"faring" poems
I'm a MAN.
A rugby-playing,
Football-loving,
Pie-eating
MAN.
A nerdy t-shirt wearing,
Glasses bearing,
Bad-teeth faring
MAN.
A sad,
Lonely,
Little
MAN.
A nice-dressing,
Debonair-looking,
Smooth-talking
MAN.
A rose-giving,
Hotel-whisking,
Loving and kissing
MAN.
A drunk,
A lush,
An alcy
MAN.
A person with
Thoughts
Feelings
Pain
Sentiment
I like stuff
I hide my feelings
I **** up
I cry.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 11:36 AM UTC
The farthest man made object in space, Voyager 1,
is over 20 billion km away from Earth.
On board is a phonograph record, brilliant gold,
containing sounds and images of what life is like on earth,
A message to whoever is able to listen, a literal shot in the dark.
On it is an inscription that is perhaps the most beautiful sentence
I have ever read
TO THE MAKERS OF MUSIC
ALL TIMES
ALL WORLDS
a time capsule, a gift, from us
To anywhere and everywhere
A hundred years from now or a thousand
Our belief that no matter what time
Or world you belong to, melody and harmony and rhythm, can bring us together, can communicate.
On the cover
Are figures, explaining how to operate this record
Hieroglyphics from what by then
Would be ancient history
Messages in binary, the 1s and 0s
Our position in the universe marked by our distances
from gigantic pulsars, the star map to our home,
the creators of this message
There's beauty in this marriage of math and art
Code and music
As a way to communicate with the universe.
Some of the images on the record are
the most beautifully simple ones,
Of us, humans, drinking and eating, laughing,
of animals, nature, food and architecture.
Then there are images of our scientific observations,
mathematical calculations, our discoveries,
Like a child showing off
Look, look what I can do!
Black and white and in colour,
Pictures, proof that we, indeed have lived and achieved.
The music, classical, our very best from Bach and Mozart
to Blind Willie Johnson's Dark was the Night.
But all of this can only matter, can come to fruition
if someone exists to receive it, and is evolved enough
to comprehend what it means.
But that's the thing, everybody knows,
That's there's a slim chance of this record ever being heard,
and it's much more possible that the Voyager will simply end up as floating debris in the cosmos, but it doesn't matter!
We just want someone to know that there was a species of bipedal, intelligent animals on this blue planet,
no different than finding graffiti in alleys that read I WAS HERE.
WE WERE HERE, WE EXISTED.
And it's all about that hope, the hope that someone will see us,
our pictures, listen to our languages, our greetings, our music, and remember us, even after we're long gone.
Or perhaps we will one day be interstellar space faring people as well, following the path of the Voyager, doing what we do best,
Explore.
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 9:32 AM UTC
Tick-tock
Went the clock
The day I wanted to stop.
The pitter-patter,
Chitter-chatter.
The walks,
The squaks
And the all 'important talks'
The day I wanted to stop.
Intrusion, confusion, pollution
And social 'evolution'
The day I wanted to stop.
The swearing, the caring.
The 'how are you faring?'
The day I wanted to stop.
The girl, the boy.
That unexpected smile.
Kindness flowing
Kept me going;
If only for awhile,
On the day I wanted to stop.
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 7:06 AM UTC
I
Our ****** dreams, all seedless in the light,
Of light and love the tempers of the heart,
Whack their boys' limbs,
And, winding-footed in their shawl and sheet,
Groom the dark brides, the widows of the night
Fold in their arms.
The shades of girls, all flavoured from their shrouds,
When sunlight goes are sundered from the worm,
The bones of men, the broken in their beds,
By midnight pulleys that unhouse the tomb.
II
In this our age the gunman and his moll
Two one-dimensional ghosts, love on a reel,
Strange to our solid eye,
And speak their midnight nothings as they swell;
When cameras shut they hurry to their hole
down in the yard of day.
