"endeared" poems
With gentle cheeky smiles and cheery cheers,
You endeared yourself to your deary dears,
My jealousy rose up like the towering tiers,
of classic wedding cake infused with beers,
Drunk even more in love without you here,
Us becoming strangers made me shed tears,
Somehow your babbling is a delight to hear,
But you're getting far away, not even near.
Sep 19, 2015
Sep 19, 2015 at 5:28 AM UTC
I was a flailing phoenix
Trapped underneath a waterfall
Unable to rise from the ashes
While being continuously extinguished
Until you constructed a dam
With the flotsam from my heart
I opened my wings and emitted light
Fearing waterfalls I took my fire flight
I was elated to have migrated
Where the weather was tropical
And the conditions seemed optimal
But your aggravating absence
Endeared an enigmatic essence
A vengeful apparition
That conjured rain
I desperately craved your protection from the elements
Until I noticed the precipitation was my infatuation
For you and the things you do
The things you build
Make rivers stay still
And the things you say
Make me regret being gay
Because you're a ******
You live in your exclusive dam
Your teeth are like cleavers
Gnawing on sacrificial lamb
Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 7:12 AM UTC
You struck me in mid-flight
With a face lit by dim light
Your hair that didn't care
Flowed like the time we shared
But we fell prey to accidental accidents
Because of your taxing mental acumen
Yet I chose to see through a cute lens
When you spat acid like aliens
More specifically xenomorphs
For a career course
That endeared divorce
Everything was an accident
A train wreck to be precise
Take to the extreme extent
When you saw love in my eyes
Aug 29, 2017
Aug 29, 2017 at 5:19 AM UTC
Some fairground
by the coast
taken by the Baptist mission
by coach
and outside
some magic mirror tent
after having gone in
you said to Helen
not much in there to see
and the fairground guy
having overheard you said
not much to see?
come here and see again
and he took you
in the tent again
and showed you
how you looked
in front
of the various mirrors
in some you were thin
and tall and in another
you were broad
and fat or you were
squat as if someone
had sat on you
and squashed you flat
and you laughed at that
and the guy said
see there is much to see
so go tell your girlfriend
so you went out
of the tent
and said to Helen
yes it was good
the second time around
and Helen said
perhaps we should
go in together
and so you paid the guy
the money
and you went in
with her and stood
together in front
of the mirrors
and laughed
and she held
your hand
and you remembered
the guy saying
tell your girlfriend
and you guessed
she was
and that made
you feel happy
even schoolboys
of 10 years old
sometimes want girlfriends
secretly endeared
away from the sight
or knowledge
of other boys
as if it were some kind
of betrayal
of the schoolboy code
and as you walked
about the fairground
you watched
where others
on racing
wooden horses rode.
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 3:27 PM UTC
How word conveys thine yonder form
is winter’s ice upon my ear,
No mouth can so describe the warmth
lay hous’d inside my heart endeared.
Despite all speech that one might find,
though vastly far it always spans,
your essence will lay undefined,
far beyond all ink-spotted hands.
But here I stay ever toiling,
grasping my pen yet unprepared,
Cursive paper onward coiling,
My crumpled sheets lay uncompared.
So know my love you’re all to me
beyond that which our words can see.
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 8:36 PM UTC
The broom falls heavy on the floor
sweeping up the fragments of my disappointed heart.
The swagger of your once so-humble soul
echoes like a mockery in the chasm that now keeps the distance
between us both.
How can the one person I respect so much
change so dramatically between one phone call and the next?
You, I thought you’d always have my back,
fail, because you’re now too interested in your own fail safe.
The trust that once bound
disintegrates with each new thing you learn.
Your brilliance has become a curse,
your kindness melted from gold into
a puddle of finite resources made of Chinese plastic.
A voice, sturdy, now
more bendable, less flexible
A boldness once endeared
now feared,
wished away.
And I’m hoping you’ll just grow out of this.
Don’t over-change yourself because you’re
desperate for freedom from your past.
Promise me that you will climb over your
arrogance
and find the way back to the beautiful boy I was once so proud
to call friend..
Not a friend, this friend,
the knower of my colors
Capture this one not, o life
A prayer and deepest desire,
spare him his innocence.
