"everett" poems
A friend of mine walked up to me and asked me: "What is a good woman?"
I replied "you would know if you were a good man"
He said "Stop joking I really wanna know"
"There is no definite answer, but when you meet one, it will show"
There are many characteristics that make a good woman, but it would take days to speak them all
Since my friend brought this to mind, I thought I would list a few for y'all
A woman who is proud of what she brings
and won't complain over petty things
A woman who is well spoken and not opposed to listening
because communication is key from the beginning
A woman who is wise and able to realize
the pit you are in doesn't matter because she will help your rise
A woman who wouldn't try to control her man but also wouldn't be a doormat
And when trouble comes up, her feet won't be flat (she's ready to go)
A woman who never stops believing in the man that you are and the man you can become
So much confidence in you, it almost makes her seem dumb
A virtuous woman who prays for you more than she prays for herself
Remembering God is number one above all else
A woman who tries to pay for herself before you can offer
Knowing the difference between selfless and selfish is something you should prefer
A woman with the power of forgiveness
But don't abuse it
Because a good woman is not stupid
She will lose it
You will lose her and have no one to blame when your heart takes the hit
If you hurt a good woman, in my eyes, you aren't worth the saliva I spit
The ice cream no one would lick
The one that gets thrown down in hope ants would leave a picnic
To pick apart your existence
Use your common sense
Realize what's in front of you and cherish it
Woman is the title a female receives at a certain age
But it takes a good man to realize a good woman is on the next page
I'm not saying a good woman needs to have this quote for quote
I don't think any woman does, if so, let me know
I haven't met any besides my family, but I don't go down that road
I'm being patient, waiting for my good woman is giving me time to grow
So I can give her the best Brandon Everett Davis, the world doesn't know
To not be on their level, would be a sin
Let's become better men for these good women
Dec 22, 2012
Dec 22, 2012 at 3:37 AM UTC
"Honestly? I'd just cover that up", he says
Orion's not moving. Stars don't move.
They may die, they may dim, they may traverse galaxies
Change position in the night sky with the seasons
Give me one. good. reason.
To cover up my compass home,
The one good thing, the one beautiful thing,
On this scarred and wretched body?
"We'll put Orion somewhere else, start over"
You're not my mother, ripping out a new piercing
Locking the door on a daughter and her father
Drinking and dating and thinking "start over"
My skin is just my skin, the moles and ink
And decisions are mine to live in
How dare you claim yourself an artist,
yet break down your clientele, your canvas
So Orion's not the problem, sir
It's a debauched attitude toward station
When I follow the stars tonight, I will tell them
Needles have no consideration
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 4:13 AM UTC
Some say, we don't need black history month.
When in truth we do.
Would the contribution of African American be taught truthfully.
If we had to depend on you know who?
Obviously, they very unaware of several successful black that contributed to America's greatness.
We, very well aware they edited down facts to be turn into fiction.
Like that president that chopped down that cherry tree.
Many doesn't know the plight of Washington, Dubois, Carver.
Let alone know their first name.
It's hardly taught, if it's about us.
George Franklin, Grant-dentist
Ernest Everett, Just.-Scientist
Josh Gibson, one of the greatest baseball player.
We know very well about George, Thomas and James and John Q.
Some say, we all Americans
And in truth, they completely right.
But for reasons very well known.
We are not all equal in sights of others.
When needed, they call upon us to join in.
Some still, say-why do Black history month exist?
But all cultures knows none was eliminated through times.
Than those captured to come here and renamed after their masters.
And facts be told, this cultures lives to embrace into their children's if nothing is ever mention by certain teachers about their cultures.
Than they will keep it before them.
Matthew Alexander, Henson-Explorer
Billie Holiday-singer
Duke Ellington and Count Basie and Cab Calloway.
Greatness, we can't let fade.
Vernon Jordan
Shirley Chilsom
And hosts of present days teachers that push the issues to educate.
Those that say, we don't need Black History months.
