"enthusiast" poems
i guess **** isn't art
because it doesn't really
make much of an effort to
go beyond showing men and women
being men and women.
i remember when i was a kid in sunday school
i got a ***** when we learned that
adam and eve lived naked
in the garden of eden.
when i do **** i like to take off all of my clothes.
when i do **** i want to visit a beach
where a lot of people are naked.
I don’t mind if they’re men.
it's always eyes on the guy when you do ****
im not like other straight guys
in the sense that i have a
few male pornstars i really like.
work it, homie.
is **** more like watching a movie
or is it more like having ***
the other day my friends from twitter
were laughing at a guy
who called himself an 'adult toys enthusiast.'
i made more friends on twitter than i did in college.
i look at people having *** on the computer
and that is not cinema.
is sexuality a hobby?
*** is called sleeping with someone
is napping a hobby?
is watching **** like taking a ****
is watching **** like breathing?
i guess if **** isn't art
then it isn't a poem either.
May 18, 2021
May 18, 2021 at 8:19 PM UTC
The sun bakes down heavily on a plastic micro planet in Orlando, Florida
where crowded trams drop American bushels of tourists into an alien world.
Quickly fantasy comes alive
through a corporation of disguise.
The workers mask themselves in a drapery of familiar life
-like costumes to charm little children’s hearts.
They smile wildly, carving a clear dimple line on the but of their cheeks. Walt’s Disney World
must have driven every one of America’s circuses out of business.
The flying trapeze is too elegant,
people now want to be strapped in,
buckled up and whipped around
to forcibly experience the true velocity of entertainment.
Even the participant’s attire is geared for this third world oblivion. Neon ***** packs rest like bloated kangaroo pouches
on fat sweaty old lady’s round hips, their plump fingers
holding on to leashed harnesses reined to their child’s small chest.
This is vacation,
strangers of people in massive conglomerations
with confused expressions and burnt faces.
Even the food seems wickedly unnatural,
like an artificial order of burning plastic and sour dough surprise.
Waiting is the enthusiast’s pastime as parades
of anxious voyeurs are captivated by a trance
fixation of lights and whistles.
They line up like schools of lemming,
plunging on rides,
one by one.
This is the place
Where memories are made
And dreams come true
Sep 25, 2010
Sep 25, 2010 at 12:25 PM UTC
First, you have get to an email address
and then fashion a sculpture
out of daisies and moonbeams
as a wedding present for your love;
practice your poetry because
it will come in handy when tongue tied;
pentameter is a pocket ace
and the game is cutthroat so you’re
gonna wanna have some ready;
calisthenics are required
as is having the right politics
but dissimilar guacamole preferences
are usually alright for awhile;
be sure to develop a tolerance
for sand between your toes;
learn to frolic, but never skip;
don’t buy a boat because nobody
has time for a sweater cape enthusiast
and drowning is very unromantic;
Grow roses and cook eggs every way
you can but ever respect the bacon;
Practice looking longingly;
Toss your hair and brush your teeth;
**** your socks but carefully
maintain just enough flaws
to seem endearing and then
forget all this because the only
time you chose to fall is suicide
and it’s kind of like a bridge jump,
so it’s time to just lie back and enjoy
the dopamine rush while it lasts;
you’ve roped a unicorn,
the fleeting chemistry of
your synapses will thank
or blame you later.
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 1:21 PM UTC
i.
In the Aeonian of the lifetime's
We shalt formeth together;
Lifeline's.
ii.
We shalt be aesthete's
Museum enthusiast's;
Of chariot's, and cherub's.
iii.
Aeviternal through the ion's
Cascarilla of incense burning;
Smoke to riseth ourn hearth.
iv.
A catena of both of ourn novel's
The fireplace, wood gleamed;
Ourn silhouette's making love to the shadow's.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane nagley/ Filipino rose dedication
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 1:14 PM UTC
i.
An enthusiast of Japan
With her love of detective conan;
She loveth YouTube, and small thing's cute
Her voice is uplifting, maketh a lame man start moving.
ii.
From the ancient province
Of Misamis Occidental;
In the northern Mindanao region
Her birth was preordained, not accidental.
iii.
Her favorite color's yellow
And looketh **** in yellow dress;
Though I love her also in black
And red she's a Filipino conqueress.
iv.
