"endowed" poems
MELANIN BEAUTY
She was adorable in her coffee tinted skin
Her beauty as rare as the clustering of dragonflies
Amazing to look upon like the gathering of butterflies
Through her eyes stars felt closer than ever
Her lips was as beautiful as the opening of petals
My heart paused when our eyes came in contact
I felt like i have seen the queen of all that is beautiful
The envy of every woman there is to be
She was thin tall and adorned in elegance
Endowed with charisma of an Ethiopian princess
Her smile was first born
Her beauty always suffocated the crowd
All i could see was the wonder of her skin
I have fallen under the spell of this black queen
She was a fragile treasure, the elixir of beauty
She sparkled like she was kissed by the morning sun
She was never satisfied with her perfection
Trying to fix what GOD has personally certified
Denting you to wear a skin that isn’t yours
Like sharp sand i watched her beauty sink rapidly
She was deep rooted in self-doubt of her skin pigment
Not knowing the magnificence of her existence
She never knew she was a gush of glamour
Glorious to behold and graced with melanin
Gradually she became high on inferiority complex
She became lost in a world she was created to own
Your beautiful brown body is a work of art
Dipped in black gold and coated with brown sugar
You define an indestructible uniqueness
Your black skin is a badge of superiority
Black is magical and above comparison
Black complexion is the new religion .
Nov 1, 2017
Nov 1, 2017 at 10:18 PM UTC
*"This is but once an end to us,
A single blot upon our page.
There is still much we will discuss.
In another time; another age"*
**Her palm went weak within my grasp,
As her soothing voice began to fade.
And like the biting of an asp,
There was no bargain to be made.**
*"I cannot breathe this wretched air--
Made toxic by her extinguished breath--
And were I to feel I could not care,
I'd follow her into her death."*
**A plague upon mortality!
A curse 'pon all the gods!
And yet the binds of morality,
Will maintain all uneven odds.**
*"There is still much we will discuss.
In another time; another age"*
**It repeats and rolls--a cursed chorus,
Set 'gainst a melody that dances up a rage.**
**Nothing left to discuss; no other time or age.
No longer can I breathe her breath; there is no other way.
The world is not a picture show; we're not born on a stage!
Life exists for pain and loss; there's no grand scheme we play!**
*"I cannot live this wretched life--
Made empty by her extinguished flame--
I'd hoped that I could make her my wife,
But not all plans are laid the same..."*
**I drag myself into the street--
Away from the memories of her--
And fall 'neath the current of marching feet.
I try to forget all that we were...**
**Then I sense a figure there,
A silhouette among the crowd.
And all I'm left to do is stare,
With what little strength I'm left endowed.**
*"There is not but once to any end,
No singularity to the times.
Though it will not repeat, my friend,
The past works well in rhymes."*
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 1:10 AM UTC
1046
I’ve dropped my Brain—My Soul is numb—
The Veins that used to run
Stop palsied—’tis Paralysis
Done perfecter on stone
Vitality is Carved and cool.
My nerve in Marble lies—
A Breathing Woman
Yesterday—Endowed with Paradise.
Not dumb—I had a sort that moved—
A Sense that smote and stirred—
Instincts for Dance—a caper part—
An Aptitude for Bird—
Who wrought Carrara in me
And chiselled all my tune
Were it a Witchcraft—were it Death—
I’ve still a chance to strain
To Being, somewhere—Motion—Breath—
Though Centuries beyond,
And every limit a Decade—
I’ll shiver, satisfied.
5.7k
So sell your daughters
**** your sons
Go break your spoken
Vows in tongues
For from these lungs
I storm the loudest
As my furies
Muse the proudest
Wings endowed with shrouds of Nyx
Baptized within the River Styx
So wage petty crusades
And feel
Titanic wrath’s
Achilles heel
For in this heart
My lust will claim
Entire Gaea’s
Set aflame
By bolts of my creative spark
Be sure, I’ve never missed my mark
So bend your knees
And cross your hearts
And mutilate
Your private parts
For by these hands
The story spun
The sickle swung
And shed my young
And led them to the glory sung
Henceforth until the Fates are done
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 5:36 PM UTC
A jogging man from Bude
was most incredibly rude
being greatly endowed
but imprudenly proud
he did something silly
he trod on his willie
now he's never about in the ****
TOBIAS
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 11:18 AM UTC
I feel your love,
Yet your marksmanship is poor,
For towards me your love aims not.
