"eminently" poems
How beastly the bourgeois is
especially the male of the species--
Presentable, eminently presentable--
shall I make you a present of him?
Isn't he handsome? Isn't he healthy? Isn't he a fine specimen?
Doesn't he look the fresh clean Englishman, outside?
Isn't it God's own image? tramping his thirty miles a day
after partridges, or a little rubber ball?
wouldn't you like to be like that, well off, and quite the
thing
Oh, but wait!
Let him meet a new emotion, let him be faced with another
man's need,
let him come home to a bit of moral difficulty, let life
face him with a new demand on his understanding
and then watch him go soggy, like a wet meringue.
Watch him turn into a mess, either a fool or a bully.
Just watch the display of him, confronted with a new
demand on his intelligence,
a new life-demand.
How beastly the bourgeois is
especially the male of the species--
Nicely groomed, like a mushroom
standing there so sleek and ***** and eyeable--
and like a fungus, living on the remains of a bygone life
******* his life out of the dead leaves of greater life
than his own.
And even so, he's stale, he's been there too long.
Touch him, and you'll find he's all gone inside
just like an old mushroom, all wormy inside, and hollow
under a smooth skin and an upright appearance.
Full of seething, wormy, hollow feelings
rather nasty--
How beastly the bourgeois is!
Standing in their thousands, these appearances, in damp
England
what a pity they can't all be kicked over
like sickening toadstools, and left to melt back, swiftly
into the soil of England.
4.9k
Why Men Like to Load the Dishwasher
We are the artists of shape and configuration,
puzzle masters solving riddles of physics,
worshipers at the altar of labor saving devices,
this is a love poem of sorts, a Bazinga salutation,
to men and their undying love
for **** machines.
were it in my power
all cups would be handle-less,
the dishwasher time-space continuum
would be non-interrupted by black holes
where handles pointlessly protrude,
requiring endless rearrangement,
a soul destroying exercise.
bowls of any sort should have bottoms that retract.
indeed, the capacity increase, a visible fact,
is so enviro-friendly, eminently sensible,
that the loading for mechanical scrubbing
is deserved of a wing in the Smithsonian.
perhaps the budgeteers of Congress
should be tutored in this artistry,
how to make any limited resource,
better used.
the rub, as the bard would have writ,
is that this roaring tempest-tost,
our love for hard labor lost,
secret sacrificed behind a locked door,
of a Sanctum ********
is entirely due, all glory to,
the secret society of fairies who
hide-reside inside,
freeing us to write more poetry.
in so many ways that I cannot reveal,
less the other gender members squeal,
men live to love to load the dishwasher,
for the ingenuity challenge, and of course,
the side benefit of the excusing coverup,
"I helped clean up," a relationship saver,
proof positively that the dishwasher inventor,
was surely a brilliant woman
May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 8:26 AM UTC
for her
no special expertise claimed,
if anything, les contraries,
my non-expertise,
but nothing forbids
my heart from trying
red crossing,
rebuilding just this young one
build from the corners in,
like one starts a jigsaw puzzle,
the human, moving parts,
thus harder,
but eminently doable
the corners are straight edged, linear,
easier to spot, easier to start,
but for you to find them within,
go outside, and window winnow in
you will know them as your
truest words
pick the picture
of you,
you know
you must pick,
the puzzle picture
of you
that favorite one
when completed,
will, though cracked,
as jigsaw puzzles
by nature wont,
as all humans
are wont,
will be the one
that brings smiles
first, foremost
she asks:
*"Where are these edges that define me,
help me to construct and the where to begin?"*
after sixty years more on this planet,
have been torn apart,
reconstructed, deconstructed,
more then ten finger and ten toe times
this I know,
there is but one beauty
in this crueled worn
every day weary-world,
it is you,
you words that betray
Beautiful You
oh so well
you see I have your picture,
you see I have your words,
deconstructed, reconstructed,
I love your picture,
I love your words,
start with me, start at the corners,
show me the pieces,
tho the world see the ex
terior,
I see the in
terior,
the shiny new
true sides, so beautiful,
wake knowing that
not just me dearest Chalsey,
I have found your chalice,
and your grail,
and I say,
this is just one man,
this can be where you start,
this then be your mirror,
let us from the corners in,
from the eyes that penetrate,
accept that this is not debatable,
this is my poem where I do not lie,
this is my piece of you,
from inside of me
my straight edge piece was
born in your beautiful words,
and I say,
can you, see a voice,
can you, touch a voice,
no one can
but I can
your voice is transcendent,
it is the cover photo of a glossy mag,
this is the photo, the puzzle I see,
and heart each and every word
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 6:55 AM UTC
They don't speak, all the long,
winding bus journey. They are
strangers, with nothing in common
besides the No 50 route
and the free travel passes
afforded to them on account
of their quietly advancing years.
