"fairly" poems
Where do I start
How should i begin,
I guess i will just write
until the very end,
I could start with my name
and where i am from,
Yes, I will start with that
and then more will come,
My name is Dylan
and I was born in North Carolina,
I am nineteen years old
but I feel even older,
I look much younger or so I am told
My days are long and filled with joy
I have a daughter
No, not a boy
I work, go to school, and am a father
I own my own business
As God as my witness
I have a beautiful companion
who is full of life
She is my joy
No, not a boy
My two girls are my life
one is my daughter
The other my future wife
My Passion is Business
My title is Entrepreneur
I love what i do
Which is more than most
If you love your work
Than you too can boast
My business is a brand
Perception Apparel is the name
I create unique Clothes
And nothing is quite the same
Check me out,
The website is the name!
Among my hobbies sports are fairly high
Basketball is my favorite
Still not sure why
Other interests may include:
Food, movies, and long walks on the beach
This is begining to sound like a date
I can't think of anything else to say
My life in 300 words
It is sort of sad in a way
My life in one paragraph
Yet i have nothing left to say?
Well It seems I have begun to rant
I hope now you may know me
There is not much to see
For this is all there is to me
In essence of time
let's bring this to a close
And if you are lost, this was my Prose.
Oct 22, 2011
Oct 22, 2011 at 9:36 AM UTC
Feminism is not a bad word
It is more than four words
If you are a woman if you are a man
If you believe that gender equality
Is important, if you stand by your mother
When she shouts, “I am equal!”
Then you are a feminist.
And I’m tired, I’m tired and I’m frustrated
That the patriarchal society we live in
Would rather demonize equality
Rather than let it stand tall as the statue
It deserves to be.
All it means
Is you believe that women and men are equal
That they deserve to be treated both fairly and just
And I trust-
That the only image of a feminist in your mind
Is one that hates men, that burns bras, that simply get in the way.
And sure there might be a few of those, yes
But I would like to ask you
Since when did one represent the whole?
Since when were all white Christian men
Devalued, dehumanized because of Jeffery Dahmer?
If I were to follow your logic
If we were all to follow your logic
We’d have to lock up every single one of you
All because a few of your fellow men
Perverted an ideal that at the heart of it was good
And please be good
To your feminists please know that it is not a movement
To strip people of rights but to grant rights to those who have been denied
Feminism isn’t a bad word
It’s a word that holds an ideal
That genetics that genitalia do not dictate
Whether or not a human being is held to the
American standard of equality.
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 11:51 PM UTC
Kudos to Kaepernick.
I just cannot drown all my beliefs and ideas, even if it contradicts my flesh and soul. When I heard that not standing up to the tune; that has always succeeded on sweeping all of the messes underneath the sad reality, to be deemed as subversive, I know that Rosa would definitely clench onto the seat tighter than ever.
Kneel, my friend, kneel.
To drag our body out there, all over the precious hills and fields, while acting as if the scale has always been set fairly beneath you all this time, will hurt you more than myself. How can a mere matter of things decide our future, our destiny? We shall shape our fate, you shall shape your own fate, and to be judged on the perception biasedly built in the name of order for thousands of years, is a situation that should not be endured by anyone or anything in a tiny dot within this vast universe.
Kneel, my friend, kneel.
And for that, I cannot stand proudly and profess my love to you as of now, even though I will always wear my heart on my sleeve for you to see. To be cheated, to be manipulated, to be deemed as surplus, by those at the tip of the plateau, that cunningly asked us to forget all the tangles and wrangles for the love of this sacred land, while unashamedly distribute everything off the land, off the ocean amongst them, is the last thing that we should allow to happen. I am one of those people that are not able to put on the mask on top of our meant-to-be honest faces, to say hail to the thief is worse than the eternal grief. I have never dreamed of burying the hatchet with them, not even for a second and if I ever do it, I shall be condemned and dismissed for forgetting the roots, the fons et origo of mine. To love you does not mean to stand still to the soulless melodies, to love you does not mean to bow down to the meaningless piece of cloth that has overseen countless infiltration and bombing over the years.
Kneel, my friend, kneel.