Your intentions aimed elsewhere.
A past lover.
And I am not he.
Malicious Misery pushed you too far.
Too far this time.
Your life is precious to me,
Yet a treasure you seek not.
It dwindles within these machines,
Like a strand of seaweed.
Being crashed upon by the waves,
Of this poison you endowed yourself with.
Much a tragedy this is.
Yet not that of Shakespeare.
No, this much too real,
To take a form of fictitious imaginings.
This, much more complicated,
Than a Shakespearean masterpiece.
For if so,
Your love would be aimed at I.
But it is not,
And in resent, I mourn this tragedy.
Yet, I must let love,
Travel upon its everso hellbound path.
My eyes lie upon thee,
And my heart within the feeble hand of yours.
Yet your mind lies elsewhere,
And your desires lie with your mind.
Upon he.
The one currently at your arms reach.
The one at your desires demand.
The one you truly love.
I must not resent this,
For love hath struck thee as it struck I.
And Cupid's arrow hath stuck he as well.
I can see it in his sorrowful stare.
He loves you in a way that I cannot.
A consentful love.
For I am just a scapegoat.
Temporary.
Well now you've quenched your desire.
You've acquired what you sought.
Love of he.
(And I, for whatever its worth.)
His love is a precious gold,
And mine a mere coal.
Black, unwanted.
Only able to provide temporary warmth.
Pardon me for obstructing.
Love hath stolen my precious vision,
And wandered, I,
Into the meadow in which you hunt.
As a poor marksman,
Thou cast thine arrow of love upon me,
And realized I am but a scapegoat,
When the white stag is what you seek.
Once before,
you lined him in your sights.
But evasive is this mystical creature.
And once, he escap'd.
If your life so solidifies,
I shall replinish my vision,
Banish my love,
And obstruct thee no more.
Instead,
I must prosper in silence and patience.
Shun my hearts desires,
And let thee hunt.
I apologize for my inconvenience.
I shall groom each of your horses,
So that you may ride into,
The meadow of love together.
Hence, beware of hunters,
And wandering creatures.
Teach thine unsteady hand,
And this time...
Don't miss.
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 4:19 AM UTC
THE LAST LOVE LETTER OF TCHAIKOVSKY*
My angel, life of my life
Fate would never allow me to meet thee
Only in thy letters to me
Do I feel the touch of love’s ecstasy.
Would but that upon thy sweet face
I would just once behold
All my sixth symphonies I would gladly exchange
In love’s name and in its wondrous beauty untold.
Here with all my rapturous kisses
I send thee the music of ‘Love’s Sorrow’
Every note swims in the sea of my restless heart
None would such grievous pain of mine ever know.
Let history judge
All that is between thee and me
Even the deluge that drowns the whole world
Would never obliterate every melody I dedicate to thee.
• Tchaikovsky’s benefactress was Madame Von Meck (Nadezhda) who exchanged 260 love- letters (1876—1887)with him and endowed him with a regular income on the understanding that they should never meet.
Her late husband was a millionaire whose fortune was derived from his railway business.
Finally, she broke up the relationship leaving the composer in complete devastation.
This is one of the most poignant love-stories of all time.
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 4:04 AM UTC
Is greatness endowed by the flick of a sword?
You look just the same to me.
Is taking up arms in the name of our lord
really enough to be free?
Just fashion a noose out of three pure white cords.
string it up into a tree.
Wrap it around that frail throat spewing lies.
Rid the world of a banshee.
Aug 9, 2010
Aug 9, 2010 at 7:37 PM UTC
Prescient, her essence
Casts a demure persuasion,
Endowed with verve and vision;
Concept to consummation,
The serenely possessed,
Creator, originator,
Allusion to the eternal azure,
Logos of abstraction,
Word and image collision.
Tonal palette of faith infused reason
Beauty and sublimity,
Serve to season
Verse, canvas and film,
Mediating aesthetic, seminal senses blossom,
Lyrical each permutation,
Seeds of vibrant chroma diffusing the mystical.
Visage and hair, her figure haunted
With perfection - a work of Art
Nurtured and lived invocation,
The canon of taste;
Crystal for the *****
Devotional fragrance ,
Holistic ethos, melodic invention,
Animated, pure -
The embodiment of redemption.
Transcending form, parenthetically
(Merely) the decorative,
Allure, artistry and symmetry
Superlative complexity,
Her erudition satiates, supplanting
Winds of constructive banality.
Purveyor of an uncommon savor,
She collaborates in the peculiar
Pursuit and reward,
Encounter with depth, explored,
Human and divine, prosaic meets sublime
Igniting within an Eros
Passion for truth, being and Telos.
Visionary of grace and peace
Transforming our earthbound dissonance;
Our caprice,
Hope and abundance, the myth of scarcity,
She narrates the Good.
Pen, lens, color and stage
Vulnerable, unrepressed, effusive
Romantic articulation,
The reservoir deep,
Innately primed conduit of Love.
Beyond plebeian, cosmetic, the trite
Woman of substance, pulchritude
And delight.
Effervescent - her smile exquisite,
Eclipsing suffering,
Wordless expression, understood language.
I am transported, my imagination replete,
Sonya Rose -
Art personified; unabridged, complete.
©2008 & 2013 W.S . Warner
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 12:28 PM UTC
An Open Letter to Really Important People
The Old Dime Box, Texas Statement
A Manifesto Made Manifest in Manifesting Manifestingness
We post this serious looking document
Bloated with long vocabulary words
Sodden with weak dependent clauses
Marshaled in numbered ranks, down, down they go
To the GossipNet all serious like
And everyone has to pay attention to us
Because it’s AN OPEN LETTER, y’know -
You may sign it if you’ve got letters behind your name
Signatories:
Apostle-Disciple Magic Dawn, DD., Non-Binary, Author of Green Polar Bears I Am, Co-Equal-Director of the Anti-Oppressionist Theatre Against the Occupation, Agent of the Revolution, Auteur, Guest on The Wheel of Fortune and Parent of Two AMAZING children of indeterminate Gender with Their AWESOME and AMAZING Life-Partner Sven-Marie.
Massive Ferguson, M.Ed., Poet, Rector of Admissions, The University of Where the Old Circuit City Use to Be
Poncy Tworbst, M.A., PUBLISHED Author, Seeker, Inspirational Singer-Songwriter, PUBLISHED
Heather-Mistee La’ Thwitte-Tworbst, Ph.D., Director of Library Resources at Saint Margaret ****** Homeschool Resource Authority Collective, Inc., Certified Ordained Consecrated Priest in The Worldwide Church of Me-ness and Pastor of the World-Famous Weddings ‘R’ Us Chapel of Rainbow Dreams in Magdalena, New Mexico
Lawrence Hall, HSG, Thinker of Thinky-Ness and, Like, Stuff, Endowed Chair he found at Goodwill, His Mark: X
(Sean Ian Johann Johnson, MBA, J.D., Chief Photocopier Operator at Donald Trump University and Fashion Editor at Gun, God, and Guts Magazine, was not able to sign today; he is sharing a cell with other White House staff and patiently awaiting The Day of Greatness.)
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 3:48 PM UTC
I gazed into his eyes like beads of sweat
Blacker than the empty spacious depths
Around the little bridge-like tiny speck,
An ember on His hearth
We only think is worth
Its broken wharfs.
He said to me: "Son, don't fear empty bluffs.
They may be steep but they're not steep enough."
And judging by the ace tucked in his cuff,
I knew he would be true
And his tale would be true too
About the wharfs.
"Throughout the many vicious centuries
The motor of it always seems to freeze
Until the kindled flame does hit the breeze
And thaws its frostbit joints
And burns the hand that points
Out from the wharf."
He cleared his throat and then he said aloud:
"Is piety reaped from fertile ground?
Or by the planter's hand is it endowed?
The answer lies in strife
So mount the throne of life
Far from the wharf."
Aug 15, 2017
Aug 15, 2017 at 5:09 PM UTC
One is seemingly more impressed
by the less endowed or blessed
when somewhat incapacitated
and borderline inebriated;
the monstrous unconscious
disregards the likelihood
of fathomless undergarments
in other dubious departments.
Disregard the random blotches
or the involuntary discharges
instead revel in model tonsils
and almond shaped parcels
the comets of multi-notches
like a strange attraction
for disheveled carpets.
The blossoms of toxins
a libation ensemble
almost near horizontal
each movement a bent nozzle
like a prehistoric Narwhal
dancing like a jackhammer
with the elegance of a cement mixer
a broken leaking fissure
seeping vapid glamour
and indecipherable grammar.
The paraphrased clichés
and communiques of praise
like lost prophets put on display
caught in the ricochet of overplay
making an exit with the grace
of a stumbling ballet
down a poorly-lit
nightclub passageway.
Ultimately this can only lead to
the face-plant moment-of-tomorrow
the flooded memory of the-night-before
feeling utterly spent
hungover and hollow
with ill conceived consent.
The: Oh. My. God!
The: ***** is still here,
what do I say?
Hoping inexorably
they would just get up
and silently fade away.
Beer Goggles:
remember to drink sensibly,
or run the risk of
nasty STD's
or unwanted pregnancy
or breathless infidelity
or reckless insincerity
or if you're really lucky,
just another
session in therapy.
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 9:17 AM UTC
I know what I know,
and I don't know what I don't know.
Let all who know tell me about
what I don't know.
Check your self and let me know
what you want from me.
The whole world is not really
good or bad place.
It is a mystery that you cannot fathom.
To play your own game and win
must be your priority.
Life is about risking and sharing the
gifts, talents and abilities you were
endowed with and finding your place
in the scheme of things, and
to leave your signature and
fingerprints in the canvas of life.
It is about opening up with love,
kindness and compassion and
be generous in nature.
To lavishly share your life and
contribute in abundance the blessings
you were gifted with.
It is about transforming yourself
into an exulted being you were created to be.
To find the balance that centers you.
It's about daily discovery of
your innate dormant natural
endowments and how to safely
use it to your advantage and the benefits of mankind.
It is about opening up like the rose flower,
sharing your fragrance.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 4:59 AM UTC
along the path you set for me,
i came across a skeleton key,
off the side there was a tag,
the words i read seemed to lag,
i caught my breath and read aloud,
*take this key, i have endowed,
find my weakness.... break me down.*
Apr 20, 2011
Apr 20, 2011 at 12:50 PM UTC
Scandinavian badger sitting in the tree, I can't believe we met, it must be desti-ny.
I look up to the sky and see two clouds fighting, for some unusual reason I don't find it frightening.
Instead as I look up at the angry cloud, all I feel is proud, that its even aloud that this fluffy white sky sheep can be so well endowed.
With all the strength I can muster, I swim thru the lake of custard.
There I meet a female goat- "I'll clean all your biscuits if you just share your picnic"?
"I wish I could but I don't think I can risk it".
As I approach the shore, I meet a male horse. He says he's having a mare.
I don't know whether to commiserate or congratulate. I stroll off wandering what he meant and if I even care
I meet a male cow, or am I talking bull?
Who knows if half this story is even a quarter true.
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 8:18 PM UTC
Pull up your shirt,
Put them away.
Though it’s the same shirt some girl wore yesterday,
It’s different cause her frame is dainty and chaste,
It’s just your biology causes disgrace.
Leered at by Men,
Jeered at by girls,
Disdained by Authority , making them hurl
Told to be thankful by those less endowed
While men get their wanksfull from staring in crowds .
Cause showing a shoulder
that means I deserved it,
Cause showing my body means I don’t deserve ****
Pull up your shirt,
Put them away.
There’s nothing to do, nothing to say.
You’ll never look pretty but Hey it’s okay!
You’ll look **** or manly or just plain perverse
I’m tryna explain all my feelings in verse,
So why can’t I just say it?
Stop staring at my *****
thanks.
Jul 16, 2022
Jul 16, 2022 at 3:07 PM UTC
You should do this,
You should do that,
Why these diktats I do not understand.
Are we living our life to comply?
Are not we here to supply.
Why we are to be part of some creed,
When in reality we all are from the same seed.
We are stuck in a whirlpool of sanctions,
And I do not know how to come out of this expansion.
Expectations are defining our life more than existence do,
And the biggest question humanity is asking
what should I do?
We are blaming history for our misconceptions,
Naming presumptions as The inceptions.
How we are going to move ahead,
When we are becoming a body with just a head,
Shedding our humanity for a mere piece of bread.
We are the creation and creators of our world,
All of us is an existence a real thing,
Our creativity is our ability to think.
Then why should we be like someone,
When we could be anyone.
I want to holler out at the world with this answer
Yes, we can
Because we are not endowed with a taste
We have a whole Selection.
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 2:43 AM UTC
1386
Summer—we all have seen—
A few of us—believed—
A few—the more aspiring
Unquestionably loved—
But Summer does not care—
She goes her spacious way
As eligible as the moon
To our Temerity—
The Doom to be adored—
The Affluence conferred—
Unknown as to an Ecstasy
The Embryo endowed—
3.6k
No matter how religiously
you bleached your skin
You remain
Daughetrs of the Sun
Your sun kissed skin
The beauty exotic to others
Perfectly baked by the Gods
Shining like gold.
They have taught us to use skin whiteners
To wear sun glasses even inside a scaffolds
When our skin are made to be protected
From the rays of the sun
Our eyes, black and brown
Beautiful as the fruit of the duhat tree
Our hair, our skin
Choco like from the cacao tree.
Fit for our climate's concoction.
We were born in the land
where the sun is abundant,
hospitable and magnanimous.
Flaunt thy color
Savor its malt flavored goodness
Embrace the complexion you were endowed with
Embrace your own spirit
Hail thy Motherland
The sacred space you were gifted.
Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 9:50 PM UTC
there was once a man who lived
in burnt rocky hills
village farmer frail and tilt
humble down to strips
and one day his wife fell sick
he took her in his hands
but in path for miles thick
one huge hill did stand
he knew but closest path to town
would take whole day on foot
if it weren't this hill around
get there sooner he could
even though he tried his best
kept his faith alive
yet he failed the time's test
could not save his wife
abruptly in his mind
did one thought arise
through conflicting reasons
to himself he surmised
"there'll always be dreams to live
tears to wipe, things to moan
to witness coiling stillness give
reason to your lonesome tone"
with this thought himself he backed
and let go of his fears
whom neither Gods could distract
he faced the mountain near
a modest hammer in hand
not for once dismayed
unfazed by its candid stand
he stood not once afraid
"for he was just some lunatic
who sold his goats for a chisel
for no man can do such trick
surely its all such drivel"
inch by inch he chipped away
just one stroke a time
when scorching sun endowed the day
heat fueled up his mind
seasons came and seasons went
men who mocked him too
turned to dust who crossed his way
yet he went going through
long before his life would cease
two decades marked his trial
all in sweat on forehead crease
and scratched on time's dial
and then arrived this moment
it surely had to come
for in pools of anguish spent
lilies of faith bear from
speak your will and do your speak
says the farmer's life
say you're strong when you feel weak
marching through your strife
for no paths does life forbid
it takes no account
keep on moving as he did
man who moved the mount
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 12:49 AM UTC
Oh, how the mighty art fallen
Lucifer, son of the morning star
Behooved by manner of thy own devices
How pompous thou hadst become to refuse to bend thy knee to man
It was pride that filled thee to burst
Had it not been but a few millenia later
Even your knee would have bent to the King of Glory
Whenst He did stoop down to the level of man
Even you wouldst have cried out "Lord, Lord wouldst thou not take upon thyself my raiment of glory? Clothe yourself as a king, not as a commoner."
Were it so much that us being made of dirt and you of fire that your proudness could render thee blind to our beauty as endowed by our shared Creator?
Though our mediums be different, were the Crafter's hands not the same?
Wouldst thou haft only humbled thyself, a different world we could have
I pity and thank thee, oh fallen one
For showing me how not to be
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 6:42 PM UTC
Painters, by the highest degree of inspiration,
And poets who with the Muse commune,
Command in their respective trades un-
Common craftmanship, exquisite creation
Of pen and brush upon the parchment
And canvass, through unfettered figment.
Gifted: poets, painters and musicians. Three
Geniuses on this terrestrial plane, with mind
As efficient as the moon in its fullest grind,
As do all artistic souls whose mastery
In finest workmanship are seen. Worship
The God of arts ye astronauts in spaceship,
For poets and painters are cardinal in artistic
Enrolment--and no less endowed are many another
Like sculptors--with thoughts solitary and cryptic.
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 4:53 PM UTC