"err" poems
Over time
I built the box
wall by wall
day by day
composed of dreams
and desires
ideals, beliefs, and goals
Over time
it kept me safe
and where I wanted to be
within the boundaries
of what I wanted
pushing me to succeed
keeping me in line
Over time
it became a prison
trapping me in, not letting me out
leaving no room for growth
no room to move
to change, improve,
or to fail
Over time
I took it down
wall by wall
day by day
removed of dreams
and desires
ideals, beliefs, and goals
Over time
replaced by the openness
of being whatever I want to be
able to let things go
and to make mistakes
for to err is to be human
and with that I was set free
Jan 17, 2012
Jan 17, 2012 at 11:14 PM UTC
Coffee , cake and tea
Where are all the Jonquills
March has come late
Without a yellow promise
Without a breath of warm air
The sea is shallow
Without shells
Just goes on and on
Not even up to my knees
And she talks of heresy
Conjectures , probabilities
On and on and
On and on
Fools make mistakes
Wise men err
To one man the sun sets
Another rises to the occasion
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 11:50 PM UTC
Never again,
Never ever again,
Will I ever type my work up!
I'll save myself from computer err
By handwriting my poems.
Then and only then
Will I put them to the computer!
The self hatred,
The hate for technology,
Increases as my rage boils over.
Realizing that all the words,
All my emotions and feelings,
So thoughtfully phrased and typed,
Are lost,
Is a feeling like no other.
Rewriting the words,
Trying to remember exact phrases,
Is just painful!
Never again,
Never ever again,
Will I ever type my work up!
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 6:35 AM UTC
In the case of loving someone,
Don't trust them to never hurt you,
Trust them enough to know that they are only human and they are bound to err..
Trust them enough to give them freedom and space,
Trust them enough to know that their human nature can sin in anyway possible,
Trust isn't about perfection,
Its about knowing and accepting the fact that someone can sin against you or even hurt you but you choose to take the risk because you know that they are worth it,
Don't make trust a burden for anyone,
Trust simply and love truly..
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 3:00 AM UTC
Letting go can be tough
Perhaps the harshest measure
Many times we will face
Changes that last forever
"What if I'd done this?"
"What if I'd done that?"
Questions to go unanswered
And irrelevant to the fact
The adoption of acceptance
Is your only quest
The only option to be alloted
Now swallow to digest
Observe the tremble in your hands
Your eyes begin glistening
Your heart is in your ears
But who's the one listening?
As it courses through your veins
Something celebrates in your heart
Every storm runs out of rain
The Truth in you prevails
As you begin to emerge
Once again to raise the sails
You've let it run it's course
You've stopped the irradic spinning
Focusing on the Now
Every breath a new begining
The only stake it has claimed
Is to your education
Simply a reminder
Of life's continuing alteration
To err is only human
And Forgiveness is Divine
You, they, deserving or not
Just turn the coin to see the shine
Yes, we have a choice
To see the brighter side
We don't have to dwell
In the illusion of The Lie
Just as it came
Let it go with an ease
Accepting what it WAS
Join your Self and thaw the freeze
It will come again
Your Knowing, now a weapon
It has lost the ferocity
Sanity no longer threatened
You can call it thick skinned
Or unwavering balance
You can call it indifferent
I will call it an Allowance.
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 10:53 AM UTC
Oh ****
Oh, oh, it didn't work did it?
Why?
Why didn't it work?
I can't see!
I have blood in my eyes, my hands.
Oh ****
It didn't work did it?
The plastic bag!
****
The plastic bag!
****
****
Ff cck ckk err
err
(sigh)
Poetry by Kaydee
**** it Kaydee! Just **** it! That's it!)
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 3:42 PM UTC
Similiter et omnes revereantur Diaconos, ut
mandatum Jesu Christi; et Episcopum, ut Jesum
Christum, existentem filium Patris; Presbyteros
autem, ut concilium Dei et conjunctionem
Apostolorum. Sine his Ecclesia non vocatur; de
quibus suadeo vos sic habeo.
S. Ignatii Ad Trallianos.
And when this epistle is read among you, cause that
it be read also in the church of the Laodiceans.
The broad-backed hippopotamus
Rests on his belly in the mud;
Although he seems so firm to us
He is merely flesh and blood.
Flesh and blood is weak and frail,
Susceptible to nervous shock;
While the True Church can never fail
For it is based upon a rock.
The hippo’s feeble steps may err
In compassing material ends,
While the True Church need never stir
To gather in its dividends.
The ‘potamus can never reach
The mango on the mango-tree;
But fruits of pomegranate and peach
Refresh the Church from over sea.
