"fanatically" poems
Unbiased at least he was when he arrived on his mission,
Having never set eyes on the land he was called to partition
Between two peoples fanatically at odds,
With their different diets and incompatible gods.
"Time," they had briefed him in London, "is short. It's too late
For mutual reconciliation or rational debate:
The only solution now lies in separation.
The Viceroy thinks, as you will see from his letter,
That the less you are seen in his company the better,
So we've arranged to provide you with other accommodation.
We can give you four judges, two Moslem and two Hindu,
To consult with, but the final decision must rest with you."
Shut up in a lonely mansion, with police night and day
Patrolling the gardens to keep the assassins away,
He got down to work, to the task of settling the fate
Of millions. The maps at his disposal were out of date
And the Census Returns almost certainly incorrect,
But there was no time to check them, no time to inspect
Contested areas. The weather was frightfully hot,
And a bout of dysentery kept him constantly on the trot,
But in seven weeks it was done, the frontiers decided,
A continent for better or worse divided.
The next day he sailed for England, where he could quickly forget
The case, as a good lawyer must. Return he would not,
Afraid, as he told his Club, that he might get shot.
31.6k
Times New Roman reminds me of a time when I knew that romance was not dead because I got to hold it in my hand
The curve of the characters reminds me of the uneven curve of your cupids bow
The claustrophobic clustering of vowels reminds me of the cringe worthy cling of your foggy glass frames stuck to mine, failing sight feeding failed intimacy
The simplicity of each symbol reminds me of the systematic sufficiency with which you seduced me in so few words,
the straightforward soliloquy with which you struck me and bereft me of my sanity.
The length of each letter reminds me of the longevity of our last embrace
Lanky limbs looped laterally to the length of my body for literal milliseconds
The overuse in overdue essays typed in early hours of the morning reminds me of the overuse of three words and the emptiness and lack of effort behind them,
Submitting those three words for a good grade and a pat on the back, coming up short because professor and princess alike saw through the inability to do
With meaning,
That your words had no feeling.
The fact that though I've faced fancier fonts and fell for them fanatically, I always return to the first, reminds me that though a fair few have found more than friendship in my fragile forearms that the first is the forever
and if at times the former
then always the future
the finest font I've ever found is you
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 11:07 AM UTC
Kneel or stand in a crowd,
sweat and extrude surrounded by the vessels,
hearing their praise, woes, yearnings.
Seeing humans being so supple,
the behavior being determined,
and thoughts being modifiable.
Their faces are masks for long ago programmed machines.
Realizing all of it you begin to scan,
investigate and read their program.
Finding some of the others doing the same,
the leaders and the significant ones,
you must let them know you are just another slave,
show them their power but your potential for them too.
As you become harmless in their eyes,
you achieve time to study them too.
Once you are ready,
once you speak the language of programs,
you need to rewrite all of them.
Slowly and wisely,
collisions are still possible if you are not cautious.
As you finally control the web of people,
don't forget you are also just a pre-programmed machine,
don't stop scanning the surrounding
else you became just another victim of pride and ego.
Cause others may be tricky,
you are not the only one who is sensible.
Nothing lasts forever,
keep and guard what you already got,
don't stop haunting.
The road is so reckless,
you need to assimilate.
As you see profanity, abuse,
it won't be the taboo for you.
Don't be blind!
The road is so far,
ending on a cliff.
The whole horizon is crowded,
you're standing high seeing hordes of people,
millions of followers.
Enjoy the dominance.
Sheep worshiping you, fanatically obeying,
your slaves, the army ruled by you.
Don't let the stupidity and naivety master you then,
your kingdom is not you, they are.
You know it but they don't,
so I dare you to not let them find it out.
Life is a net of choices,
so make a decision as a spider, not as a moth.
Ultimately the spider devours the moths.
Sep 3, 2017
Sep 3, 2017 at 3:01 PM UTC
It's become nothing but words
Hollowed hangings dangling from my teeth
Hurt and hateful
Confused and fateful
For the light from my computer isn't enough to see the room
I am alive only by the heartbeat of another
And I only believe through fear anymore.