Be crying , if we try to eliminate theirs.
Cause that's all they ever known.
Howard University.
Tennessee State and Fisk and various others came to be because of discrimination.
And has turned out some brilliant African Americans.
So our history is needed.
Cause it's about us.
Like Latin History and various others is about other cultures.
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 10:12 AM UTC
My bed is empty. I count the seconds down until you appear: 1...2...3 times you've asked me to leave you alone. Leave you alone? How can I let you be so cruel, so uncaring, and so completely and totally near to my voice. I can't. It's not who you are in this world-we call reality sets in and I grab my **** as the black of guilt sets in.
Black. Gray. White. What room am I in? There's ten feet of tile by ten feet heaven bound. The claw foot tub grips at the **** stained floor, fighting gravity's nagging whine. It's all too real. All too fictitiously crisp. All too false.
The ivory room slips into the field as the brown drains from the vomitorium. Bathhouses, **** me. Lesioned tricks, **** me. Loneliness, **** off-off to Cair Paravel.
I'm an ice cube in an ocean. Don’t drown, don't go, just come.
Rhythm stops and I study the damage. Laying alone on my bed, skin burning with the genocide of my seed spilt for you, I realize you are gone. With the revival of my senses I realize: You are a dream. A fabrication of lust and desire. But this moment, these feelings are ever changing. This moment is real. This time it's you. Tomorrow night: Tommy Anders, Brent Everett, Mr. Corrigan! Pornstars extraordinaire.
That's all I get nowadays.
Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 3:02 AM UTC
It ends here, now.
This compromised soul,
this tired acceptance of a dead hope;
too much time wasted in longing
for something that brings forgetfulness.
Somehow, I love you.
And everything you still stand for.
I don't know how many disguised lines
were puked up by me in dark alleys,
or scribbled in a ***** notebook
alongside tradecraft and parameters.
So many years and I'm still bound by something,
some smiling morality whispering
seductively of what might have been,
if only I had thrown loyalty and that
outdated wraith called honour aside.
I understand that I'll never see you again,
will never have the chance to rectify
the wrong I did to your heart and soul
in the name of something that doesn't exist.
Never did I understand why Everett tried
so hard to put you on display; but looking back
now I get why you wanted Krum so bad,
and why you tried to trust me.
Regardless of what may have passed,
I still want to thank you.
Thank you for giving me a place to sleep,
and a friend when I had no one.
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 3:43 AM UTC
Two folded sheets of paper
were hidden in his stovepipe hat.
He mouthed the phrases with his lips
on the platform where they sat.
The air was cool and tolerable
on that remembered day.
The stench of death hung in the air
from heroes Blue and Gray.
A Doctor of Divinity intoned a simple prayer.
A local band then played.
Doctor Everett spoke two hours
In his solemn practiced way.
Only then did Lincoln rise.
His face seemed aged and somber.
I was then a child of five
standing fifteen feet yonder.
There upon the Field of battle
amidst the legion of the dead.
He did honor to their sacrifice
And the sacred cause he led.
He spoke about equality
He promised a rebirth.
Government of the people
would not perish from the earth.
That is all that I remember.
of the consecration day.
I was then a child of five,
Now I am old and Grey.
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 12:54 PM UTC
This word was invented in 1935 by Everett M. Smith, president of the National Puzzlers' League (N.P.L.), at its annual meeting. The word figured in the headline for an article published by the New York Herald Tribune on February 23, 1935, titled "Puzzlers Open 103d Session Here by Recognizing 45-Letter Word":
Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis succeeded electrophotomicrographically as the longest word in the English language recognized by the National Puzzlers' League at the opening session of the organization's 103rd semi-annual meeting held yesterday at the Hotel New Yorker. The puzzlers explained that the forty-five-letter word is the name of a special form of pneumoconiosis caused by ultra-microscopic particles of silica volcanic dust...