I knoweth all about her
Inside and all out;
She's a present wrapped in palm's
She's mine soulmate, no doubt.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl jane Nagley dedication (soulmate)
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 12:40 PM UTC
A ******** enthusiast
Whose pessimism is intrinsic
And not fashioned
A frequenter the doldrums
With a penchant for exaggeration
A confused Scorpio
Plagued by ghosts of former selves
Meandering along a thorny path
Under darkened infinite skies
Waiting for the severed backbone
I Possess trailing behind
To latch on
And offer restoration and purpose
An eternal student
A slave to academia
With an insatiable hunger for knowledge
In the field of economics
Governed by perfectionism
That will be my demise
A feminist
A riot grrrl
With an acute fascination with morbidity
A worshipper of rock music
And Professional headbanger
An enlightened inner-directed soul
An awakened dreamer
Gouging out
The remaining fragments of delusion
From the eyes
Embracing realism
A sufferer
Aspiring to be human.
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 7:35 PM UTC
The curl of my toes in my shoes.
The crinkle in my nose within the mass of freckles.
The rush of blood to my blushing face.
My heart beating like a hummingbird.
Aching scars on my wrists like monkey bars.
All these walls built up around my soul,
I'm not tall enough to reach over.
I'm not loud enough to get through.
But he heard.
He had a ladder and a PA system.
He had a bandage for my scars.
Kind words for my heartbeat, slowing it down to live in the moment.
That's all you really need, just a moment in time.
A moment to connect.
A moment to care.
A moment to love,
A moment to notice.
It's the little things that matter,
What build up in fragments until you get a whole, mismatched person.
He is six feet tall and made up of compassion.
A firefighter who is afraid of burning.
A healer who doesn't like needles.
A train enthusiast and a man of survival.
I whispered his name into sunflowers, his eyes are full of galaxies.
I would get lost in them forever if I could.
Travel among the stars with the boy who heard.
The boy who stayed.
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 3:36 AM UTC
Do, re, tiring me.
Fa, So, Latte sounds good.
A sale on tea?
Do ti la "So, how are your scales going?"
My teacher calls; he wants to know.
"FAr from REady." I admit.
I tried to practice steady,
but store had a sale today, so I quit.
"You'll never make the grade like that;
Devote every hour" He says with a glower.
"Go practice your bow. Coffee can wait."
He's right of course, but I still take the bait.
How's a someone like me
expected to practice enthusiastically?
What's a musician without caffeine to keep his lights turned to "go"?
When the coffee shop conspires to take all my hard earned DOugh?
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 9:11 PM UTC
He didn't earn the name Talk Radio
by digging on NPR,
he earned the name
for being a stupid ******
that never shuts up.
Talk wasted his physically
fit years chasing shallow ***
and creating a seduction ritual,
requiring a lighthouse at
Lake Hefner.
Now he's grappling with his
late 20s, trying to retain what's
left of his hair,
trying to **** in his massive belly,
that resembles a pregnant lady,
more than a typical beer enthusiast.
Speaking of pregnant women,
he confessed a ****** obsession
centered around their tummy.
He asked if I felt the same,
I said,
"I guess they're cute,
but it is in no way a ******
thing. I don't want to
go to town on their
baby lump."
Spending my weekend with Talk,
made me thankful for my ability
to think rationally.
Sep 28, 2010
Sep 28, 2010 at 4:58 PM UTC
I popped a new candle out of its glass
flamingo decorated coffin and put it in a
larger once clear and full of wax but now
sooty vessel
I wanted to burn it but I bought it
for my mother the flamingo enthusiast
who has covered our house in flamingo
cookie jars and curtains and little flamingo
wine toppers so I bought the candle
for 7.99 to add to the collection
I knew she wouldn’t care about
the candle as much as the jar it lived in
so I rescued it briefly only to crush its hopes
by replacing it immediately in an ill fitting
***** home where another of its kind
had already died
The problem I face is that this candle
somehow escaped my murderous hands
by burning so incredibly uneven that the
wax consumed the wick rendering it
completely unburnable
I’m feeling a little disappointed but
I suppose congratulations are in order
May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 9:46 AM UTC
I am a female.
I am in my early twenties.
I have naturally brown hair smudged in fake red and vibrant green eyes.
I am short with a baby deer walk.
I am a student.
I am a worker and a dreamer.
I am an advancer and an experience glutton.
I am a caffeine rush with a brush of sarcasm coated in a smile.
I am a music enthusiast with notes flowing through my bones and measures lifting my every step.
