"emphasise" poems
Municipal Gum was written by Oodjeroo Noonecaal. Municipal Gum is about the changes in society and the tendency of people to want to control everything. Oodjeroo uses various techniques to convey this idea.
At the beginning of the poem Oodjeroo is addressing the tree. This immediately creates empathy for both the tree and her people. By the last line she has emphasised this with the pronoun “us” to show that they suffer a similar fate.
This poem expresses how life in Australia has changes especially for Aboriginal people. In the first half of the poem Oodjeroo is talking about how life was for her and others. It explores the changes in society and the displacement of the Aboriginal people from their land.
“Whose head hung…Its hopelessness”, the author uses this as further re-iteration of the immorality of the situation and by the use of analogy comparing the tree to her people to further emphasise the shame and lack control of that the Europeans have inflicted upon her and the environment.
Oodjeroo uses extended metaphor technique in the very first line of the poem ‘Hard bitumen around your feet’. This means that the gumtree has been placed in the city scape where it is suppressed and not allowed to spread out and be unique in its own way. This is clear and immanently direct link to the pain and suffering endured by the Aborigines post European settlement.
Oodjeroo uses vivid language to present these ideas. For example the use of the word castrated is very effective. The connotation of the word is very demeaning. With castration often comes a sense of a loss of pride and power. The word castration is symbolic of how Oodjeroo feels the European have treated Aboriginal people and the environment. Castration also refers to the fact that what is done is done. Nothing can undo what they did and the damaged they have caused.
Other symbolism includes the title “Municipal Gum”, municipal meaning community, implies that the gumtree belongs to the community. One of the vast differences between European and Aboriginal law is that Aboriginal people did not believe in the ownership of land or of animals and plants. Municipal Gum is a reference to the Europeans assumptions that everything is theirs to own and control.
The rhetorical question, “O fellow citizen, What have they done to us?” is the conclusion of the implications that have been made throughout the poem. Oodjeroo, is advocating for her people and all things wronged by the controlling behaviour of the Europeans. Rhetorical questions are used to provoke thought and to stimulate a pre-determined response. “What have they done to us?” They have “castrated, broken… strapped and buckled” and ultimately changed things to a point that they cannot be fixed.
In conclusion, Municipal Gum is a poem about the constrictions and change that the European invaders forced upon the Aboriginal community and the environment she believes that the Europeans have deemed themselves ever powerful and practice their power in a manner that is immoral.
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 7:47 AM UTC
From the BBC today,
Excerpt
Why does Taylor Swift write so many one-note melodies?
"It's easy to get distracted by her celebrity, but Taylor Swift is a once-in-a-generation songwriter. From the very beginning, she's displayed a knack for melody and storytelling that most artists never master.
Take, for example, her first US number one, OUR SONG
Written for a high school talent show, it's a fairly typical tale of teenage romance until the final lines: "I grabbed a pen / And an old napkin / And I wrote down our song."
That's smart, self-assured songwriting for someone who wasn't old enough to vote. Notably, the lyrics insert the musician directly into the narrative - something she developed into a tried and tested trope.
But Our Song also establishes another of Taylor's trademarks: The one-note melody.
Excerpt
Repetitive melodies that centre around a single note are part of that appeal. They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech.
"They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech."
"They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech."
"They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech."
Rebuttal
Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics. They can relate to your song but if they cannot sing it themselves putting themselves in the 'first-person perspective narrative' they cannot feel as-if they have BECOME the artist and are living that moment as they remember it. Taylor Swift sings about teenage love and angst something EVERYONE ON EARTH understands.
ALL POETRY BEGAN AS RHYME IN SONG.
Cadences are singing statements that confer a discipline and unity.
Song acts as a catharsis. The artist shares their pain in a way that is universally understood. If you want to sell a rock, literally a pebble, you will not sell it if it doesn't look like a rock. If it doesn't do what rocks do. If it is not what people remember a rock to be like. Nor will it sell if it is just like every other rock they have ever seen. It cannot convey an emotion unless it elicits emotion.
One cannot even begin to feel emotional if one cannot remember easily the past and that includes lyrics one has heard that evoked said emotional state.
It is horrifying to see HOW BADLY EVERYONE INSISTS that rhyme be obliterated in exchange for an intellectual or individual perspective NOT SHARED BY THE MAJORITY OF PEOPLE.
If you want to sell and make money you better start thinking about the 99% of people who are not geniuses.
If your sole goal in life is to attract a genius to give you a great job because of how, "smart," they perceive you to be then fine.