They dance between their arclamps and our skull,
Impose their shots, showing the nights away;
We watch the show of shadows kiss or ****
Flavoured of celluloid give love the lie.
III
Which is the world? Of our two sleepings, which
Shall fall awake when cures and their itch
Raise up this red-eyed earth?
Pack off the shapes of daylight and their starch,
The sunny gentlemen, the Welshing rich,
Or drive the night-geared forth.
The photograph is married to the eye,
Grafts on its bride one-sided skins of truth;
The dream has ****** the sleeper of his faith
That shrouded men might marrow as they fly.
IV
This is the world; the lying likeness of
Our strips of stuff that tatter as we move
Loving and being loth;
The dream that kicks the buried from their sack
And lets their trash be honoured as the quick.
This is the world. Have faith.
For we shall be a shouter like the ****
Blowing the old dead back; our shots shall smack
The image from the plates;
And we shall be fit fellows for a life,
And who remains shall flower as they love,
Praise to our faring hearts.
3.7k
3.14 is the value of pi
Semicircle is the shape of a smile
8 is the symbol for infinity
Welcome to quantumly formed poetry.
Expressing my thoughts through cryptic theory
End of reversed evolutionary
It might not be self-explanatory
JUST Keeping It Short and Simple, M, E.
C, L, O, U, D, plus the square of three
is all that I feel when you are with Mi
Fa, So, La, Ti, Do, Re... or I mean me
Like M, A, G, I see... my world on thee.
You are my earth that is a twisted heart
I dream to be the he beside that art
Giving his best to be a romantic
Intimating through the fields of physics.
My love for you is three-dimensional
Taller and longer than diagonals
As deep as abyss, like cosmos so wide
but unbound by space and unchanged by time.
A fire started by a Maxwell's demon
Burning and shining from here to the moon
A flame so lunar and so lunatic
breaking the laws of thermodynamics.
Faring the distance at the speed of light
Lining the night skies like a meteorite
Traversing the widths of the hyperspace
Or cross a black hole just to see your face.
Escape with luck from a magnetic flux
Be right thrice a day with a broken clock
Above all that, there's just one thing I want:
To spend my last breath by holding your hand.
Jun 3, 2017
Jun 3, 2017 at 10:40 PM UTC
hello hello hello
what have we got here
a few ships assembling
with highly explosive
gear
hello hello hello
who shall fire the first shot
into the Syrian
plot
hello hello hello
America and Russia
are on opposing sides
the gulf in their opinions
very wide
hello hello hello
the world
shall see a drama
most potent
others in
the Middle Eastern
corridor
may get
involved too
that will be a show
which may mean
a powder keg
that can't be
subdued
hello hello hello
why have men
in power
always had a yen
to be war faring
and not think
of their fellow
men women and children
hello hello hello
this time the lesson
may come at an extremely high cost
for it may well
bring end
to all existence
on the planet
as we know it....
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 9:03 PM UTC
Pet was never mourned as you,
Purrer of the spotless hue,
Plumy tail, and wistful gaze
While you humoured our queer ways,
Or outshrilled your morning call
Up the stairs and through the hall—
Foot suspended in its fall—
While, expectant, you would stand
Arched, to meet the stroking hand;
Till your way you chose to wend
Yonder, to your tragic end.
Never another pet for me!
Let your place all vacant be;
Better blankness day by day
Than companion torn away.
Better bid his memory fade,
Better blot each mark he made,
Selfishly escape distress
By contrived forgetfulness,
Than preserve his prints to make
Every morn and eve an ache.
From the chair whereon he sat
Sweep his fur, nor wince thereat;
Rake his little pathways out
Mid the bushes roundabout;
Smooth away his talons’ mark
From the claw-worn pine-tree bark,
Where he climbed as dusk embrowned,
Waiting us who loitered round.