She sits in the seat in front of him.
Their eyes never lock. His myopic
gaze through thick NHS lenses
rests neutral on the back of her head,
her softly blue-rinsed curls and the collar
of an eminently sensible overcoat.
They sit, both silent, as
- outside the foggy bus windows -
winter has one last chew on
time's bony old carcass.
She has a slight stoop which
she's doing her best to hide, and his
shaking hands make his liver spots blur.
They stand - the bus stopping at their
mutual destination - shuffling sideways
into the aisle, and something
unexpected
happens.
The bus jolts suddenly forwards,
then lurches to a startled halt,
and she falls backwards
into his arms
and he
catches her.
For a second,
strange gravities assume control.
There's a moment,
governed by different laws of
physics and chemistry
and half-forgotten, half-remembered biology.
She flushes, infused with something
warm and thirst-whettingly girlish, and he
surges with a newfound potency,
standing taller, the woman he's supporting
somehow lessening the burden of his age.
Her spine straightens, and
she laughs. His face, smiling, youthens.
His hands hold her unstooped shoulders and
don't tremble.
Sun breaks through cloud outside the window.
They remember it's spring out there somewhere.
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 10:45 AM UTC
I whispered this secret to the ocean, but it was rejected on the sand.
The pressure has become too thick for me to withstand.
The words have over heated, locked in the oven…well overdue.
The truth of this all may burn, but this needs to be heard by you.
An unquenched thirst in a drought…
My world has flipped around, completely inside out.
Before I could find the right words, I resorted to the dirt.
I buried this secret as the seconds ticked…only way to obliterate how much it hurt.
One day the clock stopped ticking, I thought it was well off buried; eminently suppressed.
Come to think of it, the ***** little secret was just compressed.
Constricting so tight I began digesting my lungs…
Nothing bothered me, because everything was numb.
So I replaced my eyes with reflectors from the sun,
My heart fell in lust with the concept of a dark place to run.
Grabbed my lucky charm and a parachute, with the intent to leave one at the ledge.
From the top of the cliff I jumped, just as I made my pledge.
If I were meant to fight this battle, I’d make it to the ground: free fall.
Lucky charm in hand, all dependent on fate’s call.
This is a tough war to face alone, but the last thing I want is sympathy.
Just asking if you’d have my back…if need be.
Pretty well off on my own, I don’t want any kind of hero,
But if you can handle it, meet me at ground zero.
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 1:17 AM UTC
Sombre loneliness in the abyss of power
Where selfishness begets solitude,
In which the powerful ones that be
Eminently hang alone self-ostracized
In a high catacomb of democracy
From which is connived the foul whims
Of dictatorship, the sole protégé
Of deliberate exclusion, rendering mankind
To beautiful menace of powerlessness
A pedestal on which civilsations of Africa
Substantially dangle in a stand.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 4:22 AM UTC
•
*My love will always,
Be with you my dear soulmate,
All the time my king,
Forever, it's infinite,
My all revolves around you.
I know we have fears,
Fears of losing each other,
Though in fact no one's leaving,
And it's normal my darling,*
'Cause we're in realms of TRUE LOVE.
*No matter how long,
Oh, my loyalty won't fade,
I will just be here,
Patiently waiting for you,
For God is blessing this love.
I only want you,
I only need you, Brandon,
My love's forever,
I'll risk all just to keep you,
I'll protect you my dear king.
