"endearment" poems
Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust
Everyday a soul is lost
Souls of love
Souls of lust
Souls on endearment
Souls of trust
Souls full of knowledge
Leave people like us
With questions unanswered
And feelings unmastered
The void of their absence
Still lingers with longing
Tear drops of silence
will forever keep falling.
Apr 8, 2019
Apr 8, 2019 at 7:19 AM UTC
Sabi
My Bosnian honey
The rarest of beauties
Truly an Unicorn amongst steeds
With fleet feet
My heart races towards you
Like a rag of mustangs
Wild and free
As you are
As you make me
Though I'm a world away
I can feel your heart beside me
Beating
Thunderously
Like hooves kissing open earth
If only in spirit
It alone sustains
Our kindered hearts
Amongst the world's stampede
With wise words you used to mend
My open wounds past sustained
My debt remains unpaid
Having little to my name
I declare my love
My commitment
My everything
As a token of my endearment
As an answer to your affection
My dearest Sabina
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 12:57 PM UTC
•
**
♥ ♥ ♥
Saccharine
kiss, a taste of heav-
en, it's a chef d'eouvre,an ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
exploding fulgent tint• ••of love••
& commitment;, our to\ /ngue limning ela-\\
tion with these lips as ˋ•´canvas, stars detonate\\
lavishing blessing from above to our bona fide\\\
love ethereal emoti- on scintillate from w/in \\
creating a paradigm- of immaculacy of \\\/\\
endearment with an- ....enfolding c- \\\\\/\/ /
ape of assurance it's an e(mpyrean aroma from\//\///\
two seraphic being wit(h ablazing devotion towards//\\\
each other it erected a b(eatific paradise that link two/\\\/\
souls together in love & harmony & while your lips/\\\///
pressed to mine, it also push away all of my/ /\\\////
trepidation & replace.it with prodigious/\____/////
bliss, it colors my coun ,,,___,,,tenance with perfect\\//////
euphoria that spread out to my psyche.oh how heaven\/\/
descended on earth & spiced our lips with its ethereal sa-
vor oh how it birthed wings in our back that allow us to s-
oar high while relishing this very moment oh how it crea-
ted a divine crown to our heads & dressed us with ecclesi-
astical robe that scintillate w/our love as the source of lig-
ht oh how I want the time to cease to eternally feel this--
juncture oh this kiss.oh this kiss,oh how exhilaration do-
minate in me oh this phase with my king,oh how I pray
this to never end a phase that ignore the world & just fo-
*** to each other we |are united)with the )
love of God that bin- |d us toget(\her a love(
that come out from - |our mouth )\and reveal )
it with this kiss, oh t- |he sweetest )\just the sw)
eetest of all, oh i close |these eyes ) \and appre)
ciate each movement |our lips p) \erform o)
h how i love this kiss |oh how i) \w i love)
you my king, you ha- |ve suppl) \emented)
me with all nutrients |that I n) \eeded f)
or survival, your kiss |have s) \ituate)
d me in a bed so dear |surro) \undin)
g yellow flowers that |bloo( \ms i(
n its most ravishing /state,, ) /oh this)
kiss became gleami- /ng sun\ /light th\
that gives us warm- /th, yes \ \ /this sac\ \
charine kiss, a taste of (heaven/ \_\ (en you/ \_\
've let/ \me taste heaven!
**
with love <3
© Earl Jane
♥ E.J.C.S.
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 6:08 AM UTC
A TERM OF ENDEARMENT.....
As a little girl my girl friends dad
Called me BIRDBRAIN....
And that never bothered me.
I knew it was a term of endearment.
Of course back then I didn't know
What endearment meant.
But I knew he was kidding...
His house was the fun house
Of the neighborhood.
His wife was an angel.
We had taffy pulls,
Mrs G made popcorn *****
And lined up chairs
In front of the television
So we kids could watch
Wrestling....
with a big bubble magnifying glass
And she served us bowls of popcorn.
Always something to do....
I went to the quarry one time with them
Looking for fancy rocks....
Mr. G, Mr. G is this a good one?
No Birdbrain, it's just sandstone...
He was a fancy rock collector...