I am a note aspiration draped in wrong tunes and character.
I am a musician unborn.
I am a glutton for the melodies and rhythm of the world.
I am of a shadow generation desperately seeking themselves in each passing fad.
I am a product of the public and society, but am of the discarded bunch, tossed to crowded shelves for less potential.
I am a generation pent up in a box and I am making my break through.
I am of a generation with the potential greater than the last and the means for a voice louder then the rest.
I am a decade of pain and tribulations and of hope and progress.
I am a cynic and I am hope, I am a technological hub and a mirror of all that is to come.
I am the future, the present and the past.
I am representative of those left behind and those who ran full speed.
I am a dancer in the air around me, I am a writer of the languages I cannot speak.
I am an open book with blank pages. I am a magic observer and a culture absorber.
I am a student of the world and the land and the people.
I am a prophet of language.
I am a reader of words sealed in paper.
I am all that I could ever hope to be and I am all that I never wanted to see.
I am my mother, my father, my friends, and my peers.
I am you as he is he and we is me.
I am the product of my mother.
I am the lick at the end of your tongue.
I am the bite in your spite.
I am the twinkle in the glitter you spread.
I am the pocket sized rowdy mouse running about a world too big.
I am the offspring of my father.
I am the peace that was given a chance.
I am the notes dancing from the end of a bell.
I am the back that never turns and I am the last shirt to give for warmth.
I am love and I am hope.
I am the looking glass of perseverance.
I am that nature that will not give up, until dreams are met.
I am radical and quiet all in the same.
I am me.
I am everything and I am nothing.
I am whatever I hatch for the sun's breaking day.
I am a product of the universe and I am molecules unspoken.
I am a voice and I am impact.
I am the change and I am the cause of the need for change.
I will be the dream, I will be all I hoped to be.
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 1:19 PM UTC
Surely a piece of me died back then,
Least I faced after it is physical pain,
Like needless needles it was stinging,
All I managed was writing a poem.
Not a regular poet but an enthusiast,
Within me someone happy had died,
I started embalming the dear & dead,
Only hoping that I shall be revived..
My dying song gave birth to a poem,
Heart for the poem healed my heart,
The poem was truly a miracle for me,
Nothing less than a potion of elixir...
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 11:29 PM UTC
The adolescent Currawong
not exactly stumbling or tripping
is parrot-like as a junior, a
hopper and stepper in
the art of stalking and hunting
In a series of quick-steps and bounces
she moves sideways, most emphatic as
a survival enthusiast
She gazes, investigates and gathers the curios,
insects, rich dark worms
one gesture at a time
She is vigilant and persistent
through the dust
the soil, the grass
with instinct and practise
through her teachers
she thrives
MChallis © 2015
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 8:47 PM UTC
“Weights to the body that want all too exercise
Your Muscles want you to energize
Two Fitness Enthusiast were known as the “Iron Brothers”
The movie was centered around Exercise, Physical Transformation, Muscles and Bodybuilding
Yet it was a creation forming a Fitness Enterprise and Bodybuilding Affiliation Organization
Weider Muscles want your attention please
Stand and Flex but move with ease
But there was Rivalry between two George and Joe Weider all having a mission for Bodybuilding with a Higher Recognition Bodybuilding Prize
The convince being a hard realize
So George had a title that was called “Mr. Universe 1940”
Bodybuilders were all competing for the title
However, Weider was denounced to have anyone from his organization to compete, and there was a struggle
But Joe Weider saw a bigger picture of Bodybuilders in creating the “Mr. Olympia 1950”
Victory being on Joe Weider’s mind
But having a magazine that will enhance
The mission was about giving all Bodybuilders the competing chance
Bodybuilding Magazine relaying Bodybuilders and Bodybuilding coverage
Expressing to the world Bodybuilding was a sport
But don’t cut the sport short
It was going to take persuasion and instilling Bodybuilding appreciation
So the journey being a determined mission
Yet, it was on to discover Arnold Schwarzenegger Whose name Joe Weider had heard of
This Writer actually met Arnold Schwarzenegger personally when he was competing during his Bodybuilding days and the title was “Mr. Olympia” in New York City
I met Mr. Schwarzenegger at the Mid-City Gym in New York City
Arnold would often have trouble saying my name Anthony
Today, he would have no trouble saying my name because he was once a California Governor and a Movie Star
However, I was intrigued to see Sergio Olivia, Jr playing his Father in the Movie, Sergio Olivia, SR
What a combination?
