"enviable" poems
Instant.
Gratification.
A like.
A fleeting comment.
A bit of attention.
This doesn't last forever, need I mention?
We paint picture perfect lives
as if it were the truth.
Rarely do people post about times
when they're discouraged or feeling blue.
Our lives seem enviable, but you don't see what occurs behind doors.
The mundane moments no one wants to disclose.
With social media I find myself becoming more distant, yet feeling more connected in an instant. Making so called friends that I never talk to in person. Adding to a list of people that I pretend to know and ignoring the ones I say I care for.
Then there's the selfish gratification. It's all about me. Here's another one of my selfies. But somehow I find that I compare myself endlessly. And so do you and so does he. It's a game we aren't aware we signed up for. Yet the mutual agreement is we all score.
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 2:21 AM UTC
*Bouncy, swirly, colors see me.
Bouncy, swirly, colors see me.
Bouncy, swirly, colors see me.*
Depression of Science
Believe in possible
achieve the probable
accept the inevitable
laws are boundaries..
*Oh, those sprinkle's shards
they hug the lamplight so?*
Possible, they believe me
Laws, condor, deceiving...
Fate enviable acceptance
-evening
Akha, Okto, Echo, Eight-
*Bouncy, swirly, colors see me.
Bouncy, swirly, colors see me.
Bouncy, swirly, colors see me.*
Was it one or eight?
I
ate
One
then
Eight?
118
1118
1118
11118
111118
8
**Shhhh...you hear that?
...there's something in the closet...**
it's like a
ant on crack
a ant on
Crack
it's like a
ant on crack
a ant on
ANT ON CRACK
nano,
-Crack
it's like a
ant on crack
ANT ON CRACK
ant on
Crack
ant on
Crack
ant on
Crack
ant on
Crack
it's like a
ANT ON CRACK
..fingertips in heaven
Heaven's a construct,
by a carpenter and a drywaller....
and a painter...
Controlled by
Home's Despotism
*Bouncy, swirly, colors see me.
Bouncy, swirly, colors see me.
Bouncy, swirly, colors see me.*
*Bouncy, swirly, colors see me.
Bouncy, swirly, colors see me.
Bouncy, swirly, colors see me.*
*Bouncy, swirly, colors see me.
Bouncy, swirly, colors see me.
Bouncy, swirly, colors see me.*
it's like a
* ANT ON CRACK *
Sep 5, 2017
Sep 5, 2017 at 8:16 PM UTC
The kite gets high, stays aloft-
quite some time displaying
enviable dexterity, for fun
do spectacular somersaults as much times
as it could, climbs up in air with a loud swoosh
then look! how the wind gets *****
with her, if she has something
of a skirt, it goes up, up to an
indecent height, she doesn't have
that balance a player at such
heights should have kept always.
Its absurd, all these acrobatics silly kite
displays before the world at high altitudes
with a unholy interest
to show herself more accomplished
than what she really is, could you
pardon that frivolity, because she
has many more colors than clouds.
He admits abashedly that he too was
once in love with her frivolous attractiveness,
but he never could understand a kite;
in spite of the lightness, that makes
it easier to travel heights, has kite a significance?
After all what is a kite? her merit?
a strange arrangement that defies
common sense, all it can do is aimless flying.
Isn't it a charge serious enough?
even a dry leaf, or a falling feather
can do these acrobatics for a while.
What is the meaning of a kite,
kindly someone notify , if it has any,
meaningless flying is not for anything
of substance, what kind of play
is it, if it is perceived as one, by any one
why the folly of someone take us
for a ride all these years, without
a second thought, he wonders
who might have promoted it, had some
ulterior motive, some point to prove;
wind, mightiest of forces is made to look weak
in everyday life .
He would suspect, in the bargain many
generations too spent their time
in this vein pursuit without any thought.
Any kite display a greed to go up and
stay there, till the time it is possible to float
don't want to be back, when wind is on her side
unless force is applied, what does it signify?
Kite has a hunger to touch wonder with its fingers
he knows, and he can't but appreciate it
and when the occasion arises she fly up to the cloud,
play with him as if he is her secret lover, that hurts
could such a liaisons are to be be tolerated
she knows how a cloud tastes at different times
Yes, sky certainly intoxicates her,
she want to move closer, doesn't it spell danger?