At mating time the hippo’s voice
Betrays inflexions hoarse and odd,
But every week we hear rejoice
The Church, at being one with God.
The hippopotamus’s day
Is passed in sleep; at night he hunts;
God works in a mysterious way—
The Church can sleep and feed at once.
I saw the ‘potamus take wing
Ascending from the damp savannas,
And quiring angels round him sing
The praise of God, in loud hosannas.
Blood of the Lamb shall wash him clean
And him shall heavenly arms enfold,
Among the saints he shall be seen
Performing on a harp of gold.
He shall be washed as white as snow,
By all the martyr’d virgins kist,
While the True Church remains below
Wrapt in the old miasmal mist.
4.7k
Cocoon
Err thing is on point.
Wrapping my words around your thought.
Your heart no longer a mannequin.
Bursting to life in full bliss.
Finding light in a world so dark.
Becoming more than a significant other.
My everything
Feb 12, 2017
Feb 12, 2017 at 10:45 PM UTC
Marry me..
err...marry me?
err..will you marry me?
I pop the question
as I look into her eyes
in that dark room lit only by the billboard backlight outside
She puts the table lamp on and looks at me
These few seconds are agonising
as I look at her face lit by the lamp.
Yes?
No?
Need time?
None of the above?
Apr 14, 2022
Apr 14, 2022 at 1:11 AM UTC
My body wishes for nutrition,
but it does not know the meaning of frugality.
Only my mind knows the meaning, and keeps my body at bay.
My body will say,
"Feed me, feed me, feed me!",
but my mind's rejection will not falter,
for the Happiness of my love
makes the means to receive it without err.
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 8:01 PM UTC
I read him one of my poems
He complemented my mechanics
And although part of me laughed
Wondering how he heard me breathe the commas
Heard my spelling bee winner's letter placement
Still
The notion stuck
Steadfast
Push-pinned in my memory
In the neglected space where kind gestures live
I told him how I appreciated it
I should've told him
Boy no no
You don't understand
My mechanics need fixing
No not my grammar boy
I should've told him to volunteer
Sweet boy
I know hands are easier to work with than words
Touch me with both
Shhhh sweet boy
Fix me with your good nature
Let it wash over me
Wash away my grime
You needn't a good speaking voice
But a good intention
Warming arms
To thaw me
Couldn't hurt
But sweet boy
Too bad
We all grow sick of licorice
And I broke you
Like the mantelpiece momma told me not to play around
I broke you
For a less sweet boy
With a politician tongue
And words soaked in muddy motives
I broke you
Hardened you
Into a less sweet boy
With a polititia- err
Salesman tongue
And words soaked in muddy motives
I left you
Gone with the wind
You were the Rett
In the search for my Ashley
But he broke me
Like the soldiers countenance heading to combat
He left me
Wondering
Where all the sweet boys could have gone
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 11:11 AM UTC
To my boss, I'd like to dedicate
This jovial kind of poem
though It really turns my stomach
Knowing that I know him
I'd like to feign concern
For all his woes and cares
And pat him firmly, on the back
Atop a flight of stairs
When he goes on holiday
I like to wish him well
And hope he's going somewhere warm
Like the furnaces of Hell
He meets with lots of people
Such as his clients and bookkeeper
Why can't he meet someone new?
Like for instance, "The grim reaper"
If he should pop his mortal coil
That would not make me grieve
The thing that ticks me off the most
Is, he shares the air I breathe
He bores me with his witless jokes
They're no cause for celebration
The only time he'll make me smile
Is at his burial or cremation
Nobody seems to like him
That's not open for debate
I suspect when he's behind closed doors
He likes to … err… fiddle
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 5:24 PM UTC
I've never seen someone like you,
Who are you, an aborigine from perfect land...
You crush me down,
You tear me apart,
You break my confidence,
The more I try, the ruder you get.
The stronger you tear me down.
To err is human, but not so for you.
You think your perfect, well I'm sorry to prove you wrong.
Believe in perfection, try your hand at it first,
Then, and only then try your hand at others.
* Personalised and Improvised *
* Evolves to ones likeness *
* Reflects who you are *
* Father of practice *
* Efficient when a true friend *
* Creative and rewarding *
* Time consuming *
* Institution of creative minds *
* Openness to change and *
* Never devastating. *
Faith is mine, and uncertainty is yours.
Trust is from humans, disbelief for aborigines.
Love for the heart, hatred for the mind.
Completeness in all its goodness is mine,
Perfection with all its imperfection is for none but you.
We try and you wreck us down,
You try and we break apart.
Let nature take its own time and heal the wounds,
Caused by the imperfect perfectionist.