Now the Sergio Olivia, Sr was a Cuban Weightlifter, and became a high Ranking Bodybuilder standing with Arnold Schwarzenegger
What makes Sergio Olivia, SR was when he posed in the ***** pose with humongous Lats when it came to Bodybuilding competition
So Sergio Olivia, Jr was following in his father’s footsteps with destination being stardom
But the Mr. Olympia is still the number one Bodybuilding competition today
Joe Weider saw the vision and how Bodybuilding will make the Mr. Olympia competition worthwhile
Are your muscles pumped to perfection?
Joe Weider’s legacy left behind, “Muscles pumped to Victory”
There’s training to be done
It’s Bodybuilding Victory I want all too be among
Yet, remember what I accomplished in looking upon.
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 7:03 PM UTC
I bet she is happier now.
She is beautiful.
I hope she is told frequently.
She is simple
and I am complicated.
She is able
and I am a hindrance.
She is intelligent and
I am foolish.
She is a visionary
and I am unromantic.
She's the enthusiast.
I am her admirer
Of all she does.
I gasp at her beauty.
I bet she is happier now.
She is beautiful,
and I am not.
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 3:38 AM UTC
**Inspired by Meg Cranston's Artist for President
(http://www.uniteddivas.com/megcranston/megpresident.html)**
We assert that there is a youth culture that is different and separate from all other cultures and that our culture is governed by principles which the aged population finds peculiar or offensive.
We are tired of being labeled.
We are tired of being segmented.
We are tired of hearing old people talk about us.
We are tired of being the respondents to your 20 city questionnaire.
We are done with being ignored.
We are sick of 1980s spandex.
We are sick of your Top 40 hits on a compact disc.
We are sick of your rom-coms and big budget fantasy sci-fi sequels.
We are sick of 60 billion ad messages being hurled from satellites in outer space.
We are done with being disappointed.
We demand the right to change everything.
We demand the right to create our own words.
We demand the right to define what is cool in the morning.
We demand the right to re-define what is cool in the evening.
We are done with being told to follow.
We reserve the right to be elitist.
We reserve the right to choose our heroes.
We reserve the right to create jobs that never existed before.
We reserve the right to outsource, open-source and crowdsource everything and all.
We are done with your rigid ways.
We condemn the wars that you started.
We condemn the poverty and hunger you created.
We condemn your irresponsibility in ignoring our dying planet.
We condemn the forces of greed that keeps an honest man from climbing the income brackets.
We will fix the mess you left behind.
This is for school kids
This is for college students
This is for young professionals
This is for the young artist who shares his creations on DeviantArt
This is for the young blogger who dreams of being a travel journalist
This is for the podcaster who is on her way to become a successful RJ
This is for the YouTube user who dreams of her own television show and feature film
This is for the photography enthusiast who spends his pocket money on a Flickr Pro Account
This is for the opinionated Twitter-for-Blackberry addict destined to become a Twitter celebrity. (Even we don’t know what that means!)
This is for the coding guru who gifts his geek friend a mobile gaming app based on Dungeons & Dragons for his birthday. Yes that is cool...for now.
This is youth culture
Jul 30, 2010
Jul 30, 2010 at 2:24 PM UTC
These people
Mucho beautiful.
You can see them smile
Miles and miles
Riding in a van awhile
Brothers, sisters, mothers,
Daughters, fathers, sons
Hammering until stability comes.
Family and friends under brimmed hats
Gazing through glass at a land void of grass
But full of passion
Leaving behind permanent tracks
They reflected on how they had made lives brighter,
Seen children beg for water,
Woke up yearning to play soccer-
If they won against the locals it'd be a wonder.
A military women, an Illinois baby,
A president, an el Pancho puppet
Pharmacy pros, a summer camp enthusiast, and an old teacher-
He's the coolest.
Some want to be preachers, psychologist, and to just live past round one.
To run around rainbow tires daring to risk
A dusty trip, a graceful fall.
Keep calm.
It's tacos for dessert, van rides, and mafia till the end.
Spoons for life and jokes all day.
The wind picked up but hope remains.
Braids, charades, dancing, picture frames.
Hole in the sand.
Bouncing in the back of the van.
Almost, but no luck at riding in the back of a pick up truck.
Soaring free down streets.
Towns, the same images on repeat.
A woven rose, question marks leading to unknowns, a circle of bonds forever.