To love you is to fight for the rights of many, by any means, even by not standing up. When black is no longer the symbol of miserable, filth and calamity, we shall then breath with ease, stand on our feet and fully embrace the real meaning behind all those majestic words.
Kudos to Kaepernick.
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 10:09 PM UTC
Never let someone else decide how good you are. And never make an exception to that rule.
Your words, and your unique we of expressing them, are a gift given to you. If someone else doesn't appreciate them, then good for them. It's not their gift, so it has nothing to do with them. Its your responsibility to respect your gifts and to protect them from negativity; typical of these lower life forms, called Haters; annoying little creatures that feed off of other people's energy and hard work - they spawn fairly quickly and dewl in the depths of social media, hidden behind computer and smartphone screens. Usually over-weight, bad breath, single and filthy broke. Hindered by limited hand-eye coordination; they simply **** at every thing. They are pretty pathetic, in person. I mean they look human, but have no spinal cord, so they don't stand up straight. Their habitats similar to that of a large roach, just messier with and more filth. I hear they are contagious, so be careful. Don't let their negativity rub off on you, or you will end up like one of them. A soulless zombie, paroling posts looking for a something stupid to say.
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 8:20 PM UTC
I reserved a table for the two of us
at the only restaurant in the world
that not only offers atmosphere and setting
but tone and syntax as well.
First some articles for appetizers. They're
easiest on my pocket you know.
An an, a the, and an a.
Let's not even start on the punctuation,
I'm treating you to a rather large meal.
As large as the entire English language,
now back to the articles.
Sure these taste like lint but they still
taste. Petit fours but there you are.
Try to be disinterested or you'll
put me off my food.
Nouns now. My, what a variety.
Bit meaty, eh? These have staying power.
They taste like a bit of everywhere,
and everyone, and everything.
What's that? Surely they're not that bland.
Maybe you need some seasoning.
"Adjective" comes from the
French for "to the word."
So exotic aren't they? These
really are fantastic.
Exquisite, unique, zesty to say the least.
You must admit, they
make the meal worth it.
I hope you're not allergic,
I could have sworn I just
had something "nutty."
Oh, it had nuts "in it"?
There must be some prepositions
mixed in here.
(I'm glad we're getting through
these now, I've never been a big fan of them.
When I was a kid, I would always push my prepositions to the end
of my sentences. You just can't do
that in a joint like this, it seems.)
Ah finally. The verbs are served.
Well-prepared it would seem.
Yes, anything you can do to a verb
they've done to these.
Infinitives (too good to realistically be believed!),
gerunds, and participles (No, not particles. But we
did have some of those at the Japanese restaurant.)
Fairly lean too, as I can't see
any auxiliary fat.
For some reason
those adverbs (just to your left, under that
thesaurus) really go well with this.
Plus those adjectives from earlier, rather pleasantly.
Now a brief selection
of conjunctions, but don't ruin
yourself. They're not a meal of themselves,
just a link to...
Oh! Look at those interjections.
So delicate, so (Wow!) incisive.
I told you to keep your appetite.
Well, just try a little of this. Goodness, me!
And then everyone proceeds to
die
from a split infinitive.
Mar 21, 2010
Mar 21, 2010 at 7:44 PM UTC
the frustration I had
after failing
to bring myself to ******
for the
tenth
time this past week
makes me more
furious
than depressed
seriously
my *** drive
has always been high
as soon as I
got over
the shame
society places on women
for enjoying
their sexuality
I have always used
************
as a release
relieves
stress
leaves me
relaxed
and
content
or should I say,
left me
feeling that way
usually
it was once a day
fairly frequent
but, it
matched
my *** drive's
needs
what the **** is wrong with me
I have tried
imagining,
watching,
reading,
looking at
every form
of erotica
that exists
I have searched
through everything
I can find
from
****
******
stories,
comics
and my search history
will let you know
that I've searched
everything
from
****
to
******
to
interracial lesbian forced *******
and things
worse
than that
e v e r y t h i n g
used to take me,
oh, I dunno
maybe three minutes
with my ********
after
around an hour
is when I give up
now
I even bought
a different
********
NO
RELEASE
NO
PASSION
GONE
what is
WRONG
WITH
ME
oh yeah -
depression
I mean
I knew it was bad
when video games
no longer
had appeal
that was enough
games
have been a passion
and a hobby of mine
since I was five
the other hobby
I started a bit older than five
but
you stole that one, too
after depression
beat the **** out of me
on Tuesday
I thought that was it
thought
since the next morning
I awoke
without the urge
to **** myself
it was over
nope
you have robbed me
of the simplest
things
in my life
that give me pleasure
no more
wriggling
moaning
spasming
the tingling
sensation
that starts in my toes
and makes its way
up
the length of my body
the warmness
that follows
with it
the
satisfaction
slight smile
snuggly
sleepy
post ****** me
I miss her
give her
back
I miss my life
give it
back
this isn't
ME
for ***** sake!