The name Birdbrain was so special to me...
A name which was spoken with
Endearment....
I'm sure of that.....
By judy
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 6:45 PM UTC
Consumed by the constant rolls that play
Developed so well, recorded so well
Chasing the aroma that gently caresses the keys of the grand olfactory organs
Sinking into the fibers that catch me when I’m melting
They remember the tight grip that I’ve imposed on them
The grip imposed on me
Yet I want to sift through
Entangled by the loose strands I can’t help but to make vulnerable
The sway in the tongue that rolls tones so heavy
Leaves me tender
Such fervor unfolding itself, irritating the chests it lays on
Ethanol giving shoves until the words rupture into your gaze
Listening for more in hopes the shower could saturate me again
Hopeful and tender, I immerse you in ego
Later washing away everything that froth before our eyes
Then repeating the same intoxicating copulation
Until the light breaks through and I’m presented an abbreviated endearment
Leaving me instilled until the next time it’s decided times can concur
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 10:03 AM UTC
A wise woman once said she’d like to be defined by the things she loved.
Not the things she hates or fears or the things that haunt her.
This idea very much stuck to me.
This is my attempt at defining myself by the things I love or the things I find love in.
I love the sound of ocean water hitting the shore.
I have never been more at peace than I am at a beach.
I can freely think, freely breathe.
I can just be free.
I think the ocean is love.
I find love in good morning and good night texts.
They may be meaningless to some,
a nuisance to others,
but to me it’s the purest form of endearment.
I can’t look at a good morning or good night text and not smile.
I think those texts are love.
I love and find love in music.
I would go through hell as long as at the end, there was a good song.
I love to sing my favorite songs at the top of my lungs
and can’t help but tap my finger to my least favorites.
I think music is love.
I love books.
Even with the worst books, I love the lessons they had to offer.
I love the time put into writing it.
I love the time I put into reading it.
I love starting to read a book at 9am and blinking to find out it’s now 9pm.
I think books are love.
It’s so easy to get wrapped up in what I hate,
even easier to get tied up in what I fear,
sometimes I forget love is a thing.
I don’t want to live like that.
I want to continue to love and find love in things.
I am a lover, not a fighter and some may hate that cliche
but you know what, I love it.
I think being a lover is love and that may be redundant but maybe, just maybe, I love that too.
Feb 25, 2021
Feb 25, 2021 at 4:18 PM UTC
I’ve been labeled with a term that begins with P and ends with oet
But I owe it to to those listening to explain the steps I’ve taken
225 days of mistaken tippy toes and battles fought arresting a demon to keep him caged thirsty
He stays thirsty
Drips of thick liquid that bring cure to others make his body sick but his mind goes at ease
The random shocks of pain that jolt throughout my body telling me to get more is a reminder that this struggled battle will never be over
This devil on my shoulder is whispering terms of endearment while the angel is tirelessly hanging off my biceps trying to whisper his words of truth
There’s no other way around it
I live by the standard ‘once an addict always an addict’
I am an addict
Before that fact jumps down your throat to join the heart that jumped up in it, let me explain
Addicts like me work long *** days breaking their back to break bread and emerge victorious in their ocean of mistakes
Instead of treading H20, it’s theraflu and pepto,
I used to be drowning but now I’m only waist deep
Slowly, day by day, the drain taking it away makes the level of pepto low
Soon, maybe I’ll be able to say I’m in a puddle getting my tippy toes wet in OTC’s
Then it’ll dry
My tongue shall stay dry
Like that of the demon that stays
Caged
Thirsty
Waiting for a day that my mentality meets frustration so great that I’m attempted to sling that syrup down my throat so suddenly that my stomach acid is left in wonder
Silently slipping into a comatose state that no soul may recover from
To prevent this, I’ll pin praying hands to my nose and speak to a God that I’m not even sure is listening
As I apologize from straying away from the path he’s set for me, I’ll look forward and realize that the hurting is gone
Indeed, more will come
But there is no fear in these eyes
My mother’s soft touch on my shoulder
Friends cementing their hands to my spine to make sure I stay standing
I feel safe and secure to stand on a cliffs edge while the oceans muddy water rushes at it’s walls
I will not fall
Because I just showered
And I intend on staying clean…
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 8:03 AM UTC
It’s the way colors would taste if you could eat them. White would taste of contentment, yellow of happiness, purple of infatuation, red of passion, and pink would taste of endearment. Pick your poison; they’ll all be the death of you in the end.