You are not an artist.
You are an employee.
"Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics."
"Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics."
"Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics."
Thrice Times Great. ⁻ᴴᵉʳᵐᵉˢ
BECOME
EVERYONE ON EARTH
ALL POETRY BEGAN AS RHYME IN SONG
HOW BADLY EVERYONE INSISTS
NOT SHARED BY THE MAJORITY OF PEOPLE
HOW BAD
artist?
or employee?
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 10:29 AM UTC
"Alternative Facts" the truth belies,
Often in "Fake News" the real truth lies,
"Exaggeration", "Aggrandizing"
In truth are other words for lying.
The value of honesty seems lost,
Sad truth is, at a terrible cost!
To our kids now we must emphasise
That Facts; the Truth, must Always Trump Lies,
That by lying there's nothing to gain;
That Truth cannot be held in disdain.
From lies and untruths all must refrain
To make Truth, Honesty, Great Again!
Nov 9, 2017
Nov 9, 2017 at 9:21 AM UTC
Don't be
A mole.
I hate moles.
They burrow
And
Scavenge
And
Live in the
Dark.
Thats just
What you did
To my heart.
You burrowed
Deep,
Down to the center.
You set up camp.
And I didn't know
You were a mole.
I thought maybe you were
A
Straw,
To ****
Bad things
Out.
So I kept you warm
And waited calmly for the
Bad stuff to
Dissapear.
But I realized
That
You were a
Magnifying glass,
To emphasise
My flaws
And you were
A
Seam-ripper
To
Pull the patches
From where
I had already healed,
To make the scabs
Bleed
Again.
And I thought you were
A
Jigsaw
And you were broken
So I could fix you
And put you
Together.
Like a
Vase,
Easily
B
r
o
k
e
n.
And
Then
You left me.
Like a
Tooth
Full of
Cav it ies.
That
Space
Next
To
My heart
No longer full.
And you
Didn't depend on me,
No longer a tapeworm.
I miss you.
Like
You
Were
Mine.
But you were
Never
Mine.
Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 9:06 PM UTC
Is humanism Utopian?
You really have to think about it.
Or is it rather more dystopian?
No, then I think you’d never doubt it.
It seems that disbelief is best.
Humanism owes a debt
to thinkers of the Enlightenment,
although I haven’t paid it yet,
I think of it as my entitlement
to settle it at some behest.
I very early cleared my mind of Kant,
experiencing a vast relief,
approaching his chef d’oeuvres extant;
removing knowledge to allow belief;
the opposite of what he had expressed.
It occurred to me I ought to dig up
(or should I say instead ex-hume?)
what constitutes at least an egg-cup-
full of wisdom that I might consume
with non-platonic zest.
But wondering how on earth to do so
and thinking he might hold the key,
I fixed my sights on Jean Jacques Rousseau
and set sail for my destiny,
while trying not to feel depressed.
Voltaire’s voices loudly rang in deaf ears
as did the Persian Letters of Montesquieu
and failed to still my latent fears.
And thus I felt no need to rescue
Adam Smith (morality-obsessed).
To put Descartes before the Horse-
men of the Apocalypse
War, famine, pestilence and worse.
Who could guess it would eclipse
my thought, wherefore I was oppressed.
Or take the case of Denis Diderot
a friend of Hume and others seedier.
and one you might consider so
rash as to produce an encyclopedia
to get his knowledge off his chest.
That precious quality of truth
was Mary Ann’s# description of it.
It would not take a Sherlock sleuth
to simply thus produce a conviction of it:
an elementary request.
I cut my questing teeth on Russell.
His secular logic had a profound effect
and seemed to stir each red corpuscle
inhabiting this fervid non-sect-
arian but doubting breast.
I later turned my eye on Dawkins,
and his concern with my divine delusion.
A sceptic whose inspiring squawkings
validate my disillusion
and emphasise an ill-starred quest.
And so I felt the pointlessness of it.
Progress is the best end for a man to see
And belief simply produced less profit
for reality’s dispelling of my fantasy.
So, in the end, I acquiesced.
#Mary Ann Evans, aka George Eliot, in Adam Bede
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 10:21 AM UTC
☆
*"Our sweet children, where have you been?
We're waiting for you outward the ingress,
Admitting : you nowhere were seen
As you are: each — an enraptured princess!"
☆
Vivacious shades on your ethno coat
Emphasise your femininity;
Bastet at heart — best childrens lifeboat!