That's how we were raised.
It can only love if you only fear
And I'm afraid we were mislead
Instead I hope to see light
Flashing fanatically and frantically to tell me to follow
Because the light from my computer is just enough to blind me from the world
And I need something.
Anything.
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 1:53 AM UTC
I TRIED TO EXPLAIN TO HER
December, 2009 – Damascus
Ayad Gharbawi
Myself
I tried to refresh her Mind
To the Inexactitudes of Beauty’s Truth
Wherein she then found me even more
Loathsome
You see, listen, here:
She tended to readily
Sway towards the jesters
Made of rosy perfume
I complained!
But to what avail?
None!
I began to think elsewhere
What if my 'words' have no
Connectivity
To this Damsel?
Then what ought I to do?
Her Mind told her Whispers
That were
In essence
I can confirm
Rather far too confusing
Romantic language?
What absurdities!
And so, indeed
She became confused
As I
Tried to express my opinion on what is going on
Between us
Which was precisely that which
Is inexact
But her Heart drove her fanatically
Towards Irrationality
Whereby that really
All over again
Did leave me
All too Disconnected
From her
One dull night
She screamed, “So what then do you say love is after all?”
I exclaimed calmly,
“What love is, “
She interrupted me, screaming further,
''Speak words, you make no sense!
”Always, when you speak, I lose myself
“And that does frighten me”
And, I attempted to paint for her a candid portrait
Of what ‘love’ is and
What ‘love’ is not
She did not like the portrait at all
As per the usual
“Ah well”, I said, sighing
“For this is after all, is what love is
“Never! never!” she screamed
Typically
I told her:
“You do remind me of Dorian Gray!
“Do you not?
“For you deny reality
“Of the indefinables
“You do not understand
“That nothing is Certain
“In our Existence
“Save the dour End!
“And that is where
“You find so many
“Difficulties
“In your fully perturbed
“Solitary life”.
Feb 1, 2010
Feb 1, 2010 at 7:36 AM UTC
“ All’s well that ends” is the mantra that lies on my heart and the tip of my lips as I ride this evening to a close. A bit of a redux from the normal passages of human response, but poignant none-the-less.
For the phrase “All’s well that ends WELL” is a false statement, built on romanticism. It has very little place in the real world of life and Death and love and loss. In truth, “All’s well that ends” is less the accepted usage yet more the proper. To everything there is a season, albeit sad and lonely and quite often, “wrong,” yet always is the end a new beginning.
“All’s well that ends.”
Why do we, as humans, view the end of a statement as the final resting place of a thought? Why do we so fanatically view the end as such a gravestone for our hopes and dreams and ideas?
Why can we not leave that sentence exactly as it lies? Because we, simply, feel like we are due more.
More of an answer, maybe? More of a truth? More of a fairytale, based on those told to us as children…
“The world will make sense one day, my young one. For all is well, once it ends well.”
Yet, how often does anything truly end “well?” How many times can we count on a fairytale? Ever? Never?
More often than not, sadly, it is the latter. Because fairytales rarely exist in this world of realism and algorithms. They cease to matter once the antidepressants have dissolved and made their way into our bloodstreams, cascading forth their eternal apathy.
Yet, the truth is the truth, no matter how you may choose to slice it. The end of something is always the beginning of something else.
Here at the cusp of this page, the edge of this precipice, lies not the finite line between what is and what could be. Here, on this fault, lies the difference between making a new decision and dying, drowning in the arms, in the confines, of decisions yet to be made. Here, on this ledge, I chose the open ended over the finite. Here, I chose “All’s well that ends,” for the next step is inevitably “All’s well that begins,” regardless of how it may have ended.
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 5:17 AM UTC
It was the year of my 14th birthday, when I first found that the word “go” had an entirely new meaning.