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 1:09 PM UTC
algorithmic street signs
with altruistic elegance
senses and the sensible
of whom Socrates is enviable
a heron, preferring solid ground
but taking to the skies with pride
for she knows that she'll accomplish both
because when born she made her oath
"dear lord, they're all asking you
to give them what they have not
but all that i would ask from you
is to give me the courage not to choose"
and so today she sings her songs
metallic and melodic, perfect balance,
and she knows she's never going to fall
because if you're in the middle, there's no gravity at all
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 10:35 PM UTC
They say of me, and so they should,
It's doubtful if I come to good.
I see acquaintances and friends
Accumulating dividends,
And making enviable names
In science, art, and parlor games.
But I, despite expert advice,
Keep doing things I think are nice,
And though to good I never come--
Inseparable my nose and thumb!
3.6k
As the sound of the fireworks
Signaled celebration for the rest
As the night sky lit up with lights
It was the beginning of a test
Fireworks echoed the end
It was similar to the sound
Of breaking and collapsing
Of everything crashing down
The more the twists and turns
The more worth and excitement
The more the trials challenges
The more resistance to torment
As fireworks exploded in the sky
As fire rained downed onto earth
As the end echoed from the flames
A beacon of hope was given birth
A beacon enveloped in flames
Which tried to exterminate
An embodiment of strength
Which can never depreciate
Wrapped in burning flames
Which tried so ever
To turn it to nothing
But it didn't surrender
A Phoenix born from the ashes
A beacon that would not surrender
A Phoenix that lit up in darkness
A Phoenix that only gets stronger
A Phoenix that's brighter
Than anything ever seen
Born from fire that burned it
And stronger than what it's been
When there is nothing more but ash
And when it seems hopeless
Be your own Phoenix
And illuminate in darkness
So that everyone in doubt
And all of the hindrances
Will be in awe and no longer deny
Your immeasurable unwavering resilience
A Phoenix that wouldn't allow
The same flame, to burn it down
A Phoenix that turns fire
Into its glorious gown
A Phoenix that turns the end
Into a magnificent enviable crown
A Phoenix, even in a sea of fire
Wouldn't dare burn or drown
From the fire and ashes, it has risen
Unwavering strength and unyielding flame
Spreading its wings to soar once again
I am still me but no longer the same
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 7:34 AM UTC
I am the Zelda.
The manic Fitzgerald,
Not nearly half as good as my other half,
but supposedly,
Awash with many enviable traits,
Beauty, Clarity and Limitless talent, abound.
or so they tell me.
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 9:24 AM UTC
Welcome my Princess! Oh Heavens,
For the queen of my heart
Is about to offer to nature
Her complete beauty of Africa,
Give her the Kente cloth
In its rich, natural and splendid array,
And offer her newborn feet with
The golden sandals and diamond beads,
Behold! There she descends from the
Unapproachable eternal flames of the sun,
With the divine firmament
Fizzling at her flammable tune,
See how the precious fragrant branches
Of the clouds covers her lovely feet,
For the clouds have gathered and there is
Nothing more to expect but the storm,
Oh yes, I have found a ****** woman,
The beauty among the daughters of great men,
Whose eyes are as brilliant as the star
And as delightful as a sugarcane;
Behold, her face is as bright as palm wine;
Her hair sleeps like a slender thread,
And her stature is as that of a pawpaw tree,
She is called Obaahemaa Kabutuwaa
And truly she is Rasses Kabutuwaa
Whose eyes are those of the faithful dove,
Truly, Kabutuwaa whose
Gods is like that of bees,
Slim, black and full of sweetness,
Truly, Kabutuwaa is obedient and wise,
Truly, Kabutuwaa for whom
All men felt love in their hearts!
Come! Oh my unveiled one,
And expose thy soft and loamy face,
For the nations shall seek and
Behold thy enviable eternal beauty,
Ah, the proud effeminate shadow of Africa,
Please show the angelic face of
Thy love to my perturbed soul,
For thou art an African ****** indeed.
© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: [email protected]
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 6:58 AM UTC
A lovely tree, so carefree,
In serene tranquility
With it I would spend my night,
And let come whatever might
Red-yellow leaves, sparsely wreathed,
Life into the air it breathes
Dying breaths, it pays a price
Gives its solemn sacrifice
It’s not fair, you’ll soon be bare,
Most will not even care,
At least for now, your leaves so bright
Make for such an enviable sight.