Spacey gray cap: fairish and witty —
☆
It suits you — dear darling — shared hugs
Of wellcome! Lively, charming's your gaze
As young Notre~Dame; and blue scarabs
Are lit on your kind fortunate face.
☆
The theatre lady, the dreamer,
The writer, the thinker, you're teacher,
Performer, a woman, protector
Creator, great mother, old friend!*
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 5:28 PM UTC
i feel the synergy
when our souls connect
a sacred energy
that binds our love and our intellect.
i cant imagine any earthly force
that could break our soul ties
our emotional course
was mapped and carved by our spiritual knives
i feel the synergy
when our souls share a few tears
an empathetic energy
that cures our growing pains and fears.
a thousand love letters later, ive come to realise
ive written the word synergy too many times
but not enough times to emphasise
the synergy between your soul and mine.
- t.m
Dec 26, 2016
Dec 26, 2016 at 5:55 AM UTC
Have you ever tasted the finality of abandonment?
I fully acknowledge the ambivalence of hateful and loving connectedness.
But, there is something wonderful about lunar eclipses amidst dark forests where trees creak and groan with the pains of animism.
The dial of the sun will emphasise her eternal wheel of galactic sobriety, whilst interaction transcends her promiscuous limitations of what is deemed to be sophisticated.
What do you understand about hormones?
Thank you, oh priestess of resentful misogyny.
I applaud your sexuality.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 11:33 PM UTC
i shall remain as a hidden piece of a puzzle,
puzzling myself to pieces on why storms
swirl daily around the absence of my brain.
and on this rainy friday afternoon it should be no different;
wondering how i came to be, perched away
in the back of the room to watch a flood of unfamiliar smiles.
when did i become so lonely and outcast?
the dread of not liking most of the people i'm around dawns
and my jagged edges of a puzzle piece emphasise.
i do not fit with these people. they are
too sure on their happiness.
Sep 2, 2016
Sep 2, 2016 at 8:25 AM UTC
*The Universe was molded for you and I to share
We are created with big Hearts so that we care
blessed with flawless eyes so we can see the road
and the might it takes to lighten a neighbour's load
these feet are built tough for the miles to walk
we have developed brains to digest and think
and the courage to sail through life like we can never sink
we have these warm arms to tightly embrace
not folding fists, holding weapons to bring unrest
We are born with curiosity,cause life's an adventure
and a difference made by you is your presence in absensure
the beautiful teeth are designed to **** your smile
not to greet in unnecessary coarse envy and bile
our experiences are for us to inspire and tell
to uplift them whose lives feel like a living hell
the mountains and hills were built for us to hike
ensure each fresh climb beats your previous height
rainbows are hope after rain, pleasure after pain
why give up the struggle when you can start again?
the gardens of life are floret scented with consolation
for broken hearts trapped in the darkness of desolation
the scars are a testimony that wounds do heal
don't let a moment the rest your life steal
the starved hunter surrenders not when he has no ****
for the sweet glowing Sun often rises after the bitter chill
these ugly poems are penned to emphasise
that the beautiful souls are seeded to empathise.
leave your footprints in Hearts and not on sand
the dust in the heart holds firmer than that on land
so use your arms, feet, might, heart and soul
use your greatest possession for the good of us all*
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 2:51 AM UTC
u.n.i.t.y.
john lennon and peace signs
mandela and african lives
jordan and twenty three
bob marley and marijuana trees
el chapo and ivory *******
courtney love and kurt colbain.
ive written the word synergy too many times
but not enough times to emphasise
the synergy between your soul and mine.
- t.m
Dec 21, 2016
Dec 21, 2016 at 9:51 AM UTC
Will you leave now?
You know they always leave
But they don't always say why
I don't know which one of us I should believe
So many reasons for farewells
Some leave by will, some by chance
And some for someone else
Will you leave now?
Leave me never to return
Some of them never learn
When is it too late to try again?
So many reasons for farewells
Some leave by will, some by chance
And some for someone else
Will you leave me now?
Leave with words that you regret
But never come back to correct
Forever there leading you astray
So many reasons for farewells
Some leave by will, some by chance
And some for someone else
Will you leave me now?
To emphasise that our love has lost it's worth
Take back your heart but leave your shirt
Slam the door on all this hurt
So many reasons for farewells
Some leave by will, some by chance
And some for someone else
Will you leave me now?