I am a ******
witty
humorous creature
full of passion
looking
for opportunities
to get myself off!
not this
depressed
apathetic
vessel
without soul.
you won't stop
until you have
everything
in my life
you won't stop
until you
put
my soul in your mouth
chew
grind
crush it
your saliva
breaks me down
spit me out
please
I am fighting
for you to cough me up
regurgitate
the essence
of me
let me put myself
back inside this body
please
please
no
you won't stop
you will eat my soul
until
ever fiber
protein
ounce of health
I had
is now
inside of you,
depression
cold-hearted *****
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 6:10 AM UTC
From the BBC today,
Excerpt
Why does Taylor Swift write so many one-note melodies?
"It's easy to get distracted by her celebrity, but Taylor Swift is a once-in-a-generation songwriter. From the very beginning, she's displayed a knack for melody and storytelling that most artists never master.
Take, for example, her first US number one, OUR SONG
Written for a high school talent show, it's a fairly typical tale of teenage romance until the final lines: "I grabbed a pen / And an old napkin / And I wrote down our song."
That's smart, self-assured songwriting for someone who wasn't old enough to vote. Notably, the lyrics insert the musician directly into the narrative - something she developed into a tried and tested trope.
But Our Song also establishes another of Taylor's trademarks: The one-note melody.
Excerpt
Repetitive melodies that centre around a single note are part of that appeal. They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech.
"They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech."
"They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech."
"They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech."
Rebuttal
Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics. They can relate to your song but if they cannot sing it themselves putting themselves in the 'first-person perspective narrative' they cannot feel as-if they have BECOME the artist and are living that moment as they remember it. Taylor Swift sings about teenage love and angst something EVERYONE ON EARTH understands.
ALL POETRY BEGAN AS RHYME IN SONG.
Cadences are singing statements that confer a discipline and unity.
Song acts as a catharsis. The artist shares their pain in a way that is universally understood. If you want to sell a rock, literally a pebble, you will not sell it if it doesn't look like a rock. If it doesn't do what rocks do. If it is not what people remember a rock to be like. Nor will it sell if it is just like every other rock they have ever seen. It cannot convey an emotion unless it elicits emotion.
One cannot even begin to feel emotional if one cannot remember easily the past and that includes lyrics one has heard that evoked said emotional state.
It is horrifying to see HOW BADLY EVERYONE INSISTS that rhyme be obliterated in exchange for an intellectual or individual perspective NOT SHARED BY THE MAJORITY OF PEOPLE.
If you want to sell and make money you better start thinking about the 99% of people who are not geniuses.
If your sole goal in life is to attract a genius to give you a great job because of how, "smart," they perceive you to be then fine.
You are not an artist.
You are an employee.
"Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics."
"Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics."
"Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics."
Thrice Times Great. ⁻ᴴᵉʳᵐᵉˢ
BECOME
EVERYONE ON EARTH
ALL POETRY BEGAN AS RHYME IN SONG
HOW BADLY EVERYONE INSISTS
NOT SHARED BY THE MAJORITY OF PEOPLE
HOW BAD
artist?
or employee?