Don’t let me down, o life.
not this one.
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 10:12 AM UTC
i.
if you attack the darwinian
supply & demand...
who the hell is going to be
homosexual?!
you just attacked hetrosexual
males,
i don't feel like paying politician's
taxes or making children...
thank you, no, bye bye;
women never sang of beauty, they
merely shouted about it:
a father's hands in weeping
crafted a fountain
of the son's clouded approximates
that gave unto us spring's joy
whether that be an abundance of water
or colour.
ii.
if i can't laugh into the night,
and think of the muse,
then i am endeared by your
want of sleep, as a vitamin loss;
oddly enough there are only 1.5mg
of potassium in 100ml of water,
and old ladies
think there's a concern for potassium
imbalance when you drink too much
coffee,
and have to drink excesses of tomato juice
to balance the "books."
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 9:58 PM UTC
Smokey bubbles-- Trapped behind glass
Filling up the murky water like spherical clouds of the sea
Bursting in heaven as blissful flatulence
~~~
Lightening my heart, bringing freedom to my womb
Scrawled across my walls
Graffiti inside my heart
~~~
I pull this patience from my well in solitude
Homogenising the cultivated need within to better suit my needs
Breathe deeply and clear
~~~
Resting wickedly -- Passing moments endeared
Acceptance as I pick up my chain...
...*But there will always be time to dream, and it will never matter because time does not exist in my dreams*
-
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 4:30 PM UTC
Karma was a dancer
at the Déjà Vu,
trading fantasies a few days a week
for ***** crumpled bills and
then living the dream on her days off.
That was before I knew her.
Before she faded just a little.
Which is not to say
that she was no longer beautiful
with her mermaid hair,
the color somewhere between
phosphorescent amber and
burning chestnut brown,
down to her *** and falling all around
her painfully sensuous curves.
The faint pucker lines 'round her mouth,
that liver spot,
a slight, barely discernable paunch,
I could see such things, too but
they only endeared me to
the façade of some silly notion
a kin to forever.
We would stay up late,
even on the weeknights,
wine silly and
**** chatty.
She would dance
and I would tell her
****** poems in exchange.
It seemed like a good trade
to me but the truth is,
she was being shorted in the deal.
We said,
I love you
but I’m not sure we knew
that we didn’t really have that
to offer one another.
Both of us had sold more
than we had ever bargained for
long before we met.
When money ran thin and
times grew hard
she split.
Hope still stops by on occasion.
(She was a dancer, too).
But it seems a bit easier to distinguish
differences between the faux
and the genuine these days.
She doesn’t stay long.
I like to blame it all on Karma
despite knowing that I was just never
quite frugal or savvy enough to afford more than a few perfume-drenched moments at the foot of the stage.
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 12:10 PM UTC
My shadow is kind
blurry at times
and darker some nights
But she hums so sweet
and one time she said this
"Make a wish
on that shining star
It is pacing the sky
passing the time
endeared by your kind"
And I did try
for my cry to reach that high
of what I couldn't wish for
in one starless night
I looked up to the star bright
admired it shine with my eyes
open wide as I smiled
and I wished for that childish delight
to never leave my side
as it didn't that night
So that I could still fight
when the scorching sun would be high
and the feathers of my wings
would feel light
Aug 1, 2021
Aug 1, 2021 at 3:46 PM UTC
I want to let go of something I hold endeared,
it pains me so,
but it'll hurt me more
if I don't...
let go
Jun 8, 2021
Jun 8, 2021 at 8:17 PM UTC
*I promise you the next time I write,
I would write your name in place with mine.
So that people would look for you and not me,
and they would see, my love, the reason why I write.
As they gaze at your face, they would understand.
As they hear your voice, they would know
that many a next time I would write,
but only of one they are sowed;
and even without you,
I wouldn't for another.
I'd just retell our story. Your stories. How my heart has been taken. The joys. The frowns. Our very endeared moments. The tragedies.
I would retell it in a hudred different ways, but I don't think I could write for another because only you and your kisses give my pen its ink and my words the power.
I would retell it.
But I wish I never should.*
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 9:23 AM UTC
White violets in the window
Scarlett leaves tumble across
the mossy hidden stones
mound beneath a chilly winter's dawn
A cold wind bares the dogwood tree
where puffed out plumaged woodpecker
gleans on creations' plump red bounties,
beheld subsistence beget for feral wings
Bright crimson fattened rose hips season,
lingering in the frigid morning dew;
stirring warm memories of fruitlet tea's
steeped from gathered garden magic spells
A spoonful of love and raw honey mellowed
a life once so lovingly endeared
Hot Blueberry dutch-oven scratch biscuits
imbue the wafting fragrant air —
life's cherished moments tarry
in the head and heart;
sipped by ruby lips still tasting
the untamable passion
of a breathless goodnight kiss
White violets blossom in the window
the morning fire's crackle echoes
a pining memories' gentle whisper
awakened by the incoming wintertide
A dulcet breeze not soon forgotten
— melancholy traces linger
like a passing season's swan song
as your memory — leads me on...
harlon rivers ... December 5th, 2018
Dec 6, 2018
Dec 6, 2018 at 10:22 AM UTC
*Poetry should have the simplicity
to be endeared by many heart’s
it will stand the test of time
and become part of folklore
words birthed in any century
will be relevant till eternity
poetry that touches the heart
and make its abode in the souls
and always narrated with love
poetry in the realm of simplicity
burn brighter over the horizon
revel in the simplistic narration
and you will be immortalized*
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 7:01 AM UTC
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For those who have solved 'yes' to numerous of the concerns, then its best to use a skilled certification and after that have a certification within sociable perform. Even social work, such as other martial arts styles, happens to be particular consequently it can be easier to concentrate on a single arena in lieu of looking to turn into jack coming from all trades. The explanation for this is quite simple. In case you are capable within medical, you would be well informed and much better allowed to assistance with this kind of field.
As being a expert cultural staff member, you are proper care provider, and can need to operate very closely with individuals. You could be placed to be effective anywhere in many places on the globe, and within extremely hoping scenarios. Keep in mind you will be called upon to try and do various types of get the job done, that is outside your scope or part of expertise.
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Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 11:24 PM UTC
will have you know, brother
I’ve endeared myself
to vandalism.
when undercover, and in danger
I lift from one of your letters
the phrase
I deeply miss deer.
my sickness has returned from its pilgrimage
to the year 1985
and has
unfortunately
been documented
as an acquired taste.
when there is a god
or a nesting
doll
I hushedly petition
that it entertain
the tenets of our sister
the startled
futurist-
Sep 16, 2012
Sep 16, 2012 at 10:22 PM UTC
Long ago
How I loved you so
You tore me apart
When you let me go
I was broken
My heart
Oh, it was so broken
Eventually it healed
Although it took
A month
My scar twined together
Now I feel myself
Falling out of this galaxy
Out of common sense and into you
I can't help being endeared to you
Knowing your dreams of flight
Seeing you red nerd glasses
Adorable
Longish black hair
Amazing
Smart
Awesome
Creator of all that is holy, help me.
I need to stop
Because you are no good
You have moved on
I must as well
Lord, grant me the power to resist the strongest of emotions
Because I cannot
I will not
Give in.
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 11:40 PM UTC
I'd wanted to see the moon again –
Pockmarked and ivory, entering and
Innuendo, like crisp leaves under foot;
“Crunch, crunch, crunch,” and so went
The cereal before sog. Parallel, the same
Suffering’s smeared come my bones
Under foot, under cloud and ‘ever as I’d
wander empty if even with you. You've
Turned back and continue to study,
“Away.”
I'd wanted to see the moon again -
Come the scent of fried wantons and
Neon glance; “Crackle, crackle,
Crackle,” like hot dogs over fires, only
Hindered, the hiss of a boy’s tears atop
Flame, so long as I'd understand empty,
If only with you. But your two’s atop
His lips, a smear upon the line we call,
“Horizon,” and so continues, this study
Of, “away.”
And I'd never see the moon again – So
Silence became the sun, a blight, a
Bright, the, “shiny,” I'd wish banned;
Like the eerie, like the day dad’d packed
His bags or day he'd finally died; If only
To accept this solitude, miasma
Subtracted you, with everything else,
But emptied you. An impasse atop
Endeared eidetic, as I’ll try and I’ll
Recall and I’ll fail, this test to finally
Forget.
So I’d rest with an, “F,” he’d rest in
An urn and you’d rest, simply rest, at the
Top of your class, without fault, and a
Graduate, your study of, “away.”
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 10:25 AM UTC
i meddled in egypt a third time,
and all i said was...
a. you ancestors will say the same thing
i said, but unlike me
your ancestors will say it unto you, directly;
b. never meddle in the affairs of female
genitalia of poetics of the burning bush / *****
c. you were given judaism, christianity,
islam... instead you settled for mongol;
d. begin to believe
that riyadh is further east than expected,
as is the warsaw pact closer to the west
than the right blink of the eye of john paul ii,
FOR, I, WOULD, REMAIN, ENTICED, BY, A,
HOMELAND, I, RATHER,
THAN, TAKE, OFFERS, OF, A, SAXON, TO, EMIGRATE,
I’D, DRENCH, MY, HOMELAND, IN, BLOODED, NILE,
TO, SEE, THE, WAKE, OF, MY, THOUGHT, ELSEWHERE,
OTHER, THAN, THERE... HAR COO! JANISSARY OF VIENNA,
signed the he of whom read the book above all other books,
who wrote against the book poetry,
who wept, who liberated the eye from the mind
and endeared it with a heart,
of the slave kept captive in solemnity
for the once thought of encryption of the eunuchs,
of those who read but dared not speak,
who thus was made the claimant of the title:
the bridge over the waters of Bosporus... that kindled
the turkmen with the ottoman and the mamluk sheiks.
indeed what pretty cauliflower for a daffodil in hymn...
but lessened beauty if one should come untamed and hooded
in footstep of being recognised -
then the merchant’s (muhammad’s) price would be less
than that of an antique dealer.
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 7:56 PM UTC
painted bright as a poppy drops
on water in winter armour
endeared with pins through daring
words emotives that would fly
scramble. alert.
stand down
flutter arrested
attested to tempt;
at rest the
compression lump
chunks of red muscle lie against
wanton parting pout born by eyes.
there is no offer.
petals drop as remembrance
of a bi-partisan battle. disorder
beaten by bravehearts
that did not fall but threw themselves
on into slurry of sharp parts
slowly giving to drops of familial blood
Nov 8, 2016
Nov 8, 2016 at 4:27 AM UTC
T-Tons of garbage shoveled all around the place
H-High mounds of ******* confronting ones face
E-Enormous amounts dispersed within this space
D-Dare one say how gross the piles of debris appeared
R-Repeatedly the offenders were advised to have it cleared
I-Irritatingly into the mind the image of trash seared
V-Vast quantities are certainly not well endeared
E-Eliminating this poppycock is never feared
L-Long one's eyes hath been with this stuff overly smeared
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 7:44 AM UTC
The ugliest woman that ever was born
was called Margery Pilkington-Brown.
If a monkey was born half as ugly as that
they would certainly have it put down.
Her head was as bald as a billiard ball,
yet the hair on her chin was quite long.
For a girl to be cursed with a whiskery beard
was, in anyone’s thinking, quite wrong
Mrs Pilkington cried, “Nurse, please take it away.
It’s a miniature monster from hell.”
“Put a bag on its head,” said the nurse, with a wave,
“If you need a supply, ring the bell.”
So Mrs P stayed for a month and a day
‘Till they told her, quite firmly, to go.
The nurse sympathised with a rolling of eyes
as she packaged the Lady-Shave Pro.
“Oh, what a disgrace when they look at her face
and they see she’s a hideous brute?”
“We’ll give you a bag with a hole in the top.
You can hide her away in the boot.”
So Mrs P left with a feeling of dread
planning what she could do with the sprog.
She drove to a wood at the edge of the park
and left Margery under a log.
“That’s a terrible thing that you’re doing,” he growled.
Mrs P jumped a mile or two.
The Park-Keeper peered at the face in the bag.
“Can’t you find it a home at the zoo?”
Downhearted, she took little Margery home
to a cupboard, until it was night.
She couldn’t risk anyone catching a glance
of poor Margery’s face in the light.
When Mr P saw his new daughter he scowled,
“God Almighty, my dear, what is that?
Has it crawled from a stone in the corner of hell,
or been dragged from a hole by the cat?”
“It’s our baby, dear heart,” cried a hurt Mrs P,
in a trice, feeling rather endeared.
“She may not be nice, but she’s our flesh and blood
with my feet and your belly and beard.”
“Well, yes, I suppose with her seventeen toes
and a nose that could open a tin,
she is rather unique in a curious way
and we’re blessed that she isn’t a twin.
She’s ours, as you say. We can’t give her away
So she’ll stay as a Pilkington – Brown.
We’ll give her a shave and a hat with a brim
And avoid going into the town.”
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 4:47 PM UTC
Blown away sorrows,
Seep through pillows,
Was I mad was I sad
When I came with no “hi”s
And left with no “goodbye”s
The place is close by,
But I walk back I drive past
I duck away to avoid pests of regrets
Never able to cut open
The memories endeared
In its own empty crust.
So I look toward future with lust
Afraid of the going back
Afraid of the circling into myself
Fastened into idealized past.
Nobody ever come back this way,
Nothing ever stay the same,
None ever let their sentiments sway,
Not my fights not my thoughts not my defeats
not even me.
Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 11:09 PM UTC
What can I say of a father
Who was too ill to notice my birth?
Whose gentle nature at once endeared him to me
and caused me the greatest pain of my whole life.
And Dad, when I went to wake you all those mornings in vain,
Did you notice the fear behind my squeaking laughter?
Or the sound of my retreat?
Did your love for me grow when I sketched your sky
And folded the laundry while you were away?
I think of the slow droning burn of the days,
How my life was a struggle for power, a struggle for words.
I waged war at seven.
There had to be violence and noise and ruin,
For the tumult that surrounded me never ceased
And had never before been produced
By my own small body,
Though I believed I was the perpetrator all along.
Our finest chinas grew fewer as I grew older,
And the laziness of my household grew too.
Gnats swarmed our remaining plastic bowls
As the rooms expanded both in fullness and in void.
A lack. A lack of mom. Dad away in the shed, tinkering.
Sometimes, Dad, your face took on a look of health.
A health whose glow radiated unto me, your satellite.
And in those moments of brightness, i believed in god,
In everything, in your capacity, in your love, your promises,
In my own beauty.
I brought you my words and lavished upon you my art, my books,
My trinkets of artistic arrangement.
I showed you the house of my creation where there were girls
With blue shoes and there was peace within the six pink rooms.
The moon learns in time that there are passing phases
And that the constancy of the sun’s luminosity is illusory.
But i was too young to know of ancient cycles,
And in my beating heart it was unlove
and there was no trace of hope when you turned face
And eclipsed me.
Mar 21, 2021
Mar 21, 2021 at 3:45 AM UTC
No Badge of Courage
I have never been in war
I have never had the desire
to take the life of another human
nor did I ever have this desire
to trod through mountainous
or sand blown desserts
or any hot steamy jungle
dodging bullets and poisonous insects
or snakes like the two step of Vietnam
a snake so named because that
was usually the number of steps
a man could walk before falling
after he had been bitten by one
no I have never had the desire
to carry a 50 lb pack on my back
in sweltering or freezing conditions
pursuing a frightened kid or worse yet
a crazy kid wanting to **** me in
the name of his chosen god
yet, I somehow feel incomplete,
I have had friends who endeared
these conditions, some who never
returned to their friends, families
except in a wooden box
but I feel that I never fulfilled my obligations
in wake of this Veterans day
I once again have this feeling of sadness
this feeling I never put my life on the line
to defend a creed, a purpose, a need
of other peoples who needed help
to fight the indignities of killings
tortures, slavery
to defend them in their reach for
justice, freedom, humanity.
So all I can do I guess is do what
I do every year about this time,
thank these brave men and women
who sacrifice their time, their lives
to help keep this and other nations
safer, humane, with dreams of the future
may whoever your chosen God or belief
protect you from harm today
in the hopes that tomorrow will be better
Gomer LePoet ....
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 7:11 PM UTC