It’s the way it smells when it first begins to rain. Its aroma lingers like vanilla, fresh linen, or an open flame that’s sparks kiss your fingertips. It clings to your clothes and in your hair to be smelled by others around you. To some, this scent may be too strong.
It sounds like complete silence amidst a roaring thunder. It’s at a frequency only you can hear and comprehend. It’s a ringing in your ears that leaves them throbbing or the echo of voices when you’re submerged in water --- starting loud and progressively fading away with the sunlight that rests on the water’s horizon.
It’s the way butterfly kisses feel, faintly tickling your cheeks when they’re damp with fresh tears. Or the way your body shudders at the touch of a cold hand and your temperature elevates, leaving a numbness where fingers traced over your skin.
It’s the way a sea of grass looks when you’re crawling on your hands and knees. It’s the sight of two hands clasped with fingers intertwined. It’s what causes your eyes to widen when you see the expression that lingers on her face when she thinks you’re not looking. The look that says all that can’t be spoken with words.
It’s all the power that lies within that four letter, one syllable word. The word that redefines every one of your five senses. ..
Love.
Love may be like a lot of things, but it’s not like falling. I never fully understood the expression “falling in love” --- probably because it isn’t accurate, and doesn’t make sense. Falling is what people do on a daily basis --- love is when someone catches you.
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 11:56 AM UTC
I've never been good at
Being touched.
Though the fingers
Of endless suitors
Have traced incomparable
Lines of affection,
They all stroke
The same wounds.
New hands feel like
Recycled lullabies,
Humming promises
Of a new melody,
Singing a remedy for
My impassivity.
Whether words fall
Passionate or
Fearful,
Endearment lines my lips
With an expiration
Long enough to convince me,
But short enough to leave me.
Reminding me:
The disintegration of
Indifference
Remains
My prerequisite
For destruction.
So before you
Touch me with
Promises of a new
Orchestration,
I'm already marking the
Days until you leave.
Because my skin
Is tired of
Intruders hidden
Behind momentary
Infatuation.
So keep your hands to yourself.
Jul 11, 2017
Jul 11, 2017 at 12:24 AM UTC
As life is created from her womb
Bountiful preparation is needed
Charisma, duty, and love
Develop the best care offered
Ecstatic for recording memorabilia
For such experiences occur only once
Given the opportunity to successfully grow
Home redefines as “elsewhere besides the abode”
Ill from separation
Joy still remains in the love connection
Kept in touch through messages of endearment
Life becomes more heartwarming
Mothers nurture endless dreams
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 1:41 PM UTC
A kiss of death,
Before you can safely visit the realm of the deceased, the long gone,
A last breath, before it can end, escaping the boundary of this reality,
The embrace of death might not be always gentle, it may take some cruelty before it sets you free, to fly away, leaving us, finally behind,
It may happen in a restless night, or when you are asleep, that a lady comes to engage her lips, pressing them against yours and spiriting you away, lifeless, the corpse would remain, but worry not, darling.
If the kiss lacks of passion, more importantly dedicated affection however, it shall be unsuccessful, leaving a mark of fear in that soul,
Without a sound, the light dies, plunging everything around in deep yet loitering darkness, burnt, blistered and fallen is the blooming life,
Even so, humanity has no other choice but to follow this chosen road,
Living as they do now, unable to escape the endearment of dying,
I hope that, this body of mine can disperse in a gentle peaceful way,
Carried away with a single kiss of love, then sleeping, for eternity,
With that being said, would you like a kiss,
Darling ?
~ Umi
Apr 11, 2018
Apr 11, 2018 at 6:33 PM UTC
I am fighting.
It is a clash between disdain and isolation.
Why love doesn't find me, instead of broken hearts.
I am demented.
What is love?
I always think it is a pure endearment,
But in the end i didn't deserve it.
I prayed to God,
Why love doesn't nominate my name,
And why love is so purblind.