Remember my love,
That I will never give up,
Even with trials,
I will stand firm and fight hard,
I'll do whatever it takes.
'Cause I truly love you so eminently,
And I'll demonstrate you my love endlessly.*
with love <3
© Earl Jane
♥ E.J.C.S.
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 9:14 AM UTC
1086
What Twigs We held by—
Oh the View
When Life’s swift River striven through
We pause before a further plunge
To take Momentum—
As the Fringe
Upon a former Garment shows
The Garment cast,
Our Props disclose
So scant, so eminently small
Of Might to help, so pitiful
To sink, if We had labored, fond
The diligence were not more blind
How scant, by everlasting Light
The Discs that satisfied Our Sight—
How dimmer than a Saturn’s Bar
The Things esteemed, for Things that are!
1.6k
•
**I
saw
you,**
*Bringing a bunch of yellow flowers,
Which I eminently love and adore,*
Then, you were
**c
r
y
i
n
g,**
*w o
I n
d
e
r
w h
y,*
And felt your tears
**F
A
L
L
I
N
G.....**
on me,
My heart was
C R U S H E D !
I don't want to see you in that way,
I tried to hug and comfort you,
**But I was locked in this box,
With a glass in front of my face...**
© Earl Jane
♥ E.J.C.S.
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 11:38 AM UTC
IX
Lady that in the prime of earliest youth,
Wisely hath shun’d the broad way and the green,
And with those few art eminently seen,
That labour up the Hill of heav’nly Truth,
The better part with Mary and with Ruth,
Chosen thou hast, and they that overween,
And at thy growing vertues fret their spleen,
No anger find in thee, but pity and ruth.
Thy care is fixt and zealously attends
To fill thy odorous Lamp with deeds of light,
And Hope that reaps not shame. Therefore be sure
Thou, when the Bridegroom with his feastfull friends
Passes to bliss at the mid hour of night,
Hast gain’d thy entrance, ****** wise and pure.
1.2k
Eminently most nights
you enter my dreams
falling languidly
within each
moving ethereal scene
The first light of morning
feels cold and unwelcoming
an imposing enemy
waiting for me to rouse
staring blankly
carrying me away
from my most precious clouds
Sleep and the peaceful state
of 'just being'
has become my most
sought after friend indeed
upon awakening
I recall with wonder
who is luckier?
you or me?
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 6:31 PM UTC
Discernment often resembles a fable
When translating the language composed by women
As tantalizing as these creatures may be
Various medleys of gestures so fallaciously are given
On certain occasions it appears that
One’s efforts have been green lit
When so suddenly red flags are discovered
Dancing amidst the clouds
Gradually the entire project
Grows to be eminently disheartening
Women, the puppeteers that they reflect,
Behave as if the universe
Is a vaginal duplication
Although society may deem that laughable
The results of such callousness
Quite strangely are familiar…
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 8:16 AM UTC
And so in days past
the Zen Master sat with his disciples
in silent meditation
and a Divine Being appeared before them all
and addressing the Master, the Divine Being said:
"Hey, listen you - yeah, you, the Eminently Bald
For your patient and sustained meditation
I offer you a reward
Choose what you like:
infinite wisdom, infinite beauty, or infinite money"
"Infinite wisdom, of course," said the Master, promptly
And so it was done, and the Divine Being disappeared
as Divine Beings usually do
Silence followed and then one disciple dared to speak:
"Oh Master, tell us something
now that you have Infinite Wisdom"
There was no pause, and the Master said:
"I wish I'd chosen Infinite Money"
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 3:52 AM UTC
I do hope everything goes as arranged.
As it is but a delusion sometimes,
everything in this obscured brain 'o mine.
(Yes, I hope it works out.) :::
Maybe, somehow.
Sigh
Life has it's way of being a schmuck.
Perhaps, we could live in our heads. Die in our beds. Become ghost and bobble around hospital beds, secretly trying to make the living better and happier.
Because we are virtuous ghost.
Quite content with being so.
And I'd be happy, if you are happy.
And if you are sad, I am eminently sorry you became a ghost bobbling around hospital beds,
secretly trying to make
the living
happier,
better
and all of those ethical, virtuous
things.