Oct 27, 2021
Oct 27, 2021 at 12:04 AM UTC
Wise men in their bad hours have envied
The little people making merry like grasshoppers
In spots of sunlight, hardly thinking
Backward but never forward, and if they somehow
Take hold upon the future they do it
Half asleep, with the tools of generation
Foolishly reduplicating
Folly in thirty-year periods; the eat and laugh too,
Groan against labors, wars and partings,
Dance, talk, dress and undress; wise men have pretended
The summer insects enviable;
One must indulge the wise in moments of mockery.
Strength and desire possess the future,
The breed of the grasshopper shrills, "What does the future
Matter, we shall be dead?" Ah, grasshoppers,
Death's a fierce meadowlark: but to die having made
Something more equal to the centuries
Than muscle and bone, is mostly to shed weakness.
The mountains are dead stone, the people
Admire or hate their stature, their insolent quietness,
The mountains are not softened nor troubled
And a few dead men's thoughts have the same temper.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 9:19 AM UTC
Who and Where in the World is Shaunna Harper?
A young poetess here at HP, a story teller, herein a Mashup, excerpts from her writings. Do not overlook her...
You hold your breath,
stagnant, absent
in the station,
trains grumbling about leaving
and about waiting,
people passing, chattering
about nothing
they are actually thinking about;
*** cheap wine, finances,
time, romances and of course,
the weather.
You stand on the platform
between two trains,
puffing fumes and
oil from its brains.
In your throat
somewhere
you mime the sounds
of a goodbye speech,
the silent, strained
words false even in
unspoken terms,
the ever-after of remorse,
the frailty of indecision.
I am somewhere either in the woods,
walking in the enormity of your shoes,
or in the water, making feeble shapes,
hoping to find you in the blue.
Not a child, ill with misfortune.
One of a kind, she dances
to her own gypsy tune,
free, enviable, fresh
to ears and eyes, not used,
like you or me,
or abused, immune to lies.
I am heading for a shock.
I am leaving home and arriving
only God knows where,
bags empty, head full,
and the place my roots took hold
is never going to look the same.
The win is not important,
only the playing of the game,
and the rules have been rewritten.
With every step covered,
I am someone else, somewhere else,
and only the disorientation remains.
I cannot make up my mind
from my dreams.
Chasing planes from buses
to cleaner places
better places
leaner places
the brittle, broken
fingernails chewed
to fray the anxiety.
America, I’m on my way.
Bury me in your deserts,
throw me to your cities
let my future do what it will
in its own sweet time.
Give me my fury.
Keep me swinging.
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 5:52 PM UTC
I've been told I'm cynical
by a hippie with dreadlocks.
No, I don't want to try molly with you.
I've been told that cuddling is better in the cold
by a boy with an enviable smile, wearing a striped sweater.
Let's make a book of comfortable sleeping positions for couples.
With the bed as the office, and the sheets for a desk.
I've been told that I'm too old for hugs
by the contributor of half my genes.
I love you too.
People tell me things
and usually I don't listen.
But sometimes I do.
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 9:35 PM UTC
Every dainty dish of love
she rapturously serve him
has an unmistakable distinct flavor!
He repeatedly wonder, often aloud,
that what would be the magic she applies,
in her smashing haute cuisine ensemble.
When,
it's love, like butter, pure and dense
in large dollops,with it's flavor invariable,
is the one constant major ingredient,
in every which dish she cooks;
for all his questions, persistent and curious,
her answer would be just a smile mysterious.
In their love life enviable, this one thing
still remains the million dollar question!
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 10:21 AM UTC
They say,
that nothing you do is of much significance,
there's nothing you'll do that is of much importance,
but the small impact you make,
you have to do.
They say,
That your finger prints are permanent,
on someones life when you grab hold.
no matter how meek,
you leave your mark on their crime scene.
They say,
that love conquers all.
Your knight in shining armor will save you.
A young little pretty woman will love you for you and nurture you,
until together you die,
on a warm day in bed together,
to continue your lives in eternity, in blissful peace.
They never say the truth.
The story of how we just so happen to be here.
How the only difference betwixt us and an animal is that we escaped natures food chain,
and have made our own controlled by pieces of paper and fat pigs congratulating eachother over brandy and illegal drugs on wall street feeding on our developed Darwinist society.
They never say
How no matter what you'll do your efforts are deleted months after your enviable death.
Self inflected or other wise.
So why do we value our fingerprint lives so dearly?
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 3:17 PM UTC
We are bound by gluttonous and crimson ties of political psychopathy where elected white-collar gangsters exercise their wrath in order to compel the masses towards a lustful calamity at the price of slothful convenience.
Absolute power is characterised by greed, and it corrupts to an absolute degree of nihilistic rhapsody.
