"enthused" poems
I am warmhearted and icy cold,
with a pretty face that's getting old.
I am fragile yet tough as a man,
struggle thru life with no real plan.
I am petite and cuss like a trucker,
slightly naive, but I'm no sucker.
I am a sinner with a halo of gold,
an open book with secrets untold.
I am a hypocrite but always play fair,
a bleeding heart and I don't care.
I am a mother who acts like a child,
crazy, impatient and easily riled.
I am spontaneous and I am a bore,
forever forgiving, I still keep score.
I am unstable and wonderfully wise,
a ****** deviant in sweet disguise.
I am creative and self-destructive
naturally skilled and unproductive.
I am shy and I am outspoken
with a heart of stone, easily broken.
I am awkward and well refined,
lost, insightful and a little love-blind.
I am respected and I am addicted
shamed by burdens, self inflicted.
I am a perfectionist and I am a slob,
unbiased and shallow, an inept snob.
I am nocturnal, a creature of night,
blissfully ignorant, typically right.
I am cautious and I have no fear,
a loser and quitter, still I persevere.
I am brilliant and easily amused,
over-zealous and under-enthused.
I am impervious with wounds to heal,
an occasional liar just keepin' it real.
I am weird and lovely and mean-
I am what I am.......100 Aileen.
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 3:50 PM UTC
He struggles and ponders,
reads and re-reads,
My markers fail before his eyes,
his naivety takes over,
A fruit? he queries,
I burst out in laughter,
Can be, I agree, but I await for more,
he peruses and my ribs tickled,
amused and curious, I stayed,
at his innocence that shined.
A Mango! he exclaims!
No! I equally enthused
'A woman, a fruit,
delicious and mystical,
for a man who craves'.
'Oh' the meek sigh, a tiny sound,
concurred or dissent, I know not,
In a flash came a verbal rebuff,
back to his annoying self.
He annoys and appeases,
A friend I have known for years,
Mine forever, I know for sure,
no matter what he says.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 5:50 AM UTC
The slits of glass give way to light,
Which cuts through the air and sun leeched curtains.
It falls weightless on warming skin,
Breathing life into stillness.
A gentle caress, a sultry glance;
Statuesque, they cast shadows on the wall.
Shadows that illuminate and contour,
Express and entrance.
Longing rapture in eyes, incandescent and iridescent;
Loveless yet sensuous silken skin that tells of life well lived.
Your broken heart rests on shoulders, colored and vivid;
A world is painted in timeless elegance.
What horrors has she seen? Said the looker so enthused.
What grandness has passed her eye? Says another just as true.
Oh the colors so earthen tell of pleasures and sorrows, yet whisper of frailty.
They speak in tongues that can never be trusted, only pondered.
The intricate oil work from a badger’s fair coat,
Show delicate and smooth,
All the features of her roistering frame;
Passions of the heart now told by passions of the brush.
The life is still, but forever infinite.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 9:40 PM UTC
I have been wildly enthused about gaming since I was younger, and a career path I chose not to go down but did really consider was getting into programming and game design.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 1:12 AM UTC
grade my writings in magenta,
no red arrogance for me teach,
blue note jazz margin comments,
unacceptable marginalizing pithy succinct notes,
always cute, hard hitting,
even in day to day black or Bic blue,
refused!
give me ochre, amethyst,
give me the colors of a new born morn,
give me words of encouragement
next to that nicely writ,
without a self-serving
high faluting exclamation point,
astride my D, my F,
a polite professorial funk you
in azure gold
leave me,
write me in colors of hope,
even claptrap deserves
a nice funeral
because gentle teach,
this thought I preach,
what color would you like me
to grade your students in,
your writs,
when next I look
twenty years from now?
will you not leave
me,
be,
in
the color of better days
enthused?
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 3:56 AM UTC
I love her.
She is the epitome of beauty,
Her golden radiance pierces me harshly,
Those soft blue eyes get the best of me,
I just want to caress her gently, softly,
But there is him.
He has her love, they seem so enthused,
I'm sitting in silence until they come to amuse,
She is supposed to care for me, but I always lose,
I must find a secret to set off her fuse,
He is the worst thing for her.
