vague, and poetry degenerates into a diversity of noises."

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Mar 31, 2010

Mar 31, 2010 at 3:29 AM UTC

Why T.S Elliot is always right.

"It is a postulate implicit in all metaphysical poetry that nothing is ineffable, that the most rarefied feeling can be exact and exactly expressed. If you cease to be able to express feelings, you cease to be able to have them, and sensibility is replaced by sentiment, in the end by the vague expression of the vague, and poetry degenerates into a diversity of noises."

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J.K. Rowling is the latest to call herself a bloke. Three Bronte sisters Made up male names So they could write, Not vote. George Elliot Was the nom de plume of a British lady fair. In Victorian times It was de riguer For a girl to feign a pair. Distaff scribes Are not alone In borrowing a name Sam Clemens took As “nom De Guerre” The river cry “Mark Twain” And Stephen King Who writes so fast That he’s in overdrive Adopted Richard Bachmann as a name And used it for some time. George Orwell Once was Erich Blair Lewis Carroll was Charles Dodson. “The Hobbit” Was my nom de plume But now I haven’t got one.

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Jul 19, 2013

Jul 19, 2013 at 7:57 AM UTC

john-f-mccullagh

J.K. Rowling is the latest to call herself a bloke. Three Bronte sisters Made up male names So they could write, Not vote. George Elliot Was the nom de plume of a British lady fair. In Victorian times It was de riguer For a girl to feign a pair. Distaff scribes Are not alone In borrowing a name Sam Clemens took As “nom De Guerre” The river cry “Mark Twain” And Stephen King Who writes so fast That he’s in overdrive Adopted Richard Bachmann as a name And used it for some time. George Orwell Once was Erich Blair Lewis Carroll was Charles Dodson. “The Hobbit” Was my nom de plume But now I haven’t got one.

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