Strange it is this speechless thing,
Subject to our mastering,
Subject for his life and food
To our gift, and time, and mood;
Timid pensioner of us Powers,
His existence ruled by ours,
Should - by crossing at a breath
Into safe and shielded death,
By the merely taking hence
Of his insignificance—
Loom as largened to the sense,
Shape as part, above man’s will,
Of the Imperturbable.
As a prisoner, flight debarred,
Exercising in a yard,
Still retain I, troubled, shaken,
Mean estate, by him forsaken;
And this home, which scarcely took
Impress from his little look,
By his faring to the Dim
Grows all eloquent of him.
Housemate, I can think you still
Bounding to the window-sill,
Over which I vaguely see
Your small mound beneath the tree,
Showing in the autumn shade
That you moulder where you played.
3.4k
There was a time I didn't stop to smell the roses anymore
I just wanted to hide away from the world
He took my childhood
He took my trust
All because of his sick ********** of lust
It took me awhile to finally see
That he was to blame for the horrible, awful ...not me
Once I started cleaning out darkened cobwebs
and the craziness from my mind
Those roses started smelling sweeter and sweeter all the time
Despite all that evilness from him
I overcame and I am longer victim
He on the other hand I hear is not faring that well
Seems as though he has already cashed in that one way ticket to hell
He can never hurt me or anyone else for that matter ever again
He loses and ...I WIN
Apr 2, 2012
Apr 2, 2012 at 11:00 AM UTC
Fickle
Done in mentioned light...
Through and due the common, the still
Notice of compliment, a comment of right
None
The more we save, from the proof of simplicity
Story's and a sulking tree, the seldom of fun in the sun
Turned to universality, with the eyes of anarchy
Amend
Sour and refined, refrain from the beauty of compel?
The pout of another gift and the choice of feeling's substance
Over the quiet since, that has become ours to weal...
Things
And the duty of a desire in worthing heaven, the hell of unity
Given me, and the role of synchronicity a resolve, to sweeten
Time is a daring host, to assure even the tiniest of needs, vicinity
Arduous
Threshold in the lime, the boding of every else, in the book
Staid and remembering decorum, like a hell is every cause
When we are the understanding home, to a willing look...
Force
Are we a stir of responsibility in the arms of voice, or its cope?
Timid as we are, the calling of it all, is a wisdom's source?
Look hard for a nature? when you can have a friend for it's love...
Caring
True to mellower stares, the throe of uncanny light
Made from the none, are we to survive a decision, so faring
The response of decency, that a swim with the devil, is also right...
Liberty
Loan the call, to me for a universe's song
Trust is a walking might of the deed, asking the seldom, evil's
Is it me, or the shade in a wishes stir, the tout we held all along?
Oct 10, 2022
Oct 10, 2022 at 4:45 PM UTC
My glass shall not persuade me I am old
So long as youth and thou are of one date;
But when in thee Time’s furrows I behold,
Then look I death my days should expiate.
For all that beauty that doth cover thee
Is but the seemly raiment of my heart,
Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me.
How can I then be elder than thou art?
O, therefore, love, be of thyself so wary
As I not for myself, but for thee will,
Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary
As tender nurse her babe from faring ill.
Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain;
Thou gav’st me thine, not to give back again.
2.8k
To the melody of "Sheng Sheng Man"
I pine and peak
And questless seek
Groping and moping to linger and languish
Anon to wander and wonder, glare, stare and start
Flesh chill'd
Ghost thrilled
With grim dart
And keen canker of rankling anguish.
Sudden a gleam
Of fair weather felt
But fled as fast -- and the ice-cold season stays.
How hard to have these days
In rest or respite, peace or truce.
Sip upon sip of tasteless wine
Is of slight use
To counter or quell
The fierce lash of the evening blast.
The wild geese -- see --
Fly overhead
Ah, there's the grief
That's chief -- grief beyond bearing,
Wild fowl far faring
In days of old you sped
Bearing my true love's tender thoughts to me.
Lo, how my lawn is rife with golden blooms
Of bunched chrysanthemums --
Weary their heads they bow.