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 5:06 AM UTC
I like someone I can't deny.
I think of her every time.
Sight of her make my time die.
Butterfly want to come out fly.
I don't know how can I comply.
My feelings acting like wild fire.
I want her heart too know my heart.
Eminently want her this hard.
Only If I could tell what I feel in my heart.
Hear me saying can I be in your heart.
I will cherish you, Care for you.
Do everything for you.
If only I could tell.
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 5:23 AM UTC
I miss
I miss your hair in my face
I miss your lips, the way that it tastes.
I miss your nose when it collides with mine
I miss your eyes, eminently when it shines.
I miss your body, your form, your shape
I miss your hugs, it makes me safe
I miss your kiss, it builds up my day
I miss your hands, how mine and yours sway.
I miss your tender love and care
I miss your presence, all the time that we shared.
I miss all those memories that we had
I miss you, love, I miss you so bad
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 12:20 PM UTC
Texts I never sent once you left me, again
1. Nothing feels as comforting as your arms around me. I remember feeling weightless with you. Now, my body is constantly strained from carrying my broken heart. It's so heavy. I'm so ******* heavy...I'm sorry you're heavy too.
2. I'm not happy with what I've done or who I have become while loving you. I'm sorry for being so hazy
3. Last year, I made a promise to myself to only surround myself with positive people. Coincidentally, I met you shortly after. We grew attached at the hip, always together. Your antics rubbed off on me, along with your enthusiasm. I've been isolating myself since you left. I broke that promise to myself- when I needed to keep it most
4. You shouldn't have to justify why you fell out of love. I'm sorry for begging you to
5. My grandmother told me I would have my heart broken before I found the one, but if I was lucky, the same person would repair the damages he had caused. I was heart broken the first time you left, but you came back. Why aren't you coming back now?
6. I'm heavy again, I'm sure you are free by now
7. People tell me my sadness is pretty, that the words spewing from my heart are divine, but my words were never enough to make you stay
8. I want you here. I want you to kiss the marks I created when I didn't want to wake up.
9. I miss you eminently and sometimes I can't feel my body. Please don't tell me you understand or that I'll be okay. You aren't ******* listening
10. I woke up choking your name
11. Every single time you promised to stay- you should have clarified that you meant as a memory
12. I've been splitting my veins like glow sticks in hopes of seeing new light
13. I'm ******* tired of all the metaphors, why can't it all just be about you again
14. Poe encountered a raven, while I encountered you. Somehow we both went mad
15. goodnight
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 12:39 AM UTC
where to begin?
not this **** again
the constant deliberation
your harsh beration
is that even a word?
I wouldn't know, you're not here to correct me
But I'll still prostrate myself before you
Never imply, never implore you
to swallow the pride I so eminently taste
on the tip on your tongue in the flames of your space
for I articulated immensely and pure,
I've no pride left -- I've already tried to say
that I Miss You
In the olive branch of thought, or concern, or encouragement
The snicker on your lips at the edge of the cord
Has snapped in my face, in a favored exchange
You say I don't owe you
But maybe I do?
I couldn't tell you why
I'll still say I Miss You
Chuckle in my face
say I'm looking too hard
when half passed a year, and I saw that you star- -ted
to write in the place I hold dear to my heart
You played where you meant and you knew these parts
I would puzzle together would puzzle my head
to ensure that your seed had been planted and fed
And I hate the feeling you put in this trough
I'll lap at the puddle, still claim that is
All Love.
You forget that I know you
From that you can't hide
You forget that I know the shake in your voice
When you lie
Despite your uncanny ability still,
This hostility doesn't suit you
Not that I think that I will
change that as of late.
I just wish you could swallow that burdened mind
The one with the Pride?
The one you never tried
to combat or control
because control is a need
I see that , I know that , so control what you please
But no more, not me
It's me.
It is me.
Can you not at all, remember it's me?
Not a burden
A binding
An obligation "back home"
No pressure
No lectures
Just a box of our notes.
The snipping aversion proceeding the kind
Doesn't look good on you,
I've reached and I've tried.