It seems no matter how much I whine,
He won't go away, so I will work to find,
A new way of control, aha! brilliant mind,
I'll watch his every move and work to mime,
I love him.
What he likes, I like, he loves, I love,
I'm a miniature version, his proud little bud,
Bonded by time, a woman and blood,
I've made my way closer to my gorgeous dove,
I love her still.
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 11:13 PM UTC
A caked that you don’t eat, but lift
Catch my drift!
A cast iron cake where you will certainly lose weight
The thought of a diet not being a fate
No knife to cut
Where there is a sentence follows but
The cast iron cake could be your exercise weight
But wait for Heaven’s sake
Now I said prior in not gaining weight
However lifting the cast iron cake, you will surely bulk up
But because it is a cast iron cake, there are no calories to lose
I see you being all enthused
I am watching you observe that cast iron cake
Now just remember, there aren’t any plates
Just a Cast Iron Cake to help you curve your appetite.
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 6:46 PM UTC
"Is there anybody there?" said the caller,
"Six ten eight oh one two four three nine?"
And his ears attuned to the empty hum
Of the long-forgotten line;
And an LED on the handset
Flashed, for a moment, red,
And he dialled the number a second time:
"Is there anybody there?" he said.
But no one replied to the caller,
No sound but the dialling tone
Came drifting into his waiting ear
As he held that haunted phone;
But only a host of phantom listeners,
Of spectres weak and strange
Stood hearkening to that human voice
That echoed around the exchange;
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
And his heart was afraid and nervous,
With his hand on the final digit
Of that number not in service;
For he suddenly tapped the receiver
And spoke on that line of dread:
"Tell them I called, and no one answered,
That I kept my word!" he said;
Ay, they heard him replace the receiver,
And his mumbled cursing later,
With the usual subdued but enthused delight
Of the switchboard operator.
Nov 2, 2010
Nov 2, 2010 at 6:26 AM UTC
In the corner collecting dust all alone
This violin has seen fame being entertaining and full blown
The violin has played Lincoln Center and Carnegie Hall
It even has seen all over the world by all
The violin even played solo behind various themes
A violin voice of melody of its own
But years of neglect into the dust years
There is no preserver
The violin’s time has come an sad end
Sits with no purpose
A violin that enthused the world
Now forgotten strings
The violin had the spotlight doing its thing
Alone now, but the violin proved without a doubt
It showed what music was all about.
May 15, 2021
May 15, 2021 at 1:14 PM UTC
**zero context shifts
*multitasking is multi~asking your brain
to do what does not come naturally,
the enthused poem starts up, lion roaring,
a muscle car, brain throbs organic pulses
semi~orgasmic of a near-completion in
your neuronic ***** exciting and ****
all you-writ so far is:
your name, some crazed, minimal
two fingers of words with
no context, no preconceived word lotion to
balm-spread over the enflamed areas of
your brain skin
except that it’s
6:47 am, coffee in hand,
your woman slumber rumbles a left over dream,
speechifying, and room, cool conditioned cold,
ignoring notifications of overnight elections,
and a reminder-by-photo where you were this
day seven years ago today, all put asided,
permission ungranted to any distractions,
there will be zero context shifts* til the
spillage of your morn squeaking meager is fully
pillage~d here, it be within my it-takes-no-
village,
@ 6:56 and Whitman is tsk-tsking at the low poetry of my scripting, Hafiz says “hey!
nothing about god or love, what good is that?”
but it’s ok for i’ve emptied the early morning
brain bowels,
defused fusses and asides, tossed asided & there is yet some coffee
remaining but the expiation for having been
reborn this newly birthed day has earned me atonement
for taking up space in this planet
and as of yet, I’ve not stated yet to any, no. all
humans, I hate you ~ but the day is infantile
and opportunity plentiful
@7:03AM
nyc
morning
Wed Nov 8,
in the year of hatred,
a/k/a twenty twenty three.