Who cares to pluck them now?
While I the casement keep
Lone, waiting, waiting for night
And, as the shades fall
Upon broad leaves, sparse rain-drops drip.
Ah, such a plight
Of grief -- grief unbearable, unthinkable.
2.7k
Hark! The sea-faring wild-fowl loud proclaim
My coming, and the swarming of the bees.
These are my heralds, and behold! my name
Is written in blossoms on the hawthorn-trees.
I tell the mariner when to sail the seas;
I waft o’er all the land from far away
The breath and bloom of the Hesperides,
My birthplace. I am Maia. I am May.
2.7k
I love too much; I am a river
Surging with spring that seeks the sea,
I am too generous a giver,
Love will not stoop to drink of me.
His feet will turn to desert places
Shadowless, reft of rain and dew,
Where stars stare down with sharpened faces
From heavens pitilessly blue.
And there at midnight sick with faring,
He will stoop down in his desire
To slake the thirst grown past all bearing
In stagnant water keen as fire.
2.6k
The Rent-a-Mob loonies, the gangsters and the Racists
damaged scums of society and contemporary politics
Ignorant arrogant sociopaths who want it all for nothing
Indulgent wasters in nation awashed with opportunities
In idle union they scream, feed us poor and **** the Rich
Strangers come Poland, Bulgaria, India and all over
to work in farms, hospitals, hotels and Constructions
Building futures and faring in endeavours with sweat
Crimson gangs and Renta Mobs states we serve nobody
**** the wealth makers, **** the parasites and let's drink
Our shyster gangs of Revo-comrades and malcontents
See killing fields, whereas strangers toil and find rich pickings
Our Revos Distract, confuse, sow seeds of dissent, make strife
Blame all others, lie and decieve, fling indulgent political turds
Rent brainwashed Mobs,into ***** bridgard to do their ***** work
We all know life is unfair and even roses have imperfections
Some are born to riches in spades and some born to beggars in dusts
Those with time, sit and ask God why, just a fact of life to accept
But from dust has risen billionaires, whilst riches have made duds
Insane Crimson sits in spurious guise and odious fallacy playing God
Yeh, **** the Rich and feed the poor, why hide and use Rent a mob
Why not air your case in broad daylight and stand your conviction
The coward you are knows it hold no sanity for those with sense
Except for thieves, the workshy and wasters who cheat to survive
In your city of merits aplenty, Revo-crimson is beneath contempt
Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 9:56 AM UTC
Oh how I wish I was a Jedi Pirate.
Can you imagine how bad *** that would be?
Dressed in awesome sea faring garb
and carrying a lightsaber and blaster on my side.
I know that jedis stand for justice and peace and siths stand for emotion and power.
I can't pick a side.
So I guess I'll stay in the middle.
I'll sail the cosmic seas
and feel the force within the breeze.
With a bottle of *** in my hand
and force lightning at my command.
God that would be ******* awesome.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 6:58 PM UTC
1-DESIRE: 4-UNCARE:
All of me now desires,be deep Distracted ideals,a nature human
Wholly Inside of you,Pervade Heavenly woven synergies broken
Your mind, limbs, Heart, all pores Power of pleasures mortal, killing magic
Soak in your salty sweat warm Snapping wands,bonds dearly formed
Mold dancing to a one united. Sweet temptress transient, conquering care.
2-PASSION: 5- DISILLUSION:
Bodies’ lithe now twined serpentine We betrayed, cheated US, in neglect,
Straining desperate, for a merger Holes in hearts bleeding precious Love,
Spiritual, souls both for unison striving Admitting indifference cruel, ruining stealthily
Hearts two pumping as one to fuse. Our paradise gained, won so easy, lost terribly.
Sacred is everything, this carnality too. Chanced eternity wasted, destiny unmeant made.
3-LOVE: 6- REALITY:
Ensconced tight in warmth’s mutual, Tempered in time space, 3-LOVE loyal savior sole,
All is for sacrifice on our loves altar, Enshrined indestructible, in being, memories relived.