Maybe I should have thought of leaving you
I always thought we´d make it through
You know they always leave
But never why they left
Some leave by will, some by chance
and some try to forget
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 7:12 PM UTC
\|/
@-@
( -Q- )
<=>
how I
drool over obese girls
with huge great cheeks
of wobbly dimpled fat
>========o======== no skinny birds for me!=======o========<
absolutely no way
yeeha
i love to see wobbly
fat girls waddling along
with their tyres of white flab
quivering in their size 88 jeans
like a pack of rabid rabbits fighting
in a rubber sack, and what do they need
yessir, they are barking for a friendly *****
from moi, edna the chubby-chaser and lover
of gorgeous female flesh body mass index forty
(at an absolute total minimum i must emphasise)
and preferable fifty so they look like a giant dumpling
i know you know the sort of image i crave: dimpled, dappled
acreages of heaving ********** wowee-yowee i am so excited
please god lead me to the land where the extra supersize fatties live
and let me exhaust my ***** gaze on their incredible buxom enormities
let me get my paws on them let me wallow in their glories dear god
oh yes indeedy when you come to think of it there's nothing like
a huge billowing fatso to get my blood afire with testosterone
and bottom-of-the-barrel-scraping loving lust
so why not jump off a pier
all you skinny minnies
per-lease
/\
/ \
/ \
@ @
/ \
/ \
+++ +++
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 12:48 PM UTC
This is no classic scene on a movie screen.
This is real life.
And it’s scenes are the most obscene.
This pain is felt first hand,
And your confusion is severe.
We look to the asphalt and to these mechanic machines and
Believe we live in our ancestors virtual dreams.
You scream:
“It’s 2019!”
And take that as evidence of progress;
Like we are closer to ‘the truth‘ now
Than when even our foods weren’t processed?
Progress?
Yes,
We emphasise physicality
And make clowns of our spirituality
So we can parade falsity.
You see,
We latch to this planet like a leach.
Manipulating your free speech
As you learn only what is deemed worthy to teach.
And that’s it!
That’s all you need to know!
Go on, throw a fit
And call it “history in the making”
While you transfer all knowledge in
A glowing rectangle,
And still mistake emotions with rationality
Yes we’ve reached this calamity!
Don’t make me laugh!
You hate war?
But you get bored of peace
And you fetishise your guns.
And this is no longer a secret,
Now you post red and caption it “aesthetic”
And laugh-cry at those who are unfortunate.
Glory is in the body count,
And ****** is just a sport.
Honour is in the gold,
And there’s no longer any justice
In courts.
Truth is
You’re building a fort
Where ignorance is at its foundation.
And while you do not know yourself
You cry “you ought!” To a nation?
Apr 20, 2019
Apr 20, 2019 at 11:13 AM UTC
The snowball effect,
Connects four snowflakes,
A ballerinas tiptoes evades footsteps
On the game board,
A perfect pirouette.
The overtures prologue,
Mother tongues twisted in specific syllables,
To emphasise the divide in culture,
the closeness of nature.
The bubble in a spirit level bursts
And disrupts the axis of the world as we know it.
An Easter egg made of woven hope.
Sweet and septic,
A dangerous connection.
There's electricity in the thunder clouds,
A storms reform,
No prisoners in the matterhorns scorn.
But we must climb to reach the pinnacle of desire,
and grab the bull by its horns.
Torn between the torqiunet,
That restricts our true colours,
The blood seeps through like the Matadors tools.
Only fools would make light of those we share the earth with,
Ma whirlwind changes the landscape,
It can never be the same.
Underneath the terrain,
A lesson remains,
Statuesque,
In the mystery of history's gifts.
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 7:57 PM UTC
You think you've got what it takes green man
You're short
You're weak, your strength is only a year old
And you've been pampered by the melanin in your skin and the love around you
You think you can understand what adversity means?
The few tests of masculinity you ******* paid for left you tense and fearful when the weapons were made of plastic
When reality was there to test you, the words you should have fought against you let slide like a *****
You think you deserve a right to fight?
You may desire it, but you are too small and too stupid to fight for anything in this world
And what you desire to fight for is muddied in hypocrisy
Because democracy is built on blood and sin
A world of wolves ****** each other with claws and ***** for sheep like you
When you sheep wander into our battleground, you bleed better than us
With tears and families and a lack of skin that Darwin fought the churches to emphasise
The stupid and the sociopathic know our fight the best
Because they accept the simple truth we give them, or are willing to profit from the lie
But you just men, sheep who give up and wolves who die
You can't keep up with this
What do I say to all that?