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 10:29 AM UTC
April doesnt hurt here
Like it does in New England
The ground
Vast and brown
Surrounds dry towns
Located in the dust
Of the coming locust
Live for survival, not for 'kicks'
Be a bangtail describer,
like of shrouded traveler
in Textile tenement & the birds fighting in yr ears-like Burroughs exact to describe & gettin $
The Angry Hunger
(hunger is anger)
who fears the
hungry feareth
the angry)
And so I came home
To Golden far away
Twas on the horizon
Every blessed day
As we rolled And we rolled
From Donner tragic Pass
Thru April in Nevada And out Salt City Way Into the dry Nebraskas And sad Wyomings Where young girls And pretty lover boys
With Mickey Mantle eyes
Wander under moons
Sawing in lost cradle
And Judge O Fasterc
Passes whiggling by To ask of young love: ,,Was it the same wind Of April Plains eve that ruffled the dress
Of my lost love
Louanna
In the Western
Far off night
Lost as the whistle
Of the passing Train
Everywhere West
Roams moaning
The deep basso
- Vom! Vom!
- Was it the same love
Notified my bones As mortify yrs now
Children of the soft
Wyoming April night?
Couldna been!
But was! But was!'
And on the prairie
The wildflower blows
In the night For bees & birds And sleeping hidden Animals of life.
The Chicago
Spitters in the spotty street
Cheap beans, loop, Girls made eyes at me And I had 35 Cents in my jeans -
Then Toledo
Springtime starry
Lover night Of hot rod boys And cool girls A wandering
A wandering
In search of April pain A plash of rain
Will not dispel This fumigatin hell Of lover lane This park of roses Blue as bees
In former airy poses
In aerial O Way hoses
No tamarand And figancine Can the musterand Be less kind
Sol -
Sol -
Bring forth yr Ah Sunflower - Ah me Montana
Phosphorescent Rose
And bridge in
fairly land
I'd understand it all -
11.1k
Sticky white cream upon your face,
Gushed out of my pipe at fast pace.
Now open wide for my surprise,
I'll try this time to dodge thine eyes.
My milk is sweet and fairly warm,
Lets hath more fun from dusk till dawn.
Aug 1, 2022
Aug 1, 2022 at 9:11 PM UTC
Go hang yourself, you old M.D.!
You shall not sneer at me.
Pick up your hat and stethoscope,
Go wash your mouth with laundry soap;
I contemplate a joy exquisite
I'm not paying you for your visit.
I did not call you to be told
My malady is a common cold.
By pounding brow and swollen lip;
By fever's hot and scaly grip;
By those two red redundant eyes
That weep like woeful April skies;
By racking snuffle, snort, and sniff;
By handkerchief after handkerchief;
This cold you wave away as naught
Is the damnedest cold man ever caught!
Give ear, you scientific fossil!
Here is the genuine Cold Colossal;
The Cold of which researchers dream,
The Perfect Cold, the Cold Supreme.
This honored system humbly holds
The Super-cold to end all colds;
The Cold Crusading for Democracy;
The Führer of the Streptococcracy.
Bacilli swarm within my portals
Such as were ne'er conceived by mortals,
But bred by scientists wise and hoary
In some Olympic laboratory;
Bacteria as large as mice,
With feet of fire and heads of ice
Who never interrupt for slumber
Their stamping elephantine rumba.
A common cold, gadzooks, forsooth!
Ah, yes. And Lincoln was jostled by Booth;
Don Juan was a budding gallant,
And Shakespeare's plays show signs of talent;
The Arctic winter is fairly coolish,
And your diagnosis is fairly foolish.
Oh what a derision history holds
For the man who belittled the Cold of Colds!
10.9k
1201
So I pull my Stockings off
Wading in the Water
For the Disobedience’ Sake
Boy that lived for “or’ter”
Went to Heaven perhaps at Death
And perhaps he didn’t
Moses wasn’t fairly used—
Ananias wasn’t—
8k
Trying to find a place to cry.
How pathetic is that.
Not my house,
My family will ask.
Not my dorm,
My roommate will wonder.
Can't park in my car,
People will pull over.
(People are so god **** kind in that way).
So I'll drive.
And I'll cry.
Like a child
Who didn't get his way.
Which,
In a way,
Is fairly accurate.
But I need to cry somewhere.
The pressure is building up
In my head
In my heart
In the pit of my stomach.
Waiting there
To make its debut.
So I'll drive.
And I'll cry.
And I'll let it all out.