Subsequently, the word was used in a puzzle book, Bedside Manna, after which time, members of the N.P.L. campaigned to include the word in major dictionaries.
This 45-letter word, referred to as "P45," first appeared in the 1939 supplement to the Merriam-Webster New International Dictionary, Second Edition.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 10:59 AM UTC
It's amazing how long I spend staring out this window.
looking past the water; past Everett.
Thinking about driving through and past the mountains;
And taking him with me.
Thinking about everything I told him last night, yesterday.
Thinking about sleeping inside the jacket that is neither his nor mine.
I washed it, but it probably reeks of; flowers, cherries, peppermint
and dreams.
I wish I could sit on this windowsill and stare for hours.
**Written about the extremely large windows of the A-building
at the ever classy ghetto-fabulous Everett High School. Third floor.
Apr 4, 2010
Apr 4, 2010 at 1:22 PM UTC
On my feet are black moccasins
threaded with runs of bright turquoise
alongside patches of clay orange and dust yellow.
The feet inside grip cool, suede bottoms
to tread on ground still firm,
but pregnant, heavy with rain,
so that the worms lay like fallen soldiers,
victims of a thunderstorm
and scattered on the sidewalk
the way they were that morning
at elementary school
when a boy was squishing them for fun,
and my heart filled with grief for the worms,
whose only crime was trying not to drown.
The rain is a reminder of how poorly
these shoes function when wet,
how they rub my toes
in just the wrong ways,
leaving circular patches of reddened skin
on the outsides of my feet.
The worst blisters I’d ever had,
happened the day my brother and I
were lost in the dense forests of the national park,
and when we finally found the road,
were two miles from home,
and at the very bottom of Everett hill.
Those woods had a cabin by the river,
we only ever found a handful of times.
Our father had warned us
of the homeless drug addicts
who frequented it, which in all reality
were just boozing, pot-smoking teenagers
with an affinity for smashing bottles
and starting fires,
but we were never brave enough
to find out for sure.
And on the banks of that crooked river,
the spring undoes the twisted knots
that winter had created, and washes away
its cold to uncover the relics of autumn’s leaves,
rotting in colors of soupy brown
with tiny pools of grimy rainwater
collected in their palms.
And as I break through the veil of humidity,
to breath air crisp with the scent of fresh, wet earth,
I’m careful to tread lightly,
as to keep clean these moccasins
from their bright turquoises to their dusty yellows.
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 9:59 PM UTC
March, 1934, Fort Worth, Texas.
Late, nighttime, when dad pulled into the gas station shortly before it closed. Another car was there as well. A nice looking young man with dark suit and tie, was standing at another pump. In the passenger side, sat a pretty young lady, both he and she appeared to be in their mid-twenties. They exchanged greetings as folks usually do, then dad proceeded to reset his pump( had a crank to turn to reset those pumps to zero, and a metered glass bulb filled with gasoline sat atop the pump. The level, of course, would decrease to show how much fuel was being purchased.)
The young gent completed his task, hooked the pump nozzle back to its base and walked into the office to pay for his purchase. Dad, standing at his car smiled at the young lady, who patiently waited for her boyfriend, or husband, to return. They made small conversation, "nice night isn't it", she said, "yes maam, it is", dad replied. About that time the young man and the station manager came out of the store and walked together, to their car. As the young man opened the door to take his place behind the wheel, he turned to the station manager, "Everett, give us about twenty minutes then call the police and tell'em I was here, I don't want you getting into any trouble." "Will do, Clyde" the old man replied. As they slowly pulled away, the pair gave dad a short smile and a wave. It wasn't until they drove out of the station and disappeared when dad realized with whom he had just spoken, "face to face."
On May 23, 1934, Clyde Barrow and Bonnie Parker were ambushed and slain near the Texas-Louisiana state line by a posse of law enforcement officers, ending one of the most publicized crime sprees in U S history.
As my father said, "You never know who you're talking to! Just another 'guy', filling up his car."