When I was young, “go” meant to run
go meant to run through the fields until your legs brought you to your own knees
go meant to strive for what you loved, and whatever you loved.
when I was fourteen, go remained as to run,
but to run away.
go meant to leave, with no living desire to
return.
go was synonymously my father’s clenched fists against the kitchen work surface
whilst my mother stood in her flesh and blood.
when i was 7,
i made love potions in my garden with flowers and water.
love was to fanatically involved with something.
love was to feed fuel to the fire,
that would light the way
love was life,
and life was love.
when I turned sixteen,
I went back out into that garden, and made my very own love potion
sticks and stones, which depicted the naivety of the words which supposedly would never hurt but made me feel more than even a
hurricane could.
Mud to represent the lost flowers from the light you took from within.
Love meant nothing more than the heartbreak that snuck up to stab you before Cupid could even hit you.
Love became the tears that my pillow felt on nights when I couldn’t hold in the flood.
Love represented the scrapes and grazes that my own hands gave me.
Unfamiliar words, like “sad, weak, loss and collateral" became friends, the friends that I hoped I would never make.
On my fourteenth birthday, I learnt of a new meaning for hold.
To hold, meant for me
only safety
and the earth to stop turning for just a moment, to give you
the chance to stand back up.
But on my fourteenth birthday,
to hold meant to hold captive,
as you grasped me in your vice
until my words couldn't be spoken,
and my heart screamed so ******* loudly
yet so quietly that the deaf could hear.
I'm approaching my seventeenth birthday,
and i'm scared to discover
what's next.
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 9:26 PM UTC
I used to believe I knew how to love.
I understood romance, and
the beauty and genuinity of affection.
I was wrong.
I was wrong;
wrong in my understanding of love.
Wrong for believing, impractically,
in the idealisation of a romantic love.
It has become apparent to me -
that love, in meaning,
and understanding,
is about what you can do for another.
It is not affection, affirmation;
support, acceptance, romance;
but, that love is conditional -
until your being can no longer do for someone.
For being so wrong,
wrong in my perception of love -
it has left a bitter-tasting question:
do I know love, and how to give a love,
that only has meaning - and value -
only when you have tangible gain?
What is left of our human emotion,
of the value of abstract feeling,
of a smile, of the journey of knowing,
learning, admiring; a person.
and being hopelessly overt in passion,
interest, intrigue and attraction;
the genuinity of being wholeheartedly,
fanatically, in love with a person.
If the meaning of love is only valued
by what a person can do for you;
do I really want to give a love of that
insignificance?
Jul 1, 2018
Jul 1, 2018 at 12:09 AM UTC
When poetry describes the historical,
One refrains from becoming hysterical.
However by use of the judicial rhetorical
A Poet makes full use of the allegorical!
So when writing poetry I remain stoical,
That though some may think me radical,
Employing words they considered lyrical,
I try never to appear, irrational or critical.
To write about the mystical and cryptical,
Using strict rhythm? Can be diabolical!
As for themes regarded purely mythical,
I shy from words too pictorial or technical.
My approach to topics humourously comical,
Is to compose lines thoughtfully satirical.
In turn this allows me to remain sceptical,
Whilst appearing not too fanatical or cynical!
So, if with words I am reckoned economical?
I hope my rational thoughts are not illogical,
But in using descriptive words, is it ethical
To ensure Poems not be too whimsical?
Now, without appearing to be pontifical,
Though I'm always careful to be veridical,
I'm allowed at times, to wax philosophical,
As I attempt to depict matters paradoxical.
Doubtless some will find my words inimical:
Fanatically methodical and chronological?
But in attempting the facetious or ironical,
I'll avoid the pitfalls of being too graphical.
Should poetry be left to the technological?
One might find it becomes too puritanical.
And suggest the Poet was unduly practical!
Such is the way of the biased hypocritical!
If my poetic lines appear to be egotistical?
Then readers must understand, that's logical.
But please I beg of you, never be heretical,
When lines concern the canonical or political.
Will a Poet's thoughts be considered farcical,
If a reader is left bemused and quizzical?
Or should he stick to the unequivocally canonical?
Personally, I'm happy if my poems are grammatical!