Because I want you
But he has you
And I didn't get my way.
And on second thought no,
Not like a child.
A child is much more
Mature.
Because I won't apologize
For throwing a fit.
Because I still want you.
So I'll just drive for awhile.
And let it all out
On the road.
Throwing a fit
In my '91 Chevy.
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 1:16 PM UTC
Stop,
Drop, and roll,
as my hand roll.
Around your tootie roll.
My fingers scroll, fairly slow.
Way below, your panty's lines, until your tan line show.
your head lies, tongue-tied, down below, your hips-- a silk pillow. Your hips rise, gyrating slow. Looking in your eyes, feeling your vibes, and its off we go. The feeling, you're surprises, you love it though. Hands gripping your sides, moving it slow. Hips above my thighs, I, react as we go, back and fore.....
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 12:53 AM UTC
Dont be so stuck-up, i'm just bein' nice.
Jus tryin' to have an intelligent conversation...
Maybe I'm fairly flirtatious, but...
Im bein' polite.
Not tryin to take you home tonight.
Unless you give me the green light, then maybe I might...
C'mon, I'm just playin...
Y'know...
I could make you blush in a few minutes time.
Could get you naked in a few moments...
Dont...
Be...
No...
Fun.
Dont tell me you dont like it...
I know when I hear lies.
Dont call me if you dont lick it...
'Cause I know what I like.
If you don wanna practice makin babies...
**** it.
I'll just **** it 'til I dribble.
That one's for you ladies;-p
I can paint a clear mental picture...
A perverted portrait with my paintbrush...
Of your hot, soft, wet flesh before me...
I could show you a few things.
A perverted portrait...
My.
Paint.
Gets.
You.
Wet.
A perverted picture.
Your body wincing...
Pinching me.
Every inch of me.
A few more than 3 or 4...
You'll find...
A couple more...
If...
You...
Want...
To...
Score.
Dec 8, 2009
Dec 8, 2009 at 8:05 AM UTC
My impending fear,
With danger near,
Only increased until I began to see myself wondering how he left without shedding a single tear.
And happiness,
My biggest weakness,
Was on a constant downward spiral into something that made even myself wish to digress.
But suddenly,
Fairly abruptly,
I began to understand how his absence brought me a soft feeling of serenity.
My excuses,
Hidden bruises,
I was reluctant to push the blame onto anyone but myself even though I didn't choose this.
People asked me,
Quite literally,
If I was aware that I smiled brighter and laughed louder now that I've had this epiphany.
And finally,
Now I can see,
I allowed myself to be taken for granted just so I wouldn't have to be lonely.
And in the end,
I recommend,
Looking inside yourself and seeing the broken bonds you must mend.
Aug 25, 2016
Aug 25, 2016 at 9:12 PM UTC
I've gone through plenty of loss in my life.
And I promise this isn't going to be the poem you think it's going to be.
So anyways as I was saying,
I've lost quite a few people who were important to me,
and I went through the grieving process,
blah, blah, blah you know the routine.
Keep in mind these deaths were not easy deaths to deal with.
I've lost three dogs, a cat, a hamster, countless fish, an aunt, a cousin, a grandma, and a grandpa.
None of these deaths were easy to deal with,
even the animals
but I recovered fairly quickly.
I learned that they were in a better place.
But I never felt I really learned anything about life through these deaths.
They were all long coming,
the animals were old,
and so were the people.
All of the relatives had terminal illness'
so we had time to prepare ourselves.
It wasn't until I was sitting in my basement,
reading a post on Facebook that I realized how short life is.
I came upon a post about a man who I work with,
he is a manager and the head chef at the restaurant.
I read that he had been in a fatal motorcycle accident.
Out of all the people in the world,
he would not have been my pick for "next to die".
He died at a heart-breakingly young 41 years of age.
I had never been close with this man,
he was simply a chef at the restaurant,
who occasionally yelled at me,
and questioned me about my *** use,
and my tattoo.
But hearing about his death,
broke my heart even more than losing my family members did.
I thought of his children,
a 5 year old and a 1 year old,
and I found that I was much sadder than I expected to be.
His wife and children had seen him a day prior,
and then the next thing they know,
he was just gone.