Will we be there soon?
A carnival under the midnight moon.
Coconuts by homes. Respect for third tier bunk beds.
Rushing to the dorm room, downstairs for food.
Todo esta bien y tu?
Braid hair all the time please!
Don't let the paint bleed.
Let's go ride the ATV
Reflect on who we want to be
From here on till eternity
A rower, a reader, and eighth grade dreamer.
If the nail bends, stop to see
It could be saved!
Our Baja family
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 4:27 PM UTC
I bet she is happier now.
She is beautiful.
I hope she is told frequently.
She is simple.
and I am complicated.
She is able.
I am a hindrance.
She is intelligent.
I am foolish.
She is a visionary.
I am unromantic.
She's the enthusiast.
I am the admirer
Of all she does.
I gasp at her beauty.
I bet she is happier now.
She is beautiful,
and I am not.
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 2:51 AM UTC
Half a world away
No closer than two stars half bright
Half alive only half the time
And I the hapless gazer
The amateur enthusiast
The wakened soul who cries with the wolves
To the moon
‘who am I to gaze’
‘who am I to covet what I’ve left’
and they, far as the distant cosmos
form constellations with pins of flickering light
that I’ve never considered before
never known or cared to know
myths, and names, and stories that I
the hapless gazer
will only watch with a bleary jealous wonder
Passing nomads gaze with me for a moment
For a moment let me dress in their clothes
Eat from their table
Drink from their cup
For a moment
With the promise of return one day
To gaze with me
On their terms
For one more moment
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 1:08 AM UTC
I can taste the ******* drips, an IV of memories, a life line
I can feel my nose bleeding, I begin to laugh, why me?
Is it getting hard to explain to your parents what you did last night? Do you hold back? Do they even care?
Mine don't seem to give a ****
My mother asked me why there's black circles around my eyes, asked why I seem to be on edge, why I'm never home
A lot of questions
I don't like to say much, I'd rather just do
I'm more of a slap you across the face kind of girl, or a dance away from the smell of hate kind of life enthusiast
Sometimes I wish I cared
Most days I'm glad I don't
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 2:26 PM UTC
My best friend told me, she understood why I drank.
My mother is sad.
My father is a liar.
One sister can't live,
The other wants to live like me.
I always knew drinking just took the place of cutting.
Drinking took the place of thinking.
Drinking took the place of reality.
I'm no alcoholic,
I'm... an alcohol enthusiast.
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 3:24 PM UTC
Uninvited visitor
Black-eyed burglar
Shadow dweller
Nimble sprinter
Able contortionist.
Cheap, common yet
Generous
disease giver
Innocent troublemaker
Thief and scrounger
Bin searcher
Test subject.
Extreme sport enthusiast of my kitchen, bedroom and balcony
Sleep depriver
Olympic diver
Racecar driver with claws for wheels.
I'm not your pit crew, so please find your meals elsewhere,
Silent sniffler.
Constant nibbler
Unwelcome visitor
Gatecrasher!
And he brought a plus one, cheeky sod.
Wherever he goes,
He's pursued always by that faithful worm.
Jun 11, 2017
Jun 11, 2017 at 3:24 PM UTC
im
warm
and its cold and
i don't even want to
think on the way your stealthily
soft breath felt near my ear i want you out
out, out, please get out of my head i cant seem to get
these hallucinations of you from behind my eyes and it makes
me feel so weak and i hate weakness, hate it, hate it, you make me
weak you
fiend.
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 8:31 PM UTC
tripper
burnt out- an asphalt
space cadet,
a freak of nature your around
you addict
jet-setter
voyager globetrotter
you practitioner enthusiast
often injurious
to your sanity,
admit your habit
you hound you know you
are bound to be
blood smeared on I-75
someday.
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 10:12 PM UTC
Setting:
One bedroom apartment, run down
Hasn't been cleaned for months
Leaning back on a three legged couch
Chain smoking at 7PM with the sun setting
Through the black out curtains pinned to the wall
With some edgy alt-pop ******** on shuffle.
Dagger in hand questioning what is real and what is fake.
What makes a person? Their name? Their past, their presence?
Who will I be known as when I pass
Will they mourn the sulking writer who drank and smoked her life away?
Will they lay to rest the prepubescent drama queen and avid book enthusiast?
Or will they bury the dreams of this girl possibly pulling herself together to make something great.
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 8:47 PM UTC