Suspended thoughts, egos burnt ash Pleasures now cynically felt, loves truly responded,
A Love Mindless meditating deep, No dilemma human; I flow generous, as an epitaph,
In some state mystically enlightened. Thanking destiny for this reclaim, my love,faring well.
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 4:55 AM UTC
this time, when i went
to meet Death at his place,
he showed signs of weakness.
he was watching a cricket match
relaxing in his arm chair, legs stretched.
yawns kept rolling
in slow progression
towards the boundary.
'are you well?’ i ventured.
'nothing wrong,’ said he.
stammering, i quizzed him:
which one do you fear most?
allopathy, ayurveda, or
homeopathy?
dear wilson,
have you observed sachin
facing the ***** of shane warne?
brian lara, wasim akram?
chris gail, brett lee?
i was thrown into confusion.
death admitted, unwillingly,
that like vivian richards
confronted narendra hirwani,
he was laid low by the
secret herb
of an old tribal man!
aaha! the panacea
became then
a spin ball!
(aaha…Nothing official about it!)
i forgot to ask
how our people
smuggled away by him
were faring now.
he forgot to comment
“you will see for yourself
when you face it.”
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 9:14 AM UTC
Northern Michigan has got some pretty twisted people but call themselves decent, God faring Christians. Copy pasting two typical posts on rants & raves forum exchanged between two typical Northern Michiganders. Not like them but think they are weirdos and get a good old belly laugh at the ignorance in the good old deep south errrr, I mean northern michigan. We got spared today from reading that Obama was chief ***** head but did get to read his racist post faking being American Indian.
From northern michigan craigslist poster #1
RE; Curious in Fairview (TC)
You sure were quick to figure out what "passes for" debate on this place.
Good Job!
Here's what I do....first, I don't give a hoot what any of them say or do to my posts.
The name calling, and personal bashing are simply humorous to me. Truthfully though, I sometimes egg them on....It simply helps prove that the common IQ level
is somewhat ( ???? ) LOW!
Secondly---"Chief Itchybutt" is the ONLY one worth reading---he tells some
pretty incredible stories....he should probably write a book in my opinion.
As for all the rest of the spew---let it roll off your back like water on a wet
duck...just read it and be glad your not one of "them"...
Advice from:
YBBB--the one, the only!
Craigslist poster #2 with pic of Obama with huge photoshopped lips.
Special for Bob, a deer hunting story (in my woods)
Ugg! How! Chief IIttccheebutt of the Neverwiippee Tribe here to tell all what I see in woods hunting for deer, Ugg! Me go out with boomstick early in morning when turkeys are on roost to sit by deer trail to **** a buck.Very windy out, see no deer, me not even see a tree rat with fuzzy tail. Me wait and wait and wait, still no deer. It get dark now so me go in and try next day. Next day come, same thing,no deer, me think I pick a different spot tomorrow. Tommorrow come and I sit by the edge of a big field with sand holes and short grass with flags in little holes, it very quiet and me hear leaves crunching, me crouch down and get gun ready. Noise get closer and closer then it stop so I look out from behind tree and put gun down and pick up I-phone and snap pic of most stupid looking buck me ever see... then me start big belly laugh, ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.
Ugg! How!
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 5:15 PM UTC
She wore an air of mysticism
Her memory bore prophetic visions
From ancient egyptian
And judaic traditions
She knows every star system
And every night is a mission
Where she wishes and wishes
For help from the legends
Feeling the kundalini extension
A timeless moment in meditation
She rode a chariot of ascension
With many faces
Facing in all directions
Interpreting new races
There was
Communication retention in
Multidimensional dimensions
And convoluted intentions
Creating dense tension
Leaving her in suspension
Then, there was a call for attention
And she witnessed the mention
Of helping Earths' ascension
Words whispered with foreign inflections
Melted away her apprehensions
With familiar definitions
And promising space faring inventions
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 11:44 AM UTC
A learned scientist opines
in outer space there are two lines:
Proteins that would mirror mine,
and sugars of a non digestible kind.
On Earth “Left handed” proteins rule
at Barrows base right up to Thule.
“Right handed” sugars fuel our race
“left Handed” sugars have no place.
In our earthly reality
We have homochirality.
Still, somewhere in the cosmic dust
might be the opposite of us.
On a world no meteor ever scored
Might be space faring dinosaurs!
Intelligent, cunning and with big teeth-
Suppose they come to disturb our “peace”
Velociraptors with ray guns
might be as nasty as they come.
Thank God the U.S. has Marines
to blow those “Saurs” to smithereens.
Then, after they have taken their licking
We’ll find out if they taste like chicken.
Apr 16, 2012
Apr 16, 2012 at 8:14 AM UTC
I wrote this after reading a poem about fake people off Facebook.
All is not fair in love when you got to research dudes secret desires and **** like that.
The real dudes want you to be real and not be head game queen to get him.
I'm a real man who spent time seeking women in all the wrong places.
Tried real life met my share of God faring GCB ****** droppers giving it up.
Met ones at bars who drink to much, will do you but blame it all on *****
I've met plenty of fake women seeking to get at what I have using *** methods.
Met many raised thinking marrying a rich man is better than a poor one.
If all the women claiming they want a decent guy were real they would find one.
Met some at malls wearing rings but bored with husbands and Facebook is a hunting
ground for lonely women and housewives like the ones off Craigslist placing ads.
Did some knowing they married ones weren't keepers they forgot they were married
not me. Who thinks about a wedding ring when married women come on to you and
you find **** what you see in profile pics and think you can't have it then BAM.
Husbands aren't the only ones placing ads and setting up hookups off net.
If you think I'm a scumbag what about the lonely married women who flirt, tease and
****** in chat and phone tempting you until you feel you gotta take it to real.
What about the young ones using bodies and *** to get a nice life and a ring on it.
Most of the young ones don't look at the man as desirable but are good at fake ***
Met a woman who got dumped by plenty of men and faked a pregnancy to get a
married man. After she got him to leave his wife, kids and home she had to fake
a miscarriage to keep from being dumped by the millionth man.
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 4:30 AM UTC
awry, askew,
the poetry comes badly, clawing,
life as well, faring poorly,
the obvious linkage stinkage
allows a milliseconds smile,
a brief fiefdumb accolade of
distress confirmation
DH Lawrence appears in the inbox,
he too, awry, askew,
tufts of wool clouding life like dust,
rust and must, an old friendship renewed,
the cold ex and in-eternal suggest
frequent naps and hibernation,
so much so that this script was
commenced and committed years ago
and lay forlornly in the ***** snow
fallow and shallow drafts from prior years
To every season there is a turn,
a turning of the *****
yet the hacking cough from focculent dust on the floor of the world
fills the lungs continuously, knows no respite,
the spittle and the phlegm ejected herein,
a disarming poem of dissatisfaction, alas, alas,
the dust thickens and is not lessened
~for Medusa daughter~
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 2:35 PM UTC
You go a long and lovely journey,
For all the stars, like burning dew,
Are luminous and luring footprints
Of souls adventurous as you.
Oh, if you lived on earth elated,
How is it now that you can run
Free of the weight of flesh and faring
Far past the birthplace of the sun?
1.3k
Who is she
Why O why do you call her name every night when you are asleep, ''Who is she''?
why do you love her so much that you cannot eat, ''Who is she''?
Why does she get to travel with you all around the world, but its me you show off to your family and friends because you said that im your pearl!
No one has ever seen this lady, why do you keep her a secret, Who is she''?
she’s maxing out your credit cards with expensive gifts, yes! I’ve seen the bills at the end of the month.
Your taking her shopping at Proda, Gucci ,Juicy Couture and jimmