"enterprises" poems
To **** or not to **** that’s the ******* question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the bowels to suffer
The twists and turns of outrageous rumblings
Or to take action against a bellyful of gas,
And by farting pump one out? To strain, to bloat
No more; and by a mighty outburst we’ll end
The gut’s ache, and the thousand natural stenches
That the **** is heir to, 'tis a resolution
Right devoutly to be wish'd. To **** to ****
But perchance to **** there's the ******* problem;
For in that mighty **** of doom what turds may come,
When we have let the little beauty out from mortal tail,
Must give us pause; there's the danger
That makes calamity of the farter’s life;
For who would bear the sneers and mocks of men,
The neighbour’s shock, the lover’s curling lip,
The pangs of horrid stench, the ******* o’erflowing,
The leaking **** orifice, and the drips,
Impatient strainings that the tragic farter makes,
When he himself might sweet easance make
With a careful prodding finger? Who would a ******** wear,
Grunting and sweating with noisome convulsions,
But that the dread of solids after air-release,
The undiscover'd oozings, from whose delivery
No toilet visitor recovers, puzzles the will,
And makes us bear the bellyache we have
Than fly to others we know not of?
Thus indigestion does make cowards of us all;
And then the native heave of constipation
Is sicklied o'er with the pale fear of defecation;
And enterprises of both ******* and crapping
With this regard, their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of exciting toilet action.
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 2:25 PM UTC
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Mar 14, 2012
Mar 14, 2012 at 3:10 AM UTC
Alone into Rainy, twist a Dai clove, pattering rain, wind lingering foot Yuhuan, lengthy dark gray rain curtain hung plaintive, oblique rain splashes dusty track marks, those rainy season, those day's dependent, those nostalgic every night in this late spring rain, scraping completed my cold lonely, rain turned into a long and narrow alley Resentment, thwarted flows into atria, cool diffuse through the apex. Do not turn around in your mind of the day, I count, chatter thoughts of you, and for your Ai resentment, Acacia entanglement, filled Chu pain, no know what to say, but unfortunately does not help, once the owner of the rain falling, once clouds drifting sea oath, I never touched your warmth, sigh Lane is a rain: Wife - Why shallow edge. (yiwu export)
Came alone intersection, waving a monotonous right hand, held in our left vague shadow, the breakdown of the raindrops bounce dust, Red rain, your shadows, swaying like a willow in the rain erratic, like a hard rain exhibition wings flutter Ling heavy, like rain, pedestrians hurry hurry ...... once Pengguo footprints Bingqing appearance of your hands, had led a faint in the rain blessings Juyi Peng broken tile rain dream, comfort our goodbyes, we pay homage to the past. Acacia is the way the dust, whisk Yang is confusion of resentment, lost pain.
This year's rainy season to refresh my mind, I view Acacia dream dreams, the pain, resentment cut into the rain, stuck into the soil; tears into the hands of deep stone, sank; to have a bunch of rendering painful injury worry text buried in the memory, so that resentment heart of the sea to swim, let the pain out of the bone marrow, dusty track once marks, wound treatment desolate, firmly stand in Kuwata, enterprises no longer envy sea water. (yiwu export agent)
Let love and hate, love and hatred, grace and resentment, thinking and pain in the rainy season falling, drifting in the rainy season. I left alone a pool of water, the flow of soulful call. (Yiwu buying agent)
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 5:03 AM UTC
Staring at a blank page
Why won’t my brain fit into you?
Poetry’s my new ****
I hope the cleanup’s easy
Jazzy enterprises
It’s time for some improv.
Do I look like a **** to you?
I say to my stepmom
If I wanted my comeback
I’d get it off your mom’s chin.
I love it now,
That faded, stupid grin.
Go **** your high horse,
I bet it’ll reach you.
Horses have big *****
Like the people who win web arguments
Congrats to you,
Oh ye fake SOB
Shakespeare, rather queer
Bites his thumb at thee
I can’t say I enjoy this
Painting on paper
Words being the brush
To which I’m engaged by
I’m doing this for you
You better know
I find no joy in this
Like war on veteran’s day.
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 6:02 PM UTC
A rolling sea of emotions
Wash over swirling neural thoughts
Controlling actions
And expressing words
The heart sits on the Throne of Organs
Enduring harsh enterprises
Surviving, living, beating
Offering no poker face
Each face
Each belief
Construes from this lovely genetic system
This is why the mind becomes
A monster
Topped with green jealousy;
The sweet heart will never know
In it's beautiful innocence
That the cold brain is emulous
And eternally envious of the heart
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 11:13 PM UTC
Partly to verify an era,
partly also to pass the time,
last night I picked up a collection
of Ptolemaic epigrams to read.
The plentiful praises and flatteries
for everyone are similar. They are all brilliant,
glorious, mighty, beneficent;
each of their enterprises the wisest.
If you talk of the women of that breed, they too,
all the Berenices and Cleopatras are admirable.
When I had managed to verify the era
I would have put the book away, had not a small
and insignificant mention of king Caesarion
immediately attracted my attention.....
Behold, you came with your vague
charm. In history only a few
lines are found about you,
and so I molded you more freely in my mind.
I molded you handsome and sentimental.
My art gives to your face
a dreamy compassionate beauty.
And so fully did I envision you,
that late last night, as my lamp
was going out -- I let go out on purpose --
I fancied that you entered my room,
it seemed that you stood before me; as you might have been
in vanquished Alexandria,
pale and tired, idealistic in your sorrow,
still hoping that they would pity you,
the wicked -- who whispered "Too many Caesars."
1.8k
Stock them high was the order of the day
In queues one by one, they flock shops
A social warehouse of common sales
Slashed home events, buy one get one
On a balcony I sip Chai Latte swiftly
Masses line up on spotlight street path
Each drawn in enterprises of expenditure
A dime for a good, a rhyme to amass more
Coloured triangle on the forehead illuminates
A third eye, a seer pry, mood eased to try
Our eyes meet and my tiled notebook melt
Sing my heart don't protest,soul free to sate
We lost in narrowed jungles strolling multiples
Outer casts giggling, deep withering multiplex
Pasted blocks of concrete as loneliness replies
A vice subtle, an automated paradigm in demise
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 1:24 PM UTC
On September 27, 2017, a Partnership between Peter Pan Bus Lines and Greyhound Bus Lines on the Northeast Corridor will come to an end
The key word is “Independence” of both that will begin
Interline tickets barring both bus carrier names will no longer remain
It will be individual tickets only barring the issuance of the bus company name
Before on the Northeast Corridor having both Peter Pan Bus Lines and Greyhound Bus lines combined together
The term individuality will be two carriers being the other
Peter Pan Bus Lines is run by the Picknelly family
The company was once part of the Trailways Organization
When Peter Pan started doing runs South coming through New York City nobody really knew who Peter Pan Bus Lines was
It wasn’t until Peter Pan and Greyhound formed an agreement and that is how Peter Pan became passenger known
Peter Pan and Greyhound will operate as a separate entity
Peter Pan Bus Lines is a bus company being an away we go
Then there’s Greyhound who started the partnership show
But it has become a time to move on
Peter Pan and Greyhound are bus operations that are still strong
Now this is something travelling bus customers will have to get used to
But it will be a matter of time they will get through
The highway will always keep both bus carriers connected
There could be select in what passengers will elect
But bus travel in general I don’t think will have that much effect
Two enterprises having histories of their own
What’s in a name has always been shown
A partnership that will change
The names of Peter Pan Bus Lines and Greyhound Bus Lines that will always remain.
Aug 30, 2017
Aug 30, 2017 at 3:10 PM UTC
a bean or a pod having motivation inside recreating
life more energetic and clever than any parent
then get ate or flushed down ten million toilets
infiltrate society with words because it is in sewers
sanguine and quixotic indifferent
a breath is toxic to me
I venture Walter Mitty like fantasies theorize
tomorrow when I forgot yesterday,
introduce substances to discourse entertainers
abstract the emphasis transcendentally
blue-sky enterprises authentically created as I
turn around and cry.
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 11:19 PM UTC
The extensions Old French songs from the Latin
( "lying and played Corruption") and "incredulous"
( "If you do not err, the defense is ") (UK) IPA (key)
/ dɪpờeɪv / ****** - SAP so (This is the third part
of it is just easier; coordinate partners past) (Transitive)
network (only) thing; worse and worse; the rules
of the disease related to the need contest.
Excessive ends (difference by different), which
generally straight away. (Enterprises) or soccer
or a mistake or ***** *** "Higher bodies,
Nothing changed. Pervy won (not less) compacted
job responsibilities normophilic (Eventually make +)
false measure the past, the past can easily be finished
by the pasties; The angel of the club, the prophet,
It is my filthy ******* perfectly being known, Magic
for political change; You cut declamatory sleep;
In the garden of the withdrawal; From the beginning
to the end strippers in Latin when the matrons
of the land of guns, lights, turned around, and dancing
staying in the machine language of the soul's natural
sea and culture of prostitutes, the powers he wrote
than that of the married woman who gave birth
to the number led to the buried ***** by the cops;
it is the same scent as Einstein's eyes to Peace |
to understand the feeling began to brush your
it is yet moved by means of: a canticle to the Muses,
Maecenas, and on the beach the public corn;
the talk of the nature of the wall, burning with
Life be certain, fell watching the makeup overcome
calling in vain to hide and wait for the kill, teeth living
in the town of the Chinese and the shadows flee away
and many of the stupid are gathered and the dragon
in yellow is driven a broken mistress; the tube was
removed from her six **** & in glory they are almost
the conversion into flame bright, warm clothes loved
learning subject to the original knee and foot like a fur
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 4:29 AM UTC
…Until Next Time…
-Jimmy Desire
No matter how long I hold you
Things will never change
You aren’t a possession
But someone I’d like to call mine…
The hands of time have taught me a lesson
It’s not meant to be
But I continue to write because
You’re a constant dream
What kills me the most is that it isn’t reality
Dream turned nightmare
Still,
You haunt me
I welcome you with open arms
Cuz’ it’s where I’d rather be…
In Your Arms,
There’s no doubt
Silent,
But the sounds of our heartbeat
I look down,
Elegance in brown eyes
Lightly toned skin
And a comforting smile that satisfies me from within
The wind blows
And she clenches onto me
As if not to be swept away
She knows I’ll never let go
Her hands speak
Tricking her fingers around my back,
It whispers,
“Closer”
To ease her mind,
I hold her tighter and respond,
“I’m right here, I’ll always be here”
Under an umbrella
We stand
As the storm rages on around us
Pellets of raindrops fall with increased force
But can never pierce the fortress we created
Let the record show,
She’s irreplaceable
Finally,
Eyes stumble until they meet
The message is mutual,
“Until next time”
Unwillingly,
Simultaneously,
We break the chain that binds us
And drift back into reality…
Reality…
“Until Next Time”
Copyright © 2010 Desire Enterprises
Sep 24, 2010
Sep 24, 2010 at 11:14 AM UTC
In Old French language songs and extensions
("False and happy joke") and a "incredulous"
('If I do not err on defense') (UK) IPA (key)
/ Dɪpờeɪv / ****** - SAP (this is the third
To easily navigate, contact with their friend)
(transitive) network (not) above; worst and worse;
the rules of the related related issues to the need.
Completion (difference) is almost immediately.
(Enterprises) or soccer either by mistake or ****** immorality.
"Higher body, Nothing changed. Pervy were ||
(not least) compacted normophilic job assignment
(which can finally be completed) impossible to succeed
in the past past with false heights about pasties;
Angel Club's prophet is there with pencil |||
that we will never be known for political change;
The cult of declamatory sleep; In the garden
of the removal at the outset of the end of the strippers
with Roman matron roots; about the guns, || the lights |
are turning to celebrating staying in the language ||
language of natural; Strength, and culture of the despoiled,
He wrote of the powers of the bridewoman's
Chickens for birth to some of the funerals is no peace,
what is the same, with its pleasant odor enough to the police, that's the Einstein face,
the brush began to feel understood
but he did not move
through the song of the muses, Maecenas and the coastlands,
the grains of grain; Nature is a flame of fire set
in a hold of victory over a few overly made up models
is falling and they will stand in vain perfect,
**** the eggs of the living Chinese,
for the shadows of the city, room, and many people
are fools gathered and the collection of broken tubes of yellow
is extracted from her girlfriend, leaving
the six bookmarks quite famous; The whitening of |
their white glow loves yeast; The teachings
of the original sucker's knee and the ankles of the first thief
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 4:51 AM UTC
No one sees
The moon as it rises,
Peeking its head,
Above the horizon,
Hidden behind,
The sun's enterprises.
Yet there it sits,
Silent and waiting,
Patient desire,
Anticipating,
As nighttime arrives,
And the sun slowly fading,
The moon shining bright,
As the world succumbs,
To conniving dreams,
Until nighttime is done,
Slipping once more
Behind morning's sun.
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 4:42 PM UTC
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Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 4:51 AM UTC
Last December we saw that Santa
Had a FOR SALE sign on his "land."
Reporters went to find out whether
His property had been in demand.
"Well," said Santa, "I've had offers
From large fishing enterprises
Who want to move in and take advantage
As the ice melts and the sea rises."
The companies applied great pressure
To make Santa cave; instead he
Declined their offers, for overfishing
Had been a problem there already.
"Oil companies also want
My property in order to drill.
I told them, 'Over my dead body!'
Holy crap, if looks could ****
"Once I thought that I could make
This work, but that was wishful thinking.
How could I survive up here
With animals dying and my land shrinking?
"Where there's tundra melting, methane
Gas is escaping into the air.
Rats from ships have entered the area;
You can find them everywhere.
"Sea currents and air currents
Both are bringing ugly pollution.
When are world leaders going to
Come up with a lasting solution?
"We are far away from large
Human populations, and yet
Our whole Arctic ecosystem
Is dangerously under threat."
Reporters noticed a weary look
Of sadness in Santa's face, which proved
That things were really affecting the man.
Where would he go if he moved?
"I thought that maybe in Switzerland
A nice, cold glacier would do.
But then again, maybe not,
For glaciers there are melting, too.
"Maybe Hawaii; maybe Tahiti.
That would be a change of scene.
I'll trade the slushy, melting ice
For somewhere colorful, warm, and green."
With that, Santa looked at his watch,
Said good-bye, and went back to work,
Trying hard to keep his thoughts
Away from places where phantoms lurk.
-by Bob B (12-9-17)
Dec 9, 2017
Dec 9, 2017 at 10:58 AM UTC
To be alone, mind-numbingly so
To be quiet, to be invisible
One pursues the other, as they both row
By and by, forever in this fable
Throughout, hollow pain they perpetuate
A shell, empty, alone is meaningless
Never comes the drive to retaliate
For the truth speaks only under duress
Timeless oppression seeks only its host
******* ethereal chains binding all
Soulless, are enterprises pursued most
Building up an image merely to fall
To be the only one, to walk alone
To live as that life, ideally shown
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 9:35 PM UTC
Having to sustain,
my breathing, a hellish landscape,
where all of them dwell
no further than surfaces...
Industry, enterprises,
companies, businesses,
what a diplomatic way
to keep us slave...
Everybody notices,
Nobody cares,
as long as their dishes are full,
of the polymers they emulate food with...
Wealth and democracy are a placebo,
I'm fed up with it, not taking it anymore,
never took it again, from a while now...
My hopes lie far away,
where none of them can notice,
that I'm higher on thoughts,
higher than them, no envy anymore.
do you think you are free?
dis-attach, learn to fight and go away,
where no man can find you...
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 9:40 AM UTC
Trifolding centrepiece, breaking foundation blocks...
Mundane enterprises fronting vital thoughts
Me and my worries, soldered into one...
A depth of pure purity weighing a mighty ton
The innocence of others who name me with a pretty tongue...
The doubt in those who’ve seen me, when my nerves were wrung
Order of the phoenix sitting behind old shelves...
The authors of some stories must have splendour in themselves
Bring me back from wonder, take the dreamy from my stare...
Call me back from dreamland because those books sure land me there
But sitting in this cold seat, frost building in my soul...
It’s easy to forget kindness and every kind word I’ve been told
The world constantly takes from us, the will to soldier on...
It robs us of the reasons to triumph even when we’ve won
I feel sometimes the battles are really not worth the fight...
When my arms just feel like holding love and being held all night
The will we need to summon hate and numbness of the heart and bone...
The sacrifices that wait to be made to turn your ‘human’ into ‘stone’
Is it really worth the effort when it jades and wrecks your core?...
I have heard them ring, their chords have called, to the drudgery of war.
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 2:07 PM UTC
I hear them come quick
in short little fits.
Tainted bursts lifted out of lungs thick with poison.
Deal with this.
"Yo, pass that ****
Glide through mists of green grass, red brick, and grey stone.
This is not my backyard.
"Please stay with me so I'm not all alone."
Pale fingers on a quest to make contact with skin.
"I'm so overwhelmed, I don't know where to begin."
I'm never going back home again.
It doesn't even exist.
She says there's a system.
God made all the rules and set it in motion,
then calmly walked away
to leave us to our own devices (enterprises, surprises, demises)
Come what may.
"There's a philosopher who said that some people spend too much time playing with the meaning of objects in their heads. It can get to a point where nothing makes any sense, and they go crazy. Some of these people find a way to describe it, and they're known as poets."
The moon knows better than anyone,
with her sly smile reflected off the lake,
and all that light stolen from the sun.
"Do you know what I wish?"
No, and please, don't finish.
We are far from being done.
Let's not end it before we've begun.
This is my backyard.
If I'm just a zero,
then you are the one.
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 2:15 AM UTC
Stick your head above the parapet and
get shot.
There's not a lot going for you
it's like the cuckoo has flown
but you've known that all along.
What's wrong with society that it
would treat you and me
like targets to be hit.
**** rises and I
have seen that
in countless social enterprises that
are rotten to the core.
I have worn the coat of many colours
been filled with the treasures
of many little pleasures but
it has to end.
Time to spend and time to save or
waste it in the grave
if the mind is set then
that's what you'll get,
Accolades like Lucozade,
sweet
but they don't meet
the mission statement.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 10:56 AM UTC
...as she stepped inside the old,
torn cabin;
Her first glimpse astonished her.
Gold surrounded the adobe, in pounds.
As if, an alchemist had hid there for decades,
and had suddenly fled..
She wondered,
Why it must have been, that such a person would choose to flee, a place oozing in riches..
In the middle of the room, in a golden round table laid a crippled note that read:
Gold, does not transform to love.
Malik I. Lopez
Chief Operating Officer
[Excerpt from Novel in Progress: Bridges to the Infinite]
MALIK ENTERPRISES, INC
2017
Aug 16, 2017
Aug 16, 2017 at 6:56 PM UTC
just don't care,
point passed,
permission slip
self-granted,
signed by no one.
just,
my main word,
left embarrassment
in the shadows,
the shadows,
are now overlooked,
laid them down by the wayside
staying there,
but staying no longer.
not in my heart,
weep freely,
me being me,
excuse me for not excusing me,
busy paying attention
to the
gifts within,
so long to the hallelujahs
that have come and gone,
not waiting around
for their
return trip,
new enterprises
beginning with me,
my only principle,
***just
be just
unto yourself***
for you
are a genre unique,
a life worthwhile
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 12:29 PM UTC
Nope reforming hardened criminal donning
scarred face, manacles jailhouse stripe, et cetera
nor taming screwish incorrigible guttersnipe
ain't most difficult enterprises
entailing me to wipe
dripping sweat from my hoary brow,
neither primary tsoris,
(i.e. Yiddish, asper in woeful gripe),
but reading tome thick as stovepipe
hat, I declare constitutes most grueling task
paging thru compendium of words A thru Z
may rank less purposeful than bovine tripe.
not surprisingly causing mine gray matter
(more'n fifty shades), to wanna up and scatter
fist size shot thru unnecessarily subjected
to feel like oversaturated blatter
vehemently aggrieved mad as a hatter
to appease, boost and flatter
ever shrinking fanbase blithely bandying
faux poetic pitter patter
trumpeting expansive vocabulary
enlivened, leavened, seasoned... smatter
ring poem to expressive affinity
how bajillion combinations
twenty six letters one can splatter
casually incorporating multisyllabic
word such as sesquipedalian
less to boast more so to chatter
up food for thought perhaps...
infect reader to accrue fatter
vocabulary than mine
actually rather paltry yoke cant argue
yukon (albeit figuratively) tatter
with little effort hen even
offer as hors d'oeuvres
to this storied scribbling wildcatter.
May 23, 2019
May 23, 2019 at 3:52 PM UTC