(No, dad didn't wait around for the arrival of the police)
r riddle: March 26,2016
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 2:40 PM UTC
The trains cry out in the lonely hours of the night.
Their sirens beckoning, awakening me from my stupor and teasing that I'm still alive.
How unfortunate to be reminded that life continues with out me.
How self-centered to feel like I should be a part of it.
Shaping lifestyles and decisions based on sound waves.
Hiding between headphones, I escape to experiences that aren't mine.
What happened?
-Grace
August 2012
Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 3:07 AM UTC
RECORD: LIFE'S A BEACH
FROGMAN: DJANGO DJANGO
It's only after you've lost everything, that
YOU'RE FREE
to do anything.
-- Tyler Durden, Tacky Frogman
Suzy's: Indeed, a lesson that might help one to burn off
How dangerous the acquirement of data is
and how much clappier those Brads and Janets might be
whom believe their native thought to be The Word,
than one who aspires to be greater
than their creader will allow.
-- Victor Frankenstein, Suzy
Dr. Everett Scott: Janet!
Janet: Dr. Scott!
Brad: Janet!
Janet: Brad!
Frank: Rocky Bottom!
[Rocky frunts]
Dr. Everett Scott: Janet!
Janet: Dr. Scott!
Brad: Janet!
Janet: Brad!
Frank: Rocky Bottom!
[Rocky frunts]
All-Present!
STOP: TURN THOUGHT
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 3:13 PM UTC
RECORD: THIS TIME TOMORROW
FROGMAN: THE KINKS
Magenta: How fraking mental.
Riff Raff: And also ANGEROUS of you.
You see, when I said that 'we' were to return to Ninetbeen,
I referred only to Magenta and myself.
I'm sorry, however, if you found The Word misleading,
but you see, you are to remain here,
in Thought, anyway.
Dr. Everett Scott: Great heavens! That's a Colt .42!
Riff Raff: Yes, Dr. Scott.
A Colt .42 capable of relaying a Time Spiral of Pure Confusions.
Johnny Five: You mean, you're going to confturosel me?
What's
my
crime?
Dr. Everett Scott: You saw what became of the TEMPORAL EDDY.
Brads and Janets must be prefected.
Riff Raff: Exactly, Dr. Scott.
And now, Johnny Five,
your mono-ch[R]oine has come.
Say good-bye to all of this...
and hello to PROL-TARI-DOM!
. . . ]
Stephanie Speck: But you can't be con-a-fused.
You're an alive.
STOP: END'me'THOUGHT
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 11:29 AM UTC
Two folded sheets of paper
were secreted in his stovepipe hat.
He rehearsed the phrases in his mind
on the platform where they sat.
The air was cool and tolerable
on that remembered day.
The smell of death hung in the air
from heroes Blue and Gray.
A Doctor of Divinity intoned a simple prayer.
A local band then played.
Doctor Everett spoke two hours
In his solemn practiced way.
Only then did Lincoln rise.
His face seemed sad and grey.
I was then a child of five
standing fifteen feet away.
There upon the Field of battle
amidst the legion of the death.
He did honor to their sacrifice
And the sacred cause he led.
He spoke about equality
He promised a rebirth.
Government of the people
would not perish from the earth.
That is all that I remember.
of the consecration day.
His words will live forever
Like the deeds of Blue and Gray.