To our history that is so muddied in the darkest greys
Bloodiest battles fought continously, so I can live under laws that I don't agree with
As much as they let me do what I want to do
I have to take the coward's way out, and defend my tribes in my ***** *** deluded little way
And despite every need to be carved out of stone as a man who is too soft to fight as hard as he wants to
That fight doesn't exist
And if it did
It wouldn't need me
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 3:51 PM UTC
I’m a bit of a sensualist.
First, let me emphasise emotional resonance,
there has to be an emotional base,
not just an appreciation of hotness.
Then, there’s a sense of longing and mystery—
that male unknowableness.
Don’t forget the hard strength of those rough male edges,
you know, the feeling that he’s kind of sculpted from
a marble that you just want to run your hands over.
And this jet-black hair, the curves and the spiky bits,
casual, careless, not fussy or particular,
and his warm, firm, implacable hands.
Oh, God. Gimmie some.
“Sensuality's connected to desire, ya?” I asked the room (Sunny and Lisa are there, studying).
“It sure is,” Sunny said, flippantly, “and you just need that hot boyfriend of yours to spank it out of you.”
“No,” I winced, “that’s not true.”
“Ooo! I love this song” Lisa said, as ‘try’ by BETWEEN FRIENDS began to play on our Echos.
.
.
*Songs for this:
this is what falling in love feels like by JVKE
golden hour by JVKE*
.
.
Our cast
Sunny, (suitemate) 21, a (pre-med) molecular, cellular, and developmental biology major, is a cowgirl from Nebraska (seriously, she has a quarter horse and barrel races). She’s an outspoken fem-facing ladies-lady.
Lisa, (roommate) 21, my bff and a high society princess, who grew up in a 50th floor Central Park South high-rise. A (pre-med) molecular biophysics and biochemistry major.
Your author, a simple, multinational, upper-crust, trust-fund baby from Athens, Georgia who's also a molecular biophysics and biochemistry major (pre-med).
Mar 28, 2025
Mar 28, 2025 at 8:39 AM UTC
It is a perfectly formed teardrop;
or the gold of an autumnal leaf;
it is the first apple or peach blossom
of spring.
It is the sight of a rainbow to a child;
or the sight of the child itself
observing that rainbow
for the first time.
A miracle is the sight of a loved one
beside me when I awake.
It is her hand in mine
to still that ache.
Yet Hume would have us believe
that miracles do violate
the laws of nature.
O, so not so!
For me the laws of nature
are the miracle.
To know that season follows season
is the awe.
And those who despise reason
to favour faith
are merely
self-deluded fools.
Not for me the accusation
of the psalm that would
make me a fool for
disbelieving god.
That I abandon faith
and choose instead
to reason with my brain
thus verifies belief.
It is as hard for the believer
to abandon a belief
as for a man of science
to discard old laws.
But moral values are self-evident.
I do not need an act of faith
to emphasise
A moral code.
It is enough to know that I am one
with all humankind and
whatever touches another,
touches also me.
I seek no vague salvation;
no sweetmeat in the sky;
it is enough to hold most dear
what is simply “I”.
We’ve wandered far from miracles,
from acts of faith and such,
but life itself’s miraculous
e’en to a worthless wretch.
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 1:01 PM UTC
I think stars have heard more secrets
Than any pair of human ears,
They’re trusted with our troubles
And are the guards of all of fears.
Perhaps we share with them our sorrows
For they too have known the night,
Yet they’ve learnt to let the darkness
Simply emphasise their light…!
Mar 30, 2022
Mar 30, 2022 at 2:15 PM UTC
The eyes always my first point of contact
Can make my heart contract
They can make me foolishly act
that’s a known fact
It’s not a smile
that will me beguile
but a twinkle in an eye
that I espy
They say eyes are the reflections of the soul
maybe that can explain to me their romantic role
A wink, a blink can make my confidence rise or sink
I lose all ability to think
If you like me stare, flirt, emphasise
whatever you want just use your eyes
They have the power to hypnotise
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 6:47 AM UTC
I wish to paint you with words,
And write about you with feelings
But I fail to depict the depth that exists in your eyes.
So, I capture the moment by photographing every move that you make.
I scrutinize every small detail
Of how you laugh and how you smile
How the colour of the sun reflects in your eyes,
How the smell of coffee gets you happy and enticed.
How the sound of my voice makes you feel alive.
I photograph you in black and white;
To bring forth the kind soul that lies inside
I study every aspect in your life,
As if you're the subject of my never ending strife
I illustrate your passion in perfect light,
Emphasise on how your breath hitches as you sing along your favourite lines..
I trace the image with quivering hands and critical eyes
Admiring your toothy grin and your crazy hairstyle.
I compile the pictures and bring the masterpiece to life,
Leave you with a Thank You note without saying Goodbye.
For you weren't just my temporary muse or a beautiful yet fleeting view in sight
You were the eternal moment of ethereal bliss forever stored in my mind.
Feb 15, 2017
Feb 15, 2017 at 4:56 PM UTC
Let's take a few days I said
Day one those eyes still impose in memory
But space is good to know what's what
Gives me a chance to write how I feel
There's a mess of feelings around you
As you clatter my routine out of shape
Change the flavour of the tea in my cup
And insist on a stretch of the legs
You know I want too
This relationship is a fresh scent in the air, true
A tangling of warm fun and playfulness
Along with deeper dissection as we pick apart our pasts
But there's something I wonder about sometimes
Something that worries me
I've kept the house of cards growing through paper triangles
Wondering whether it would ever bubble into gold
When you wander in the way of everything
I'm ready to drop it all for lightest brush of skin
Yet the house should grow for you
You seem to guide my ambition
There was a desire before, a boom and bust emotion
But you lull it into consistency, emphasise it's value
Something that becomes all the more daunting
If it's something I fail
As I try to temper the teenager who wants to touch you
With the steadfast soldier, whose desire it is to build our castle
I start to see the balance, a tranquility to my mirror image
One that you've sent exciting and scary ripples through
Such change you've made, and we've only just started
Where have you been?
Oct 19, 2017
Oct 19, 2017 at 6:11 PM UTC
If I may be allowed to be rhetorical
In matters spiritual or metaphorical,
I have a little parable to tell.
And if permitted to wax somewhat lyrical
I’d count it no less than a flaming miracle
If my words chanced to cast a magic spell.
You make the sunshine
When clouds fill the sky;
You make the flowers bloom
Where deserts are dry;
You expand my mind
With thoughts dear and clear;
And fill up my heart
Whenever you’re near.
And now if I may choose to be empirical
And build a dream that’s simply atmospherical,
To emphasise the points you’ve overheard.
They’re really not the least bit evangelical
Or even meant to drive someone hysterical,
As long as you’re both shaken up and stirred.
You light up my face
Whenever you smile;
To see it I’d walk
Full many a mile.
I’d go anywhere
For beauty so fair;
Honesty so true,
Fidelity rare.
So, summing up a treatise categorical,
And drawing to a close this tale historical
I’ll add one chorus to this final word.
In case for you it has been too intense, I call
Attention to much other verse nonsensical
And lyrics that are equally absurd.
My verses avoid
June rhyming with moon;
Search much as you will
You’ll not find a “spoon”.
And hard as you try
You simply won’t swoon
Over a songster
Whose style is to croon.
My task completed has not been incandescent
But is rather now revealed as evanescent.
And certainly it was not made of chrome.
So set aside these verses allegorical;
I hope you didn’t seek the Delphic oracle;
It’s time to pack up and to just go home.
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 11:49 AM UTC
I think I was lost,
The moment I laid eyes on you.
How very embarrassing.
I even,
For a time,
Tried to sing like you, Talk like you,
Imitated your slight french accent.
For six years, I watched you-
Not like a creeper.
Ok,
Probably like an utter creeper.
I didn't just watch, though,
We did converse. Many times,
Through the years.
Those exchanges mainly served to emphasise
Your other-ness, to show to me
That manic pixie dream-girl quality of yours,
Those hyper-widened large blue eyes,
Which seemed always a mask, but perhaps,
You were just that much the woodland creature.
The Luna to my Hermione,
Or the Persephone to my Hades...?
I carried hope, once.
Completely unfounded, mind,
But in quiet moments,
As I looked at you, like Peter Pan at Mrs Darling,
I thought I glimpsed a kiss in the corner of your mouth,
And was that my name on it?
Perhaps I am foolish still-
Picking over past interactions, for a thread-
To pull on, that might lead me-
To some hidden aspect of you, which may,
Or may not exist.
But you still go around like there's something missing from your life,
And sometimes,
I think of those old impressions, and for a moment I fancy-
It might be me.
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 7:38 AM UTC
You would stare if I were beautiful
but I offend your eyes
sideways glances emphasise
how afraid you are to look
confront that fear head on
people like me even exist
you sympathise of course
goes without saying, terrible
must be awful to live with
then you check your fingers
and toes, see how perfect they are
and move on, no more ugliness today
to spoil your mood.
Oct 3, 2019
Oct 3, 2019 at 7:20 PM UTC