Nov 8, 2023
Nov 8, 2023 at 7:33 AM UTC
*My old self keep dying everyday
To keep tryst with new beginning
Young heart beating with vigor
Every vein filled with brimming hope
Charting new territories
Being better than my old persona
Inception of fresh perspective
Every cosmic particle in me enthused
After fresh lease of life*
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 12:48 AM UTC
A journey into destiny
Inspiration without enduring pity
It is not a trip through a city
However it is living within reality
Years of separation
A time when writing was a enemy in not
A hidden curse being a plot
In justice in not letting your mind expand
Exercising your rights documented in creed on the United States land
Your writing was meant to reach
It was part of education in all to teach
Words have no favoritism
Actions are only disturbing needing a direct response
Writing falls partly into that category
Words construct in how the writer feels with all the conditions that apply
Endless moments from a past with a cry
Every thinking moment becomes a writing try
Every idea is another day in being wise
Life understanding becomes wisdom absorbed
Those moments alone becomes a concept explored
Back in slavery days, reading and writing wasn’t an option
Yet it was educating one’s mind to take a chance
However, it was Freedom Writers who had courage and Faith to step out
Your writing was meant to reach
It was part of education in all to teach
Words have no favoritism
Actions are only disturbing needing a direct response
Writing falls partly into that category
Words construct in how the writer feels with all the conditions that apply
Endless moments from a past with a cry
Every thinking moment becomes a writing try
Every idea is another day in being wise
Life understanding becomes wisdom absorbed
Those moments alone becomes a concept explored
Back in slavery days, reading and writing wasn’t an option
Yet it was educating one’s mind to take a chance
It didn’t matter if one didn’t advance
However, it was Freedom Writers who had courage and Faith to step out
Today, opportunity plays its part in giving you assurance that you have the talent to write
I am not trying to be polite
I want to help someone to come out of the shadows and be among into the light
Freedom Writers is what it says, and they have given you the floor plan in writing in what they think
Write where others cannot
Think where others are uncertain
Encourage where negativity has been applied
Your realize will certainly be your observation eyes
Be enthused with every writing try
Our Forefathers who wrote paved the way in how each of us write today
As a writer, you are the destined voice
You had some doubt, but you became the choice
You are “Freedom write with Liberty gained”.
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 9:46 AM UTC
**gingerly on the knife-point of a problem
my inflated ego slowly was punctured
i heard the hiss of its demystification
in that constricted moment of revelation
a moment that enthused about the demise
of my avid hallucination now laid bare
salvation, the voice of naked truths chanted
is neither in the fig leaves nor in bashfulness
and the humming monotone of desperation
is a boost to candid inactivity and stillness
it is in such big-bore moments that we of
puerile yearnings recognize our childishness
a voice told me to stop tempting fate forthwith
for in truth i was a child with a dangerous toy
and only pampered tutors could stay the course**
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 10:21 AM UTC
On the edge of life,
Not playing with fire,
No games with a knife,
Just needles and liars.
Into the vein of truth,
A path of clarity and hurt,
Perched on the ledge of a roof,
Where all is brightness and dirt.
The spinning carousel of time,
Where everything is confused,
Without reason or rhyme,
But my heart’s alive; enthused.
Crashed beneath hellish ground,
The heat melts my senses,
The fear deadens the sound,
As I’m swallowed through the defences.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 6:31 AM UTC
Me and creativity,
We get on rather well.
We see the world with eyes of awe,
From an Elephant to a seashell.
Hearing the "Caw" of the Crow,so brusk.
Or gaze in wonder at the golden wheat husk.
Inhaling the dawn with enthused delight.
Feel sharp edged frost on a star strewn night.
And when the dark consumes daylight,
There's nought to dampen our delight.
Me and creativity
Nov 27, 2010
Nov 27, 2010 at 1:44 AM UTC
Every shoe that I seen customers step in was a beginning that I thought would never end
I have seen assortment of shoe wearing feet
It looked like a battle giving into defeat
Yet I wondered why the customer doesn’t see that the shoe doesn’t fit
The customer should be thrown into a pit
Heels often have taken notice
No odor eaters seemed to surface
If the shoe doesn’t fit then you need to quit
The idea is knowing the precise shoe size
To me that would be thinking wise
You don’t want revenge from your feet
A good quality shoe would be an added treat
Remember you need your feet in order to walk not agony with a bark
I am the Shoe Horn to get the shoe on your feet
It should be a struggle and your feet feeling beat
I am the Shoe Horn in wanting to help you fit into the shoe
Because I am a Shoe Horn, this is what I am supposed to do
If you fight with the Shoe Horn to get the shoe on, we will be both through and there’s your clue
Remember I am the Shoe Horn being your foot’s friend
It all starts when you enter the shoe store when you step in
Think on Shoe Horn when you purchase a pair of shoes
I want you to feel enthused
This Shoe Horn doesn’t want your feet to get bruised
There you have it being a shoe in
Let your feet have pavement royalty and comfort being a reality.
Oct 29, 2015
Oct 29, 2015 at 7:38 PM UTC
.
Everytime I hotwired reality
I took a bite out of animosity
I followed all the wrong examples
Danced to the music I didn't know
I never knew the new ground
Before it brought me down
In the end we all dance to the music alone
Twirling until we are nowhere to be found
. . . . dancing our sorrow away . . . .
. . . . all the dying years enthused . . . .
. . . . in the end keep the fire burning
in your eyes . . . .
. . . . until the light in you reaches the sky . . . .
Oct 10, 2019
Oct 10, 2019 at 10:45 PM UTC
i forgave and waited
and waited
and waited
for a change
there was no change
just disappointment
so i told myself to believe
believe in the one who hurt me the most
and try again to forgive them
stupid me
stupid me
i did it anyway
i forgave
never got an apology
an explanation
or a change
im done forgiving
i may sound cold
heartless
brutal
but how can you be
happy
enthused
and whole
when youre
broken
weak
and disappointed
now im disappointed
but i refuse to forgive any longer
i forgave and waited
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 10:44 PM UTC
Do I have what it takes to step on the Bodybuilding stage?
Competitions to compete in
Intensity training too begin
Muscles focus at the end
Muscles to tone until pumped
Nutrition in muscles feed
Plenty of muscle magazines to read
Posing until perfect
Structure in the Bodybuilder’s mind
Having a mind set to take effect
Mirror checking flexing results
The hardness in muscles felt
Training through pain with the term dealt
Having a Bodybuilding Coach guiding any Bodybuilder to perfection the whole way
This is training principles usage every day
If a Bodybuilder intends to win, he must have high intensity determination to the very end
It’s more than just lifting weights
It’s the preparation in how it relates
It’s the protein intake
It’s also requires drinking nutritional weight gain shakes
Later at Prejudging during the day and competition night
The Bodybuilder must be properly oiled for the heavy spotlights
Practice posing backstage
Step on center stage to let one’s muscles amaze
Cheers from the audience encouragement being the phase
The competition will require standing next to other bodybuilding competitors in comparison
In the eyes of the Bodybuilding Judges whose muscles standout
However competitions can become a flexing bout
But you can depend on audiences with a shout
However, it is the winning bodybuilding circle where the focus will be a winner profile everyone will be talking about
Bodybuilding is about weight gain or weight reduce
Yet it is a sport where men and women are enthused
But there are drugs where including young people should refuse
Bodybuilding good or bad
No pain with everything to gain
It’s about exercise
Some might say it is an enterprise
But people must realize
Shape having tone
But I am sure this everyone has known
Muscle training comes from anywhere across the shore
Yes bodybuilding is something one should explore
Muscle Appeal
Having a muscle flex feel
The bottom line, Bodybuilding is for real.
Jul 15, 2017
Jul 15, 2017 at 2:12 PM UTC
Its not the point of killing faith that u will find someone.
Its the action of loneliness and controlling your bonds
Its empty alone and so is pretending to love
You cant make connections not like addiction to drugs.
Save the drug of infatuation.
No reason just meaning less
No selection. Just what drips in your lap
No focus just lenses that crack
The sextant marking starlines that guide your path
is no longer Coordinated calibrated to designate a map
Walk amble climb along to view a moral prefix
to design a way out of a sea just arms length
with the depth of the roots of mesquite trees in the spring
We are all stowaways in a ship waiting to jump to shore.
Trying to find a place to spill seeds in the tilled rows of a *****
The words you whisper are pretty and my minds enthused
tho i know every go at this game i shall lose
Im wandering in a labyrinth
Chasing in a brain
like a rat in a spinning wheel following reflections from a cage
You tricked me. Oh yes. You win
Im no longer a man like all women before you ate the innards left a shell
spit out the hull
Dragged my meat to the floor
One final kiss and i leave, i am missed
You say lies again
i pull off your fist
its on my head
its in my throat
i read words that you spoke
its not my fault
its the blood clot
keeping us unconnected in this note
I am dreaming
secret beaming
red lights blinking
help is sinking
No hope between two
softly stroking
my cross is burning
No fires stoking
On my fore arms
on my chest guard
all is sinking with the funeral
All the voices in my head
are telling me it should be dead
yet the ***** in my soul
tells me that he still pleas for bread
But i starve him
and i lash him
and i strap him to this ledge
for he is wrong
and yes he lies
you're the harpy of my dread
You ******* killed me like i was a lame horse to be put down
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 1:30 PM UTC
Angie Jolie has a look that melts into her perfect ******* as she teases me into a new world of seduction. Her eyes are a map and her lips show me where to land my ship of seductions. I want her seductions and eruptions filled full of love consumptions.
Catching my beer just short of the head I drink in life… I miss the spice, the strife, the things that make me cream I want feelings and meanings filled with streaming beings.
Needing something greasy I feel easy and less enthused across a world of misused and abused people that are trained to enjoy the steeple. Dogma, **** it over and **** your dogma. It’s there for you to be a tool.
I miss the hand-kisses and well-wishes. Love’s seduction filled with reduction to the finest elements spent on sweat and tears of fears and folly. I want your lolly and folly filled with me.
******* crazy, it is me.
Me, **** me. The life I chose is interchangeably symbiotic.
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 8:39 PM UTC
We met on the pebbles of a southern British beach
as a night sky of stars unravelled.
Beneath silver moonlight and crimson harbour lights,
you enthused about your plans to travel.
Inspired by your spirit and dreams to roam far,
You captivated me from the start,
But hope washed away in a wave of disappointment,
As I imagined us two worlds apart.
Yet our paths intertwined like two chapters of a book,
and resumed our unfinished story.
Beyond the great horizon and vast stretches of sea,
we connected in virtual territory.
After seven months immersed in this online world,
Christmas carried you home,
And I longed for the day I would see you before me
to replace the small screen on my phone.
We met in verdant gardens of London's Green Park
as a British chill gripped us raw,
Heart-hammering. Words-failing. Mind-racing.
Speechless; my heart soared.
Yet your adorable smile warmed winter's chill,
and suddenly all worries melted away,
There was no tension or strain, but a breath-taking moment
knowing I'll forever cherish this day.
A Christmas of ice-skating and New Years in Dublin,
These moments we will always share.
When you venture back south for your second year of travel,
I will wish everyday that I am there.
All I ask as you jet beyond the equator,
is to keep me close at heart,
In four months time, our paths will meet again;
Distance shall not tear us apart.
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 4:44 AM UTC
Is maturity a thing,
as we wither old?
Do we really learn our lesson,
and finally do as we are told?
I do not.
I refuse.
I will be smart and taught,
yet gleefully confused.
Never content,
never sold.
Always enthused,
and always boozed.
Life can't be seen as seriously real,
as we are all just playing a living game.
We can pierce our own Achilles heel,
or stand tall to pronounce all you overcame.
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 12:43 PM UTC
My ribs call for justice
Strumming them like
Harps
Stomach,
Roars for a revolution.
Mind enthused by the
Fleeting high of
Hunger, and loss.
Image damaged by
Thoughts of perfection
Stranded among lost islands
Of paradise
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 3:59 PM UTC
i wake up with dried tears on the side of my face
i went to sleep smiling,
i thought
i dreamt of you,
as i remember
but i woke up with dried tears on the side of my face
perhaps my eyes see something
that my brain has not yet processed
they see your eyes trail off
when I'm enthused about my day
they see the way your body
is always slightly turned away
my brain gushes about the
sweet text you sent last week
and the future that could lie ahead
but my eyes are the realists
and don't ignore what my brain blocks
they notice the other girls
listed in your inbox
and my eyes know that
they've seen this all before
and the visions in my head
don't align with what you have in store
so my brain might be behind
and take some time understand
that these tears i wake up with
are not a deformity of my lacrimal gland
instead they are trying to fill me in
on what i am trying to ignore
and all these poems i waste on you
i will soon learn to deplore
i don't want to wake up with
dried tears on my face anymore.
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 2:42 AM UTC