No goodbyes,
no last words.
Now I'm not writing this to make anyone sad.
I'm writing this for myself,
and others who needed help to realize
how beautiful,
and breathtaking this life actually is.
His death has helped me realize that.
I may not love myself everyday,
but I love everyday, that I am blessed enough to open my eyes.
It's become a cliche to say how short life is,
but it truly is.
It's sad,
but it's also beautiful at the same time.
We get one chance,
one.
I think that's amazing.
We're given this one chance to do whatever we want,
knowing that we aren't immortal,
we will die in the end,
not knowing when the end will be,
and we still decide to keep on living.
Hoping everyday will give us something more.
One more little memory to take with us for the rest of our days.
So after I'm done writing this,
I'm going to go to sleep,
and hope that when I wake up tomorrow,
I will still realize how beautiful it is just to be breathing.
RIP Dino.
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 2:47 AM UTC
I’d worked late the previous night,
programing applications.
When the alarm went off at four A.M.
I hit snooze- no hesitation.
Eventually my feet found floor,
I stumbled to the shower.
A routine usually done in ten
took me a half an hour.
I was running up the platform steps
but my train just left the station.
Great, I will be late for sure,
I thought, in consternation.
At least the day was perfect,
Warm and clear, no threat of rain.
I fished and found my ticket
and took the next westbound train.
The ”E” was fairly crowded
When I boarded it at Penn
I’d missed the first and I was glad
Another quickly came.
Beneath the streets of Gotham
The subway lurched downtown.
Above all hell was breaking loose
as two large planes were down.
I climbed the stairs up to the street
And entered the inferno
The sky now black from billowing smoke
Bright day turning nocturnal.
A Seven thirty Seven’s wheel-
I heard a woman screaming
I saw a body at my feet
Were we at war or was I dreaming?
I stared up at my window-
where I worked the night before.
Where flames and smoke leapt to the sky-
where my co workers were no more.
They’re jumping, someone shouted
I saw black specks launch from on high.
Better to die upon the street
Than to suffocate or fry.
I turn and ran, I am ashamed.
No Hero’s tale to tell.
I was a safe way away
when the first tower fell.
Had I not hit the button
or dawdled in the shower.
Had I caught my usual train
I’d be dead in the tower.
This is my shame and burden
To live when others died.
Preserved by fate and circumstance
From terror from the sky.
Jan 27, 2012
Jan 27, 2012 at 11:04 PM UTC
I'm not a writer... Or anything resembling that
I am just me... Sharing my words picked out from life's hat
I can't find the most accurate to say
So letters I dabble in various permutations
Layers of letters turn into words and come to play
Could call them journals, these text-laden creations
But I'm not a writer... Or anything resembling that
I am just me... Penning the words picked out of life's hat
I'm not a poet... Or anything mimicking that
I am just me... Relating experiences out of life's hat
I can't conjure poems... About anything or everything
Can't use my words to incite or inspire
These are just ideas and I just like rhyming
They are just experiences that fuel my fire
But I'm not a poet... Or anything mimicking that
I am just me... Spouting rhymes out of life's hat
I'm not an artist... Or anything pretending to be that
I am just me... Drawing scenes from life's hat
I can't sketch a portrait with a simple pencil
Can't put together an installation and call it art
I can paint fairly well; of which I have done several
I can draw out emotions and depictions from the heart
But I'm not an artist... Or anything pretending to be that
I am just me... Producing paintings out of life's hat
I'm not a musician.. Or anything fantastic like that
I am just me... Playing melodies from life's hat
I don't have the quality of voice to match that of a crooner
I can't play instruments that could earn a place in a band
I can sing in key without the help of a tuner
I enjoy music best with a guitar in my hands
But I'm not a musician.. Or anything fantastic like that
I am just me... Singing songs from life's hat
I'm not a writer, poet, musician or an artist...
I do a little of everything, not excelling at any one title
Although I wish to have everything clenched in one fist
All I ever really do is just dabble....
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 9:34 AM UTC
Girl. the word that separates
and complicates
making each of us, less equal
I’m a girl and rarely
have I ever been treated fairly.
We are all human and should be treated as one.
So why am I not allowed to kick the ball and run?
Just like a white crayon you think I useless.
But you’re just really clueless, because I CAN.
yet at the same time I can’t,
since the men are on top you see
high above any other
don’t take it as a bother
being below and under and where we will be.
Because I’m just a girl,I’m not treated fairly
The Overbolded Beauty © 2016
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 10:29 PM UTC
The Pigeon Gent,
He woos and coos around the river bent.
Pursues his muse with artful dance and skillful prance,
With inflated neck and ruffled plumage, until his energy or luck is spent.
He then resides by ebbing tides to ponder on his next advance.
"Now Now", "Whats This" the gent exclaims,
A shadow looming from the skies.
With ***** and claps he glides and lands with full surprise,
He spies the intruder, "A fellow Brooder".
Pigeon gent cant believe his eyes.
Pigeon Gent cannot believe the sauce,
The scurge seems intent on taking his prize by force.
At once he knows he must respond,
And force this illbread vagabond to abscond.
At once chest puffed and muscles flexed,
With wild eyes he jabs and pecks.
To teach this ruffian respect,
So on his actions he may later reflect.
He stands his ground both large and proud,
To make example of this foul winged burglar from the clouds.
"You insult me sir" he shouts aloud,
To make his intentions clear for all the crowd.
For several rounds they fight and scuffle.
With intruder retreating, feathers ruffled.
Then bested suiter fairly parted,
The quarrel ends as fast as started.
The vanquished victor displays and grooms,
As peace and honour now resumes.
Soon the ripples upset the green,
An armada of ducks come on the scene.
Alerted by the heightend coos,
They race to see what act insues.
The mighty mallards, Kings of the river,
None contest their right of way.
Their ways of conduct such generous givers.
Majestic river royalty, the law is always what they say.
On bank or shallow pebbled river they have always been,
They love to feed and breed amongst the river scene.
There royal cape made up of browny reds and shimmering greens,
reflects and intejects on mirrored water skies and evergreens.
To their mates for life and lady lovers,
The mallard gent is like no others.
Such loyalties are seldom seen,
In modern times and different dreams.
Fine and lean with striking features,
Best examples of river teachers.
But at any moment no matter how abrubt,
A river duel may easily erupt.
Battle can ensue and rage,
As both apponents approach and engage.
For they mate for life as duck and wife,
A rarity in any age or life.
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 1:38 PM UTC
You were my hero once.
I loved you unconditionally.
Never flawed -- just bright.
I didn't understand what was wrong,
That I was being cheated.
My life wasn't what you told me it was.
I was different, but not special.
I knew you.
Every inch, every breath, every glance.
I admired you.
Sat and watched.
I was your number one fan.
Your smile saved me.
So did your kiss.
Trapped by your arms I could never be happier.
Holding your hand -- flying above the clouds.
But this is just another sad poem I am writing while crying because of you.
I wonder how many of those I have...
What type of hero does that?
What type of hero hurts the good people?
I thought you stood for justice -- fairness.
But really the only fairness you practiced was making sure there was enough of your love to fairly go around to everyone.
Cause like I realized Hero,
I'm different, but not special.
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 10:19 PM UTC
Once at a halcyon sea thee dare glance,
And you'll see her smiling vivaciously
To render eyes of thine into a trance
By lullabies crooned rhythmically.
And if thee dare saunter by the shoreline
Upon a shingly beach in a brisk breeze,
Kissed by glassy waves you'll feel so fine,
For in mist of joy shalt thy worries freeze;
Yet if thee stroll by a fine golden day
With heaven's eye fairly raining her light,
It'll betoken joy to forever stay
Like of a bird upon her maiden flight.
**In sweet delight it'll thus dawn upon thee,
For nothing smiles than a halcyon sea.**
#Decasyllabic
#Attempt at a Shakespearean sonnet
Kikodinho Edward Alexandros. 7th.Dec.2017. Jumeirah, Dubai.
Dec 6, 2017
Dec 6, 2017 at 3:23 PM UTC
I could write the loveliest poem ever,
A lonely dove went cooing by and by,
Yonder rill, yonder hill, yonder river,
Whilst it winged into a clear blue sky.
Lovely is the sky in her robes of blue,
Velvety blue I mean, as eyes of thine
Never bestowed upon any seraph,
That upon my soul kindled love divine.
I could croon the loveliest tune ever,
And whisper it upon rivers of time;
That fairly stream by and by forever,
A tune that in thy heart could ever chime,
If only I could glance at thy bright eyes
To once stray upon shores of paradise.
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 9:15 AM UTC
a quote of Bernard-Henri Lévy
~~~
the divers’ recovery, diverse,
shipwrecked salvage from different locations,
auctioned to the highest bidder,
tho the excised excerpts are exceptional,
none come to do the bidding,
for the provenance of words
belongs to all, and to none
~~
“so oft we trifle words,
expel them from the country of our body,
without passport and earnestness,
as if they were the cheapest of footnote filler,
day tourists, to be treated as leavings,
refuse for daily discardation,
barely noting their fast comings and faster disappearance,
but leaving not, a mark of distinction”
“the addicted pleasure words granted to we privileged few,
like every enslaved soul to the mind, which I am, I am,
evening dreams, midnight thinkings, sunrise seeings,
how can I infect and thus protect the young to the liberty
to love the crafted content of our human essence to better
comprehend that a moment caught on tape of our shared
words is a holiday, a celebration for the ages...and every molecule,
becomes a human tuning fork in concert, in pitch identical, in blood tainted with the simplicity of we are all the same, only words, this will transmit”
“murmur me, with soft downy charms,
these words discovered
recoursed and intended well to
pointedly offset and contradict
their very own tumultuous discovery uncovering,
tear tongue me
with calming, lapping word wages,
hymns harmonious and fine homilies,
a call, a request,
a bequest
to sedate my shrill life
“some cells, microscopic, preserved digitally,
aged to imperfection, thrash my eyes,
making me speak in tongues I do not recognize,
but fluently possess, no wonder there,
the memory place fairly empty,
room aplenty for passerby's and the imagery
of the vaguest of dearly departed
skin is not the only mot shed,
sloughing of woeful words”
“speak them slow and distinct,
for they arrive slow to you,
a trickling of refugees for your sheltering,
harbor them as full companions,
protected by natural law,
provision them well,
prepared and ever ready for a quick departure,
moor these words at the embarcadero,
for the next restless leg of endlessness,
which they themselves will inform you
will last longer than eternity,
long after there are no humans to speak them”
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 4:55 AM UTC
In days dead and burried in time,
In a very far away enchanted clime,
In the mighty kingdom of Nineva
Where there fairly shone forever,
There once was a strange lonely wood
That ever in fairest robes of green stood
By the edge of a fair shoreline of pearl,
Whose mystery none may tell nor unfurl.
For akin to the most effulgent yonder star
That forevermore scintillates from afar
In a splendiferous novelty golden cluster,
So thrice scintillated the gem's luster.
And 'tis for this that as we all truly know,
All mortals, I say, all mortals of long ago
Gravitated from corners of distant lands
On the quest for riches by those strands.
Once, sweltering was the noontide
When upon a violent lonely rolling tide
A bunch of desperate pirates were seen
Nearing that wood of emerald sheen.
In a while, they'd gathered all they could,
Leaving not a single gem in the wood.
Alas! A wind murmured upon the skies
In faint whispers: "Woods have eyes"
So muttered all birds - all birds of the air,
All creatures in caverns desolate yet fair,
All leaves upon strange shadowy trees,
And all - all creatures of wild lonely seas.
But, despite the looming dark omen,
Swifter than plummeting drops of rain,
So hastily dashed every single pirate
Blindingly minding not about their fate.
They raised their silvery sails to take sail
But hark! All this - all this was to no avail;
For upon the skies no wind was seen
To render them across so wide a sea.
In a jiffy, louder than birds of the skies
All gems whispered, "Woods have eyes."
From that moment on, all lost their sight,
Doomed never to behold the sun's light.
And now, upon those murky restless seas
They dost weep but no plea can please,
For they were doomed to rove evermore
In search of their long forgotten shore.
©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros, Kampala, Uganda. 29th.July.2018.
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 4:03 AM UTC