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 10:17 PM UTC
Laughter & glitter
Sunshining through straight white teeth – voice unheard of
With a smile to make any man slither over
Cutting soft stomachs open
Driving out with sticks and leaves and rocks
And leaving me with the tab
How like them to err for the sake of error
Terrible and true
Acuity bound
It’s feeding time at the zoo &
There’s no one to take this noose off around my neck
We were swimming in the gulf when she asked
Why create when there’s so much to destroy?
My hands their play things too
Toys ordained from disdain sustained
By tight men in tight suits
Watching us from Ivory Towers
What a relief
& the power trips of the circus beneath them
Reaching out with viral irony I scream
Out to the heavens heaven doesn’t take collect calls
& here she is connecting souls to mates
Correcting hate and abating disgrace worldwide
Webs intangible but thought to be hooked
To the hearts that spun them
Free flowing love & peace to cut my noose hung from
The sycamore tree
As for me what more could please
Disease eradicated
People educated
Our lives illustrated not by blood off a bayonet
But by regret eliminated
Fat cats in high homes with low self esteem would seem
Just as happy to see her redacted from the text books
Crooked lies straightened & the sad thing is they
Trick us fine serfs to mitigate others in their organized ignorance
Leaving us in the dark to elbow for clues
Groping the dust blind &
Hurting ourselves with ***** fingernails scratching
She shouts like a car crash &
Everyone’s at the scene drawn to attention
By flashing red & blue
Cashing their moral chips for a peepshow
Their smiles use less muscles than frowns but take twice the effort
Affecting deflections of accusations
People listen & how couldn’t they?
Her words lifting chins like a rope over a branch
But this time the tree’s on fire
The Tower’s burning & she’s cutting all the safety nets
Like she cut the rope off around my neck
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 1:28 AM UTC
I set myself a reminder
For all the times that I err
So that I may always remember
That I am but a prisoner
Delusions are my prison cell
And questions are the key
Yet the gates seem endless
On the corridor to reality.
Apr 5, 2022
Apr 5, 2022 at 10:46 PM UTC
Ladies of the Net… A warning to male adolescents everywhere…
“Hi Honey….I just got matched with your profile”… At least that’s what I think it said.
Brilliant I thought because I’m available and life round here is, well…it’s dead
“I’m looking for an experienced guy who’s good in bed… been round the block, but not the clock…
One with plenty of experience and a huge…err…appetite…
for hooking up instead of these inexperienced boys…
They’re all excitable, probably all over too quick…
need someone with poise reserve and a twelve inch errr… Libido?… ego?
Click my pics kiddo and let’s get it on… you Stud!… Well I would!
****** hell! I’m overwhelmed but let’s not peak too soon…
There’s loads of stuff coming in as Spam that would probably make us all swoon.
So check it out…without fail, “eeeh!” They’re all there - these ladies of the net - they crop up daily -
Sheila Blige… Tanya Hide… Mandy May, Bette Sheedus, Lovinia ****
I’m not sure if these are their real names... But - Phew -
with things like this going on round here we could all get *******
She says she’s just round the corner, you know like Sompting, Steyning, LA (that must be Littlehampton)… Southwick…Little Haven Halt, Portslade.
We could meet in a lay-by and we’ll get laid… just an innocent little escapade.
It won’t be my fault if you miss this chance…
Just try it - I’ll handcuff you to the bed and lap dance.
Click on my pix, big boy, they all beckon.
Take a closer look at these sonny boy - now what do you reckon?
Well, you’d have to say they do look very alluring in the taster…
so why not just click...
to the next page… see the site… don’t waste-ya time…CLICK!
****** hell! The screen’s gone blank…
now I won’t even be able to have a ____
Knock, Knock, Knock!
"Kevin!!!?"..."Mum?" "Is that you?" "Yes Mum!… Everything’s OK!… I’m just turning out the light… G’night!"
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 5:45 AM UTC
As you walk through the city street
there's something that you may not know.
What's going on under your feet
only metres down below.
Life is multiplying fast,
migrating sometimes up above,
to forage through your garbage bags
gathering the free food that we all love.
We carry with us little friends
that pack a really powerful punch
and there's nothing they appreciate more
than human blood for their lunch.
With the lesson of the past forgotten
by you humans up above
where millions died because of filth
and everyone lost someone they'd loved.
Yet still you throw away your waste,
you leave it lying on the street.
Disease is on it's way to you you
from little forager under your feet.
Call this disease what err you will.
Black-death, the pox but it's on its way
and all because you can't be bothered
but in the end it's you who'll pay.
In the meantime we will breed en-mass,
our babies growing, getting fat
and all can deliver to you this fate.