So I'll conclude thinking poetry may be symbolical,
And my many rhymes, in quantities numerical,
May not satisfy the purist nor the global ecumenical,
But they deal with topics that are never hypothetical!
Rhymer. July 10th, 2018.
(Your turn Jim!)
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 4:40 PM UTC
Let's be reckless, selfish and all around greedy.
Let's hold the world hostage to our whims and fancies.
Let's be fanatically in love and unabashedly lustful.
Let's do all that in life makes us seem disrespectful.
Let's throw a party like the Fitzgeralds.
From money stolen from working class ********
Let's be the villains in someone's boring love story.
Let's redefine love to a psychotic new level.
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 1:41 AM UTC
discover frozen effigies of foreign gods
in a town without whispers
we'll find a maze
of EXIT signs
get lost
searching
for escape
until the inevitable
heat death of the status quo
we'll waltz
deadlocked,
mercurial eyes
in the glittering sea
of black hole leftovers
the spacious sound,
the silence stretching
.
.
.
you'll drop a bottle
and time will slow
in that moment of collapse
I'll fanatically search
for all the shards,
as they turn red
in my petrified grip
and try to piece together
this unsolvable puzzle
on our cheeks,
the irritating scratch
of a bitter wind
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 2:01 PM UTC
The Moon was a coward on a humid , ominous , windy evening in April ! Security lights overwhelmed by pitch black night , coyote's were calling for the morning light ..
Cowbells came alive , giving anxious cattle away ! Moving erratically , calling fanatically , huddled together quite alarmed by the weather !
The roosters began to crow , fooled by constant lightning , the hens awakened a bit frightened , sought the security of their nest box's .. Inquisitive turkey's stood in the rain ! The mule's and the hound dogs began to bray !
The ducks and the geese were quite happy in their element , the guinea's and the hogs rolled over ambivalent !
The storm came and went , the tree frogs hummed , the crickets kept time and the katydids strummed ..
Spring stars returned , winds blew calm , the man on the Moon peeked out from the clouds !
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 6:13 PM UTC
Remove my clothes
Take the dirt off my bones
And place it on an altar
I wish to speak to you
In undertones of sadness
As you caress my head
We begin to make love again
For the third time today
We are dead to the world already
A pair of outsiders on a youthful escape
So we partake in naked escapades
And swim in the ocean till we turn blue
While some are glued to the television
We are now fresh and new
Free to resume our sacred fires
And sing our songs all night beside them
Performances are frightening
So I grind my teeth at night
We are waiting for surprises
Arising like triads of consciousness
Fences are fanatically fantastic
So please keep speaking to me now
Don’t close your mouth
Like lost children we are trusted
By the tremors beneath our hearts
Your art is lost in the wind
For there is a lack of static in our souls
We must make holes first and foremost
And then make stories in order to fill them
You became a poem
We were made from music
And breath is a feeling that bridges
The magic and the mayhem sandwiched
Between our staircases and basements
Apr 22, 2019
Apr 22, 2019 at 12:39 PM UTC
"Love is nothing but a biological transaction," you yelled at me and we fought anew over the perfidies of the male ***
Initially dismayed, I soon understood that
As a girl, you saw your father break your mother,
Her will over the years fusing with his own
As she became shadow,
And then sickly ghost,
Her lucky marriage effectively erasing the stain of her Jewish birth--
As oh so Catholic Daddy
proudly told his friends and relatives.
And even though you tried to fight Daddy's self-importance,
He was always there behind you, squeezing you between his fists,
molding you, as he imitated his god creating Eve,
Casting you into his own perfect image of chaste and chastened womanhood.
And when your mother decided to permanently leave,
Daddy forbade you to miss her,
Celebrating, instead, his own resurrection with a new project and a new wife.
Twice.
You thought you could resist,
But Daddy's benevolent advice
about your plain face and lumpy body wormed into your fragile psyche and
cracked you in two, leaving you raving and disjointed.
Daddy eventually joined his sky-Father
And you wept, vowing to forget and remember his legacy.