I am wasting my time.
The emptiness haunts me again and again
I get lonely when i looking to the future.
I get lonely when i am in a crowd.
I always seem so happy,
With not care in the world.
They only know my veil.
Hey! ****** creature,
Why you separates me from my wisdom.
I was tried,
I was lost,
No one listened,
No one understood.
How can i disappear to make people understand?
Ah!
Who will sing a song,
Like a lullaby.
Here comes the call,
Now i hide this pain too,
And making sure no one sees my hurt.
I am trying to envelope the scar's and,
Buried deep in my heart.
Hoping one day i can smile.
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 9:10 PM UTC
Being with you it's all smiles and giggles
There's no twist turns rhymes or riddles
We are what people may call lovie dovie
Every second spent being silly and happy
I don't ever want it to stop being this way
So let's stay in the honeymoon phase forever
Long sweet good morning text
A simple time nothing Rolex
But gee let's watch if time slows
Let's take this phase where time goes
So let's kickback relax and chill have a drink
We ain't gotta go nowhere anytime soon
Let's stay in the honeymoon phase forever
Let's keep the whip with that new car smell
Shoes fresh out the box with all the value
Natural hair with the scent of cantu
Like telling the same joke over and over but it's still funny
Same terms of endearment bae or boo
We can do something not many can do
So let's stay in this honeymoon phase me and you
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 12:05 PM UTC
Aye, Vladimir, just before I met thee
I hath been sure I hath loved him-
no matter as queer as it may hath seemed!
Thou knowest not, how much tears I hath shredded
and noticest not, how t'eir vanity made me look dead!
But why-why then didst thou appear-
and wokest within me t'is secret fear-
with understanding in thy eyes,
and with a love t'at is to me so dear.
Why-why t'en thou left me, left me again!
Whenst I got to knowest thou but for a moment,
ah, with not so much of an endearment-
afforded ourselves only t'at streak of lovely,
but still weak of too a bond,
or any pact, of young novelty.
And everything was corrupt
As soon as thou re-released me
into t'ese qualms of insincerity
wherest I am still tossed about, guilty.
And hushed, hushed always,
like a trivial, parallel wind!
As though my dear heart's bathed in sin
and of a soul t'at is so thin
So worthy not of thy soulfulness
and sweet dreams of many happinesses.
Ah, Vladimir! If only thou could knowest
T'is thread of passion thou hath sowed
and how my entirety seekest being loved
By thee, and only by thee, o my rain!
As thou art but king to my sneaky moon
and my very own kingdom of stars
Not him-not him, o t'is I entreat,
albeit his wits hath been but to me so sweet.
Still he be a mistake, ah, a chilly autumn mistake
to me, from whom I didst just turn awake.
Probably thou would hath loved me;
imperishably and blindingly,
until all thy superb charms and wit
t'at wert but tortured and unbending
shalt be left within me lit;
and thus leaving our fiery souls entwined
with winds t'at art even sweeter
yet might be torturously everlasting.
Vladimir, Vladimir, oh my only Vladimir!
Thou altogether belongst with me; here,
so unjustly yet heavenly
And in our hands is cherished
our love, o, so wickedly-but fatefully!
How I longst to be thy lover, dearest-
and be so comely as thy only flower;
which ripens thickly in thy winter
and blooms robustly, in thy summer.
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 7:07 AM UTC
My mother enters the kitchen, says that her hands
are dripping, begs my father to finish his work
at the sink. I observe, for a moment, the expression
upon her face which seems conflicted between
a desire to laugh and a need
to feel clean.
I interject that clearly her fate is to have
dog placenta on her hands for all eternity.
Her disgust and amusement seem equally to rise.
After she has washed herself, she speaks of
Ponyo's last intermission between long
intervals of birthing to nap three fleeting minutes;
another contraction gave way to a wriggling
new mole who squeaked and groaned with
bizarre endearment, seizing my heart and causing
its mother's head, after jolting awake,
to go limp.
Mom says it's sad-but-sweet. Dear dog
has spent herself six times already in increments
which, as they increase, draw her spirit still closer
to a totally inevitable chasm of fled energy;
as soon as she falls asleep, yet a new indignant mass
of living parts swaddled in loose skin and wet fur
shoves its way outward, forward, world-ward.
Ponyo is not selfish. Immediately after birth seven,
she begins to lick her offspring clean and nudge it
towards her belly, where it may feed itself.
"Only just got a break, and already she's
back to work."
I'm one of five children my mother has carried
and raised--and for a human, five are many!
I'm afraid to give birth even once, despite
that a greater want of mine is to hold
my own child someday. I wonder if that
is motherhood: discomfort and indecision
concerning the worth of the effort in labor,
in birth, in the weak moments thereafter--
stroking one's child's downy, collapsible head
and feeling a need to protect her, to nurture her,
that is more pressing even than the so-
alluring whispers which Sleep may breathe--
and even beyond these moments, when I have said
to my mother that I hate her (because
to me, it was obvious that I did not,
and was too callous, obtuse, and insensitive
to think that she might just believe it)
and then missed church the next day to stay
with her when she felt ill and tired--if this
is motherhood, I wonder. It must be more even
than I could ever have thought like wanting
to laugh and to wring one's hands
(and even just to go to sleep)
all at once.
Apr 14, 2012
Apr 14, 2012 at 11:05 PM UTC
must love rainy days
adventure
pumpkin carving
and unexpected kisses
must be tolerant
of jimmy stewart
and bob dylan
the other men in my life
no height
weight
or hair color requirement
but big hearted weirdos
who smile for no reason
are always welcome
no
racist
sexist
homophobic persons
or those who say baby
as a term
of endearment
i like my coffee bitter
and my men sweet
never
the other way around
lopsided grins and kind eyes can get you everywhere
if similar in tempermant style or appearance to
the doctor
david bowie
mickey mouse
or jesus
please contact immediately
must be accepting of
raucous laughter
black and white films
cold feet
and occasional insomnia
i am always late
rarely refined
and have almost no perception
of the volume of my own voice
in junior high i asked a girl to stop picking on another child
she told me to go fly a kite
it was not until much later that i realized she was insulting me
not offering ideas
for an enjoyable way
to spend the afternoon
my hair is an untamable beast
but when fashioned properly
can be wrapped about my face
to create a rather fetching beard
i enjoy being scared
and am not easily so
unless you are a bug
i talk in my sleep
never know what day it is
and cry while reading good books
i just want
to hold your hand
in a crowded theatre
while we wait for the scene
at the end of the credits
and to be able to tell you
i love you
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 10:02 PM UTC
The natural you and what about him
The Zen gold egg climber Prince
Got his "Godly" rinse of the hen
We always knew their way upon
our thinking "Jumping Jack Flash"
But to be the change the day single
let's be feasible naturally, we mingle
The Holy water medieval drinking
By the night call, something is moving
Like a creature not in human form
We need to meet our expectations
More spoken revelations and terms
Naturally, we were born to be told
we have the fire to move any force
Even when our bones are getting old
That powerful love but someone is
watching us above
With higher hopes will make
it through lovesick she coughs
The Passageway like a click of her heels
Feeling the beauty but climbing high
Naturally being cool with her sigh
Or the carriage day vintage wine
Her lucky wheel
World’s are invitation the engagement,
The sweet words or the terms of endearment
Be the Higher lover up in the Prince bow to her
A need to get higher inside the
Castle what a love hustle like a stampede
The rampage turning the ancient pages
Rock and roll ages or the Gothic pale
Victorian beauty her name Judy
Sir page the Grand Marnier
or change of pace human race
The drink Moet
High Mighty King singing
Her heart shape ring beating
Fresh-cut or worn out smoke put out
Brighten her pleasure the rose repose
To be born not a piece of paper torn
Like a Queen reborn
For love how its spoken not just
City Girl with her token for-God-sake
can you look through her
wing turned up she is curled up
in her new threads of sheets
eyes please she is not ready
to hear goodbyes to your beat
What do you read is she naturally
beautiful than or now
Her naturally glow lights up
The Shakespearian castle
Two nature healers, not the
same as card dealers
Butterflies the fireflies
Her love shape naturally
that's no lie
It comes naturally to be loved __
More like homed bakes muffin ___
Google the nature of things spoken but
they may not come
Please don't wait too long
Perhaps there is always someone
to copy your song
Be the climber love for who she is
Her vegetables her sensuality is quite
organically raw
She loves her side dish coleslaw
How nature made us in the womb
Naturally spoken things like her sub combo
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 10:22 AM UTC
I saw an Ulila
Whilst riding a Jeepney
Half-Shoed,
Half-Footed,
Saying, "BAYAD!"
An Endearment for Pay
Yet my Eyes affixed
On his One-Footed Shoe
But due to the Wear
Of a Day's Sweaty Trod
Begging for his Family Dinner
Hoping he could have a Full Meal
And Smiles
For him and his family
And still waiting
For his Final Stop
And still scraping
His Hard-Worn Scar
Thus the Ulila
Handsome to Beg
Despite his Birth-Marked Nose
Which was actually blood
From a flavourful fist-fight
And Soil,
Paints his Tender Body.
Thus the Ulila,
Swollen in his Eyes,
Suddenly remembered
He had nothing to Beg
For since his Time,
Was centred on Smiles
Greeting people,
Wishing them the
Best of Cheers and Holidays
And his Reward,
Sheltered and Soft,
Reaching the end of his Bay,
Cried, "PARA!"
An Endearment for Stop
And disembarked
Full of Flavours and Joy,
Wondering,
If he could Share such with his Family.
Then the Ulila,
Felt a Weight,
And Jingles in his Body.
Thinking of his Thursday's Stones,
He took some out
And all he found,
Were just some Worthless Pesos,
Given secretly,
By the Passengers he Entertained
In the busy Jeepney.
Thus Smiled the Ulila - The Selfless Urchin-Boy.
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 9:11 AM UTC
I'm damaged
Dented, torn and broken
I have wear and tear in all my places
from years of being built up...
...just to be hammered down
Years of emotional turmoil from someone that should have been a support
instead of the dynamite.
In places where I shouldn't have been hurt
I now have barbed wire up to protect
The things that were done to me,
said to me,
or put upon me by you...
...make me who I am it's true.
But some experiences are best not even told in horror movies let alone lived;
by someone who thought they were loved.
Words and phrases of endearment kept me there
Even through the pain
I thought I could fix it.
You leaving me hurt at first I admitt
Codependency is an awful thing.
But I soon realized that I don't need you, desire you or want anything to do with you.
My life is better off without you and your mind games.
I may be dented,
Hell I may even be infixable from all the crap you put me through.
But now that I don't care what you think I can live with my dents and tears.
Makes me a better person to know that while I am strong enough to deal with a hell relationship
I will never allow myself to be in one again.
I won't allow myself to be treated like that again.
I know now that I am too good for you
For where I offered you everything...
...you offered nothing except for lyes and cheating.
I moved on, something I was told you really hated.
I'm now truly loved by someone who I intend to share the rest of my life with
Someone who loves me for me and is working to repare the damage you left.
Good-bye to all your crap and pettiness
I don't miss you the way you wanted me to.
I'm happy and there's nothing you can do about it except for sulk.
You're not the one putting the smile on my face.
Never were and never will be.
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 7:28 PM UTC
With You all I felt was
Fire
A burning passion tinted with
Ecstasy and
Desire
A closeness bound by
Scars and shared
Secrets
But
With You all I felt was
Protected
Police tape signed with
Chivalry and
Endearment
A closeness bound by
Texts and tender
Friendships
And now
All I feel is torn
between
aching desire
and passionless safety
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 9:53 PM UTC
I have exhausted my ink, my pen, my hand.
My tongue has unlearned all languages,
all terms of endearment and soft sayings.
I am no longer flesh, no longer blood,
but have transformed myself into wind:
a wind that has traveled the oceans for you,
a wind that has discovered Africa's worth,
that has lifted me into an African skirt
where the origin of everything began.
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 2:30 PM UTC
i'm not proud of nicknames...
but then again,
i find nicknames to be
the archetypal form of
endearment -
a "belittling" with warm
affection...
i didn't have a nickname
in primary school...
the girls tried,
rabbit...