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 10:08 PM UTC
I could not talk him down, or
listen him up, though that is
what I was trained to do, tried to do
he gazed only at the street,
his final resting place, where
he would soon be
a crushed crimson spectacle
for greedy and empty eyes
whose mouths would tell
of his demise, but none
even knew his name,
I learned it was Everett, and
that he had three daughters
lost in suburbia, eons from this ledge
where he stood, and talked to a stranger
who was stranger than he
for I looked to the skies
above the humming city, as if
they would be my salvation
an airy home to spread wings
with angels, and glide endlessly
through blue heavens, but Everett knew
there were no winged saviors awaiting him
to grab him before his lonely leap
only the unmovable slab of concrete below
the craned necks of other flatlanders
who would watch his final descent
and not realize his brief eternal fall
through the invisible place between two worlds
would be the closest any would ever be
to freedom
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 12:32 PM UTC
Today I wore a dress. It was cold and my skin
pinched up in the wind. I hurt a strange and
angry sort of hurt today. Where my bones
shook and my stomach hurt but with my
sunglasses nobody on I-5 knew the difference
between singing and screaming and I ended up in Seattle
where the roads are confusing and the sky is stretched through
shuttle bus wires and the blinkers never stop, I may have blown a red
light but nobody noticed--especially when I ended up in Ballard. who knew
you could get back to Everett by skipping half the free way and by the time I
ended up back where I started I saw myself leaving hours earlier down the ramp,
decided I couldn't go home because I wasn't ready. I asked the boy at the ticket
counter which movie was the least less full? Sorry, least most full? Which theater
had the least amount of people (to see me cry) and he smiled strangely, but asked
for my ID. For a moment I remembered I wasn't 17, 17 was just that age where
you're allowed, I was so past allowed but here's my ID anyway, it was sticky.
I didn't watch that movie, what even happened? A man sat behind me,
grunting. I tried to cover my phone but my mind was elsewhere in
an anger that did not let me be mad. Instead I could only consider
the situation a hundred times over, consider the words
I could say, should say, would not say,
should not say, the things I should do,
the right
things (whatever they were)
the wrong things. At this point I noticed
the movie was crude, disgusting even. I hadn't even
laughed once. What kind of humor was
this? But again, my mind
was
elsewhere
and Stephanie wanted
to know where I was, where
are you? Where was I? I was at Costco
with mom earlier, how did I get here? I was laying on
my bed when I got that text but here I am now, soaked
in salt, although my bones no longer shake and my stomach
no longer hurts but these blankets know the difference between
screaming and singing, I know the difference. But I'm. Still. Here.
God, God, I don't know what to do or say or be. I don't
know what to do or say or be or say or do.
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 12:34 AM UTC
RECORD: ALL ALONG THE WATCHTOWER
FROGMAN: JIMI HENDRIX
CUTS TO leader's STUDY:
NIGHT
leader: I would like,
if I may,
to take you on a strange pondering.
he crosses to The Cloud.
sHe selects an album.
we see the title: "The Watchtower Affair".
He returns to her desktop and places it in reflecking tool.
He puts on her seeing glasses.
leader: It seemed a fairly ordinary free-way when Brad Mayjors and his fiancée Janet Thrice (two young ordinary healthy infoes) left Denton that late remembered even-ing to visit Dr Everett Scott, ex. tutor and now friend of both of them. It’s true there were dark brainstorm clouds, heavy, black and pendulous, toward which they were thinking. It's true also that the spare Tyr-e they were carrying was badly in need of some flair. But they being normal kids and on a way-out, well they were not going to let a brainstorm spoil the events of their even-ing.
on the way-out.
He closes the bRook
marking the cage with two numbers.
A 4 and 2,
scrawled across the concrete blue tail.
Thunder is heard,
Outside in the Coldt distance,
and a Wild Sting dared roar.
leader: It was a way-out they were going to REMEMBER
for a very
long
time.
STOP: TURN THOUGHT
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 7:57 PM UTC
The missionary wiped the sweat
That formed small beads on his sunburnt brow.
Never had he thought that learning
A language would be so hard till now.
But learning a language and studying a culture
So very different from his own,
Deep in the Amazonian jungle--
A damp and brutal climate zone--
Were challenges that he was eager
Because of his Christian faith to accept,
Even though he had to watch out
For poisonous creatures wherever he stepped.
His goal: to learn the language there
In order to translate the Holy Bible
So he could teach the truth as he knew it
To various peoples, godless and tribal.