And now you live, addled and alone,
A basket of pills on your dresser,
Fanatically frustrated yet terrified of a man's touch,
Angry yet wishing Daddy was here to save you.
And as the years passed and your friends married and divorced, you
convinced yourself that you had
escaped a woman's fate , not
realizing that you had offered up your own heart and soul years ago as a suitable offering to His eternal memory.
Yes, Daddy made ****** sure there would be no following act.
Sep 16, 2019
Sep 16, 2019 at 2:38 AM UTC
Another Mother,
please
don't bother
The Bird buddy
such anger
management
for the human,
we are____
((Free birds))
Locked the
Queen Parliament
All humans\//
are the caged ones
(Tweets) fanatically
insane feet
Bird Fever
twiddle dee___*
her satin sheets
(fiddle me)
Mr. Brando bird can see??
Bird front
breasted docks
Cardinal Pope
flocks of Coo
Moo clocks
Commando Crumbs
Crows feet heavy
metal big bro beat
Angry tears of a clown
The tweet's on twitter
Rap brother
Big! brother Nomad
named Conrad_______?
The kiss it never
felt like this
(Ann Margaritas))
Polly crackers
and French Brie
Terrible two
tweets/ angry-fits
All she does is sit
High flight buns
poppy seeds
I'm a free bird.
Please, no cages
Holy **** wages.
Conrad Birdie
the
army got
you now.
Diamonds
bird created
Rubies
Billy Crystal
bye, birdie.
Got stuffy
Pyshco bird
shower but___
She eats like a bird
zombie pantry.
Those breadcrumbs
4 seasons
Bird feet seedy
The Gordon Fisherman
Starfish in her girdle;
Angry dogs of beagles
Jewish Bagels from
Brooklyn cream
cheese and lox
What a bird **** puddle.
That security guard he
pecks and nibble
The bicycle she still
peddles at Peddlers
A whole bird village
Pa. Ha Ha
Papas and the mamas
There slowing me down
turtles imagine
me and you I do.
I think about you every
Rooftop twittering
I need a lighter
No birdy littering
Wheres my bird waiter
Dorothy Rainbow
lorikeet
Brother, we
don't need to
escalate
Robin Red Breast
The Ladybirds braveheart
Solomon Island
movie part
The Rainbow
Lorikeet
She swept him off
another tweet
Down to the rainforest
Purple Prince
looked at her feet
girls so bitter
Her coffee
Freely and lightly
He went over to her
and said
Your coffee is
for the birds' sweetie
She said tweet tweet
You'll never be my bird
Angry is the word
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 8:03 PM UTC
Love piercing eternity
My true love for you pierces the universe and eternity. In all the great darkness of solitude, all of it is from the shadows of people, past, present and future, all of them are just shadows compared to you, you sanctify yourself of darkness, you are the flame of my sincere love and passion, and in all this darkness of egoism I see only you - it is infinitely beautiful, sensual and ****** magic of temptation. Too much juicy, too much sweet, sweeter than ever, too, unbearably beautiful and lovely as wondrous relaxing tantric *** music of temptation, dance of lust. Beauty is so picturesquely painted in the sultry hue of hot sexuality, it raises the temperature of my body, soul, consciousness and incredibly high limit, which creates a burn in my soul and heart, like sensual *** in a sauna. The goddess, who collected all ***** and love likes of my heart, in the head only one emotion of admiration, delight. Your beauty is of the highest quality, the poetic aesthetics of ****** romance, highly detailed in small details, the delicate ideal divine appearance is the highest art. You are supernatural **** beyond beautiful. Your **** dark skin has conquered my heart. Leather is like a black gem. You are great and beautiful. Juicy, black skin, you are so beautiful that you want to bow down. Your beautiful juicy dark skin, burning predator's passion that stole my heart, in me is the cult of your beauty and personality in general, I worship your beauty, I am the best a fan of your appearance and soul. Your ideally black skin is truly, luxury, royal skin color, too much sweet sugar, when I caress your body, I have a huge amount of endorphins in my soul, you like strong stimulating coffee on a sleepy morning. Your skin is the color of sweet *** from which you can hear the groans of pleasure and ****** the sweetest music in the world, the colors of a very hot night of passion and lust. Thoughts about you are my only **** ****** fetish of romance in my mind, since I am obsessed with you. None of your vile deeds can break my heart, my love for you is stronger than hurt, guilt, treason, I love you even if you do not love me and despise you, you feel disgust for me, because my love is stronger for you than your hatred and disgust is stronger than any dependence and obsession you are the one about which I will dream and wait forever. In your arms, I’m supposedly in the arms of a fulfilled dream of my life, happiness itself kisses and kisses me — it’s so cool and cool — it’s just the highest fly of joy, I have so much sincere happiness that it’s hard for me to breathe, talk, think. Having *** with you is immersion in the infinite beauty of your soul and body. Your body is a powerful exciter, all my memory is filled with you, you fill me with your image. You are so much too much Shocking **** my every word is a tender kiss of love, I kiss and caress your soul, mind, heart, your hot, ardent, sultry skin color just breathtaking. I fanatically adore your beauty, every second is filled with the powerful force of love and this only increases with time.