I really do love being a Rat.
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 8:18 AM UTC
As time moves forward
It makes
It takes
Breaks apart
When torn asunder
It shatters
Scatters
Seeds new starts
The living Scars
Heave
Breath
Shine like stars
Thier consequence illuminates
The world at large
A beautiful display
As if divine art
Oh to woe
To err
To know
To hold
The Human Heart
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 12:07 AM UTC
God moves in a mysterious way,
His wonders to perform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.
Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never-failing skill,
He treasures up his bright designs,
And works his sov'reign will.
Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take,
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy, and shall break
In blessings on your head.
Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust him for his grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.
His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding ev'ry hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flow'r.
Blind unbelief is sure to err,
And scan his work in vain;
God is his own interpreter,
And he will make it plain.
2.6k
Son of the old Moon-mountains African!
Chief of the Pyramid and Crocodile!
We call thee fruitful, and that very while
A desert fills our seeing's inward span:
Nurse of swart nations since the world began,
Art thou so fruitful? or dost thou beguile
Such men to honour thee, who, worn with toil,
Rest for a space 'twixt Cairo and Decan?
O may dark fancies err! They surely do;
'Tis ignorance that makes a barren waste
Of all beyond itself. Thou dost bedew
Green rushes like our rivers, and dost taste
The pleasant sunrise. Green isles hast thou too,
And to the sea as happily dost haste.
2.6k
A brief flash
Of brown
And blue
I saw her
She saw me too
I didn't mean to look
To stare?
But in that moment
We were both
In err
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 2:18 PM UTC
would that capability
did not exceed the concept of a task
were that tasks did not multiplay
err, the capabilities of the deceiver
the greatest con
stipation
is wished on the least
flatulent
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 12:03 AM UTC
check it out check it out
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
it's da state of this here disunion
this here bangalore torpedo seeks yer minefields
this here suffering hero
n
crows about strafes
multitudes peripherally
****** blind prophets
exclaim
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
it's nothing but beginning
of beginning & z end of approximation
time's sweet angry subluxation
universal caving in on U & U
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
when was z last time U really loved
i mean really really really loved
ha i could only hold to z imagination
z skeleton z allegory z myth
'cause everything slides & falls
screams careens outta control
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
she brought in rrrrevolution.evolution.now
is z caustic effervescence of her wit
eroding my sandy castle of deceit?
ha and repeat ha
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
forgive-me-notes are written high
on z forehead of my despair
a cursive flowing interdiction
malediction cruxifiction err-u-diction
en-passant
in each pyrotechnic moment when we don't see I-to-I
on anything relevant to what we once hoped was us
but we continue dance dance dance
perseveration aberration indiscretion cha-cha-cha
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
she said *** is z engine of z world
like engine like world like ***
like like like
could say no more
oh it's tiresome to go on
describing that chimeric uniting
flesh-to-flesh-in-flesh eliding
we all are guilty of
do not end a line with a preposition such as
that or a proposition such as this:
given angle a prove that old triangle theorem
two simultaneous loves don't make a right
cherchez les angles les anglais la bon mot
ya know
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
when i die please bury me upside down
prone to z ground making dead love to earth ya kno
while the centuries lie down next to me
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
chic!
chic!
Jan 24, 2010
Jan 24, 2010 at 3:14 PM UTC
I don’t want to cut myself open on a stage,
Make my blood curdle on command.
Applaud me, will you?
This idea of sisterhood, this union
At the end of the play
One lives, one dies, and one has the glory
of letting the curtain fall down
Down on the story
Performed to move people.
I’m not a performer,
Not a thespian, actress or Janus,
I have the one face and that’s all I’ve got,
Like it or not.
My clothes are not a costume,
There’s no cue for me
That tells when to go on.
I speak now, with lines rehearsed
To keep playing the fool
The one no-one listens to.
Do you like me?
Do you like me?
Do you like me?
Please applaud.
I am not an act, waiting for an audience.
I do not respond to applause,
There’s no curtain call,
No stage light in my place
That tells me where to fall.
I can’t keep playing
Can’t keep pretending
I’m the one who decides to walk out
On all of this, now.
It’s the final call, that one last bow
And thus ends the show,
See you next week, with all your friends in tow.
A standing ovation,
A brief revelation
I don’t want this, quick,
Act like it’s all part of it,
Stumbling’s funny, err on the side of performance,
Don’t reveal the truth, don’t bleed on the stage floor,
It’s all fake. All pretend, I’m no actor,
but I perform every minute of the day.
I’m not sure my heart’s real.
Sep 14, 2021
Sep 14, 2021 at 4:50 AM UTC