Danielle...
i remember Danielle calling me
rabbit,
why? the way i ran...
jumping in between
running steps...
i like Danielle,a brunette,
with enough freckles to
make her a ***** ginger...
high school?
Goldilocks
named by Graham...
or Chewbacca by Barry..
i was the only man attempting
to grow long hair..
a mullet wast the running
joke, among the Ian crowd...
university?
no nickname...
shitty time...
while industrial roofing took off,
working for my father?
Picasso...
i was meticulous with the tar...
but lately...
my grandmother has
a nickname for me...
because of my beard...
these days i'm know as
Castro...
i'm not proud of nicknames...
but i didn't make them up!
i wish i had...
that being said...
nicknames are
quiet endearing...
i'd love to see Danielle once more...
see how much the freckles took
over her complexion;
Danielle... **** me...
what an ****** name...
like m first love in
the English tongue...
the moment i heard it...
Sam-anth-a(h)...
curly hair,
darkened blonde,
mingling an autumnal-cherry
mahogany with chocolate
cinnamon...
****
i've been so erotically
mobilized / motivated...
from such an early age...
Danielle & Samantha...
nicknames...
and the rest is, history.
Nov 14, 2018
Nov 14, 2018 at 10:04 PM UTC
(fictional tale of real beverages)
he sat at table number 9
she chose 10
their eyes never met
but only through the wall wide gilded mirror across the room
he thought her name was Faith
she guessed his was Luke
he took a sip from his mocha massimo every 41 secs
she guessed he was 41, slowly stirring her white-no-sugar earl grey
she wondered if the girl on page three of his 'Sun' was a blond, a brunette or a red head
he wondered what principle she's at in 'Why men love bitches'
they ate lemon and poppy seed muffins with small bites
his lips were firm
hers unable to hold on to the cheery blush lipstick any longer
he thought she was single and had a RSPCA rescued cat called Biscuit
she guessed he was married with three children and a wife called Porscha
she must be driving a Ka
he must be driving a Jag
she waters her plants every Tuesday, goes to pilates classes on Thursday and on Sundays she watches Terms of Endearment in her pink jumper with her friend Chris and a box of tissues
he walks his dog at 7, plays rugby for Long Lane on Saturdays and on Fridays goes for a pint of Guiness with his friend, Joe
he snores/ she sings in the shower
he's a catholic/ she never quite liked Jesus
he hates his wife/ she loves her cookies
they laugh at the old woman shouting at a bus driver in the street and hate gyms, cyclists in Lycra and anything to do with politics
they secretly read Keats, eat onion bagels and tomato soup and listen to Gershwin
*
they never spoke
they never will
because if they would
Faith would never be able to watch Star Wars again and Luke -
Luke would lose his faith in
love at first sight
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 9:52 AM UTC
By definition, talent is to have natural aptitude or skill,
So naturally for a poet like myself,
Talent is what happens when artistry
Becomes the integration of poetic elements—
Transferred from savage seas of thought
To the nakedness of a sheet of paper—
A voice of confidence composing songs of beauty in motion,
Live wired passion sparking spirit lifting inspiration.
Talent is within the heart of whom possesses it—
If the vessel is tainted with chaos
Then the outcome of devastation is imminent
If the vessel is painted with endearment
Then the outcome of equanimity is prominent
By definition, talent is to have natural aptitude or skill,
So naturally for a poet like myself,
Talent is a gift ,one not obtained freely—
nor does it find its way to everyone,
but it is the duty of the talented
to be inspiration for the talent-less—
To be a human of poetry,
A messenger of the earth,
Parallel to fellow man,
no matter the race, creed or gender.
Talent is within the heart of whom possesses it—
If the vessel is tainted with chaos
Then the outcome of devastation is imminent
If the vessel is painted with endearment
Then the outcome of equanimity is prominent.
Joseph R. Adomavicia
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 12:59 PM UTC
1554
“Go tell it”—What a Message—
To whom—is specified—
Not murmur—not endearment—
But simply—we—obeyed—
Obeyed—a Lure—a Longing?
Oh Nature—none of this—
To Law—said sweet Thermopylae
I give my dying Kiss—
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