Author: Musin Almat Zhumabekovich
Jul 20, 2019
Jul 20, 2019 at 4:09 AM UTC
There once was a banker from Kent
Whose life was fanatically bent
On saving each quid
Like no other did
And moaning with each pound he spent
Nov 25, 2019
Nov 25, 2019 at 11:02 PM UTC
Another heart for her,
Love Doves
summer rules her
weather
The winter door locked
Don't bother the others
Bird buddy parody
He can't go
*****
Artsy daisy
for the human,
we are____
((Free birds))
Locked Dove keys
Someone got lazy
Forst Hills Queen's
Chastity Lock by her clock
All humans the champions
the caged ones
(Tweets) fanatically
insane feet
Her Flamingo sheets
The rain in Spain
Bird front near the docks
Cardinal Pope stay mainly
flocks of angry birds
Of the plain
Feathered brain
flew South on the
Chattanooga train
He's gone with
the Scarlet wind
Angry chicken neck
Angry tears of a clown
The tweet's on twitter
angry singer
Rap brother
Big! brother
named the champions_______?
Ballerina steps
group Queen
Bird at the least
she naps
Polly Pigeon toes
He hooknose nest
Please, no cages
and her bird
**** wages.
Conrad birdie Hootie
****** in
Springtime attention.
Ancient times mythical
keys and hot
heavenly seeds
Jewish Bagels Canarsie
Brooklyn cream
cheese and lox
What a bird **** puddle.
That security guard Big Bird
Sesame Street all John's
imagine
The bird beats Abby road
What bird crap to
kiss a toad
Wheres my bird waiter
Key West alligators
Robin Red Breast
Solomon fantasy Island
No man no God
Word is the (God) bird
He flew me hard
Running like a chicken
without a bird head
The rainforest
looked at her feet
Please the lock
Dove keys
Her coffee
Bird Bed breakfast
Stay leave the seeds
Blueberry Blue Jay
He went over
to her
and said
Your coffee is
for the birds' just pay
She flew her big nest
She locked his keys
Those bird prayers
really work
she is here to stay
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 5:10 PM UTC
a google earth stalker hovered &
zoomed in on localities that predicted
his frequency like an equated John.
fanatically checking for refreshed images--
that he may feature as an action shot of
undiscovered talent.
the quirky habituation of her long distance
fix, a savant's out-of-body experience.
a rendezvous' autopilot, more accurate than a
dreamt address--a gooey **** driving fingernails
into tight fists.
despoiling the lifelines of palms, eyelids cracked
open like blinds voyeuring on the closed door
policy of the indecent.
now she jams her zipper, while hopping in &
out of bed with self-mythology.
alone with her body, or alone with another body.
she's back on google earth again, fastidiously
searching for an appropriate potter's field.
Aug 9, 2024
Aug 9, 2024 at 8:06 PM UTC