His dual role as a servant of God
And graduate student studying linguistics
Opened his mind and heart to embrace
The people's diverse characteristics.
Constant threats were jaguars, insects,
And anacondas in the river,
Along with shifty river pilots
Transporting goods to trade or deliver.
After years of being there
And putting up with a bare subsistence,
He pondered why his ideas among
The people were met with such resistance.
Occurring to him suddenly
As an epiphany, he had to face
The fact that maybe he had been
Peddling his goods in the wrong place.
Why did he need to fix the people?
They were fine just as they were.
If he tried to change their beautiful
Way of life, what would occur?
They had faith in themselves and lived
Without worry, fear, or despair.
He was imposing his own concept
Of truth on them. How unfair!
Questioning his own ideas,
He clarified his own confusion
And saw that life without absolutes
Was one way to see through delusion.
How ironic! He'd gone to Brazil
With good intentions, though smug and prim,
To try to convert the people there;
They, however, converted him.
-by Bob B (12-3-17)
°Inspired by the experiences of Daniel L. Everett
Dec 3, 2017
Dec 3, 2017 at 8:30 AM UTC
In January 2018 young dolly Everett committed suicide after receiving lots of hurtful comments and she couldn’t take it anymore, so she ended her life, I went up to nirvana to guide her slowly to her next life
Because she gave up on life as dolly, after being a loving life kid with the akubra hat, I know how losing your life so young can be hard because I was Graeme Thorne in my previous life and in this life I try and have a positive attitude in life, I explained to dolly that Buddha wants you to fight your way into another ****** because you have a lot to live for and despite me saying that, dolly didn’t want to come back, the world is too cruel, and
I said yes, but the chances of being a target of bullying again is slim and I could make you come back into a great person as your mother and I got bullied in school in this life, but I never wanted to **** myself but I understand it isn’t as easy for you, so I will sit and drink methane with you for a long as it takes because my point is you shouldn’t let bullies spoil your vision of life, home and away star penny macnamee wants another baby, and I think you would be ideal to get reborn into her family and you can love life and have fun and put those dreaded bullies in your past
Dolly said, it is hard for me people were awful to me and I said, I got teased and bullied back then, but I don’t want to let that spoil my vision of life and I know you ended dolly Everett but you should give penny the chance to enjoy motherhood
And you will have an older brother and you can have fun as well and dolly sat in the Saturn pub for 3 weeks and finally penny was trying for a baby and dolly was wanting to enter it which I said well done dolly don’t let the world stop you from enjoying life and I am now on medication for schitzophrenia and if you need that which I hope you don’t just learn to love life, bullies are just problem children who could be jealous
They will never make me forget about life and your next life will be a fabulous one for you
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 5:08 AM UTC
Am I alive In your world?
Or am I the dead cat in the box,
Just like you are in mine?
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 2:50 PM UTC
A cataract to truth is cloudy violence
A cataract to truth just spits at science
You wear Your home team tinfoil hat
no need for jabs, don’t wear a mask
You spend your cash as you make it fast
No time for “them” or your income tax
A cataract to truth is cloudy violence
A cataract to truth just spits at science
You live in your fog of privilege
you’re rich white trash and you’re ignorant
You’d rather lose a hand than help an immigrant
But your daddy got you shares in his business
You wear Your home team tinfoil hat
a pricey suit but still no class.
Ya Gammon, Ya Gammon
You ******* soulless Gammon.
~ I Everett
Jun 28, 2020
Jun 28, 2020 at 11:49 AM UTC
I often think of the words Ellen Everett left behind.
"If you're looking for forever
I'll take the batteries out of my clock so that we'll be stuck inside this moment, as if time really stopped!
I would tell you I love every second, except here seconds do not exist! So I'll say ' I love you ' with each breath, each smile, with each kiss! And when I die you can crank your watch, restart the clocks, begin the time and know that we were infinite in the moment that you were mine...
Mar 8, 2024
Mar 8, 2024 at 1:06 PM UTC