Whatever happened to our prideful intelligence?
Lest we forget: the analysis of intimacy is enviable, as she is forfeited in the name of capital vice.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 10:44 PM UTC
How a humble son of Scotland
Fought to enviable height
First a paratrooper captain
Then as a British knight
This witty chap from Glasgow
Loaned himself, a decorated past
From Distinguished Service Order
To NATO's advisory cast
As the press took him in notice
His wiki posts drew no pity
As with his tale of valour
He was defamed: "Sir Walter Mitty"
Nov 12, 2019
Nov 12, 2019 at 10:48 PM UTC
You're older now, soldier.
Your wars aren't the same.
Dust and the blinds they collect,
days that feel red, almost enviable
in their passion.
Shaky hands again, dry mouth
again, sirens singing low in
the black water day after day.
Death should mean something.
Encore for the epitaph!
It isn't real, but it is. It's replaying
in your head. It isn't real, but
it happened.
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 9:17 PM UTC
caked on makeup, lyrical lash lines, clear
thoughts for the first time; trying so hard to type
out the right words to make the world stop spinning ten
times too fast in the wrong direction. can't you see it's making me ill,
the way you casually can't decide and lean
on calves of glass and card towers of achromatizing dust?
I am a kaleidoscope of many other ashes to ashes to dust;
cut across from rib to rib and leeching out the clear
air you breathe. I am perennial, the one to clean
you up when you fail to break the mold and fall back on type-
casted stereotypes of who everyone else thinks you should be. still,
I am the one who doubts and falters, often
has the idea that we are erased and quick forgotten
the moment our idiosyncrasies peter out and dust
replaces bones we came to know. I am shrill,
and I talk too loud at all the wrong times; I can never clear
the plates I stain with blood and pile high with subtype
after subtype derivatives of things I should do and glean
vivification from carefully, anxiously. you have this lean
skin and enviable, insouciant lilt to your walk towards me at ten
o'clock when I can't see straight anymore, can barely type
the last letters of my poems. your eyes are clear
and you're free of that indestructible and obliterating dust
that clogs my lungs and makes me feel so ill
so often. shallow peaks of your shoulder blades, time at a standstill
when I merge into highways of veins and clean
breaks from responsibility, softly tracing jawbones that clear
my head for just a moment; hands that tremble to fasten
the world back onto my hollow aches and faltering nervous system. I dust
off your window sill and think maybe you're the type
that complements an irrational daydreaming messy busy type-
writer kind of lover. you know, the kind that hates to pay the bill
on time because that's another deadline to miss, who lets dust
fly around because vacuums interrupt abstract art and lean
cuisine, who likes cats and very, very often
misplaces her phone somewhere on your clear
floor nothing like the type she has, like the type I have, like the way I lean
toward your infrastructure to hold me still; darling, you brighten
my mornings of habitual stardust and glass not quite clear.
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 6:21 AM UTC
Humanity swims upstream,
Like a nurturing moment.
Ever wanting to be more, but
Finding the struggle hard.
Seeding the streams of life,
With those that sank below.
But we swim, and keep on
Up the stream to find our goal.
The waters become calmer as
We are now within our moment.
We were many but some welcomed
The quiet and peace that came.
We were humanity swimming,
always fighting going upstream.
But with all journeys some unexpected
Happenings come around the bend.
As we swam never seeing what was
Ahead, humanities enviable end.
We had submerged ourselves, but it
Was our time to now fall.
Screams were heard in the distance,
But we swam over the edge of life.
The waterfall of extinction had come,
And we fell, all to the silence below.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 5:44 AM UTC
I was once a faceless doll,
clean and concealed.
I remained that way for a time
'til curiosity caused my new form to be revealed.
At first my face was plain.
I was content and free,
but curiosity was not the only artist,
you see.
They seamed in their stitches
and drew upon my face.
I was new yet again,
changing with an unbelievable pace.
They said I was no longer just a copy
but unique and enviable.
But was I not formed from their desires,
an image which their liking could resemble?
Were these thoughts even mine to own?
I wish I could be that faceless doll once more,
but I am ragged and marked now,
though their drawings have not soiled my core.
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 8:45 AM UTC
Weird in his outfits of a late ragamuffin
Reflecting strength of character and soul toughness
Contrasted by dreadlocks on his pykitonic head
Giving him a look of an African amorous ogre,
In the tough stunt for *** with a tectonic girl,
Veneered by mastery of his pen and keyboard
Following after his *** starved ancestor
The muzhik; Vladimir Nabokov the ****** lover,
Swimming in enviable freedom to *********
Afro-English words in his road to the burning church
That barely roasts the peasants for tribal reasons,
A ****** ground for Mochama’s humour
That will hold you glued and captive to the pages
Until the he goat of Abagusii goes through
The second round of its ****** act
Basically forming education for Smitta
The smitten rock of African literature.
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 6:11 AM UTC
August sun stung my eyes
as sweat trickled down my brow waiting.
Anxiety and Fantasy banged around in my head turning like a picture book
i saw you emerge from the blinding lights and heat waves
Baby i was smitten by you
inhaling deep sweet smokes from the tip of a pipe
i walked a concrete line as sweltering reality dipped and swerved
dancing around your carelessly moving body
Baby i was infatuated by you.
resting in the shadows of the day
I, i couldn't breathe
you stole the breath from me as you kissed me
i had an enviable lust for you
Baby i loved you
the gentle swerves became dodges
I grew impatient with you
having miserable meetings over your movements
you chose to move with someone else when i went to the bathroom
Baby i hated you.
blinded by the words burnt into my head
feeling her imprint where I
I was suppose to fit!
Baby i hated you!
i gave you my heart and you burnt it!
BABY I LOVED YOU!
this monkey wrench beaten me into madness,
impaled by my rage
I ******* hate you!
your gentle touches ripped the fabric of my soul
you ******* murdered me!
Baby you burnt me.
leaving nothing but a ****** scarlet letter
i scrubbed my skin with sandpaper
And couldn't get rid of your traces
Baby i longed for you.
i needed you.
i loved you.
I love you.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 7:19 PM UTC
Packet of Time
T'is the custom of some,
To do their self-sums,
Periodically,
A self-review of
What is seen
When standing before the
Mirror that cannot lie.
Some like Xmas, while others
Count their turkey feathers
on January first.
Others numerical ***** on
The fifteenth of April,
As required by the IRS.
Others habit bound,
Do a spring cleaning,
Or an annualized medical checkup.
Then there are the enviable few,
Who never do
Such an exercise,
For being sure of one's rightness
Precludes the necessity of having their
**** probed, their status, already known.
As I lie in bed at four am,
Waking after a four hour packet of rest,
Began to wonder, what is the proper period
That a person should time themselves out,
Take a look back, do a "get back Jack,"
To find where they not once belonged,
But where they should set the course heading.
Here is where
This poem gets
Deadly
Serious.
One minute please!
One on, one off.
Did you just spend the minute prior,
Setting your brain on fire,
Scrub away the false pretenses,
Or waste 60 of them on mindless telly?
Day dream, plan and scheme,
Outline the plan, man,
Or curse your fate
The one you, Nate,
Created.
Seems quite expensive,
Spending half a life
Thinking how to
Spend the other half.
But a **** worthwhile,
Notion,
likely to reduce
Self- promotion.
For after but a few such minutes,
You will likely conclude,
Better to think of others,
Than yourself.
Then you truly begin,
The voyage human.
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 4:19 AM UTC
The roaring sea collides on the rocky shores
As we watch
From heights above
Inside the lighthouse
Between us stands a cool breeze of harmony
Wondering
To take this relationship further
Perfect are we
A bond so unbreakable
Eternity carrying
As hearts renew
Our words be timeless
Lifelines singling out
To someone not true
Deception
Is a honey bee sting
Flavoring a taste
So souring to be turned out
Enviable confinement
A query so embracing, I rather not
Who else
Can interchange a dominance of passion
Sep 8, 2009
Sep 8, 2009 at 9:03 AM UTC
He makes his rounds bounding around town between cobblestones
And I am last I never mind but I am always last
And you'd feign quelle surpris at how long I would wait for this uncourtly gentleman
Although that is a reaching description because he totters between gentle and aggressive
Just the way I like
We have nothing but the way we have everything
It's nothing permeably enviable but oh if you knew I swear you'd just seethe
Neither of us belong to the world and the world does not want us
We are far too content in our miseries to fathom fear of change
I have others and he has his but I know his body aches for mine thousands of thoughts away
I don't know all the triggers that makes his mind wander to me just as he will never know that when I smell new rain on old earth it's he who comes first
But I think just knowing that there are things that bring him back to me warms my ever pumping heart until the worlds sees fit to cease it's beat
And with that said I hope he's there to care and I am not last forever
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 8:47 PM UTC