So I'll favor this favor, because my heart's cured --
Unbandaged,
I'll tell you I Miss You
once more.
this time try to
Be honest with me.
Mar 23, 2020
Mar 23, 2020 at 8:35 PM UTC
It's too late
They said as her petite frame
Spiraled then plummeted into the sea.
She's already ascended like a dove,
They felt no need to hesitate
At proclaiming the unfortunate's fate.
Always quick to hate
What they cannot annotate
Yet so eager to love
The greatest of us
Reborn from our ashes.
She took the leap
Not to cease
But to breathe -
Through airborne lungs
To see-
The greatest moments ignite
To fuse-
With an infinite moment in time
In one fleeting hope:
After the waves
Drew her lifeless limbs away,
After she slept
On the ocean bed,
Her words might eminently thrive
Though no one heard while her lips held life,
Their once-deaf ears would at last listen
To a phantom's composition.
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 1:43 AM UTC
eminently lickable
possibly crunchable
with a tootsie roll center
mayhaps
you my friend are slim
with let's be honest
kind of a big head
you are unhealthy
if only to a minor degree
you make me think
of Dr Freud.
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 10:44 PM UTC
Endora:
I can’t breath, my lungs are burning
Everything around me is twirling.
Everything inside me squeezes eminently, grabbing away my desire to live on.
I am filled with pain, till my last bone.
My eyes are full of blood rivers.
He is dying in the roaring silence.
Lucas:
As I opened my eyes,
I saw dazzling stars dancing in the sunset
It was as quiet as a dead silence, creating a peaceful setting.
I breathed in, a fresh freezing air
I can’t stop gazing at this glare.
Am I dead or is it just a dream?
Endora:
Is it a dream or he is really dead?
This shouldn’t be the end!
Each moment, memory with him, was a blest
It flashed to the right and to the left
I wish I could say ‘I love you till death’
Just as a lest
Lucas:
As I walked in a gloomy forest
I felt that Endora felt the sorest
I can't stop thinking about her. Besides.
Out of the blue,I noticed a glorious figure.
Her dress was fluttering in the wind.
However, I didn't have a chance to see the owner of this gracious dress.
“Come back, come back” said the soft voice
I didn't have a chance to see the owner of this soft voice.
Endora:
As I came back, he opened his eyes...
Mar 16, 2021
Mar 16, 2021 at 3:02 AM UTC
*I hope you are well. Truly. My name is gladys, I am twenty-two, this is not an autobiography. This one time I almost crashed my car into a metal sign post in order to not run over a pigeon. I often leave secret notes hidden between the pages of books from my favourite authors in public libraries and book stores. I never got my photograph/ senior quote published in my graduating class' yearbook in high school because I am eminently indecisive. I don't mind it, however, I sort of like the idea of it, a somewhat absent nostalgia. I really like it when people unthinkingly do kind things for other people. I like the color blue, a lot, although I rarely wear it. I use commas quite excessively in my writing. I like that they indicate a brief pause but are not as final as periods. I like many things, I like to do face exercises and arm stretches at night before I go to sleep. And that, that is all. For now.
You are wonderful, goodnight.*
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 2:58 AM UTC
Nothing about a bird's life
seems difficult,
after escaping the egg. All birds ever called to fly,
first survive the egg.
After surviving the egg,
each bird seems
eminently able -- wait,
learning to fly,
that seems difficult
no, that, too, is automatic, an algorithm in some avian system
of cellular facility formation
while
maturation of flight feathers takes time,
not know how.
Wait, and see if
reasoning in birdbrains may be mono pole,
one aim, one direction
like by monopole
electrons driven, an action reaction loop, find good...
good? no, good? no, good, yes,eat this and
grow a few feathers,
without thinking, what are feathers for,
where no feathers were.
Birdbrains do not reason why. The baby watches
momma fly.
Unless, men have changed the program, tamed our wild ways,
fed us corn in quantities we never could imagine,
ours is but to be useful, my Raven mentor caws,
laughing like he knows I have no clue.
-- in the air a query, are chickens still birds?
May 21, 2020
May 21, 2020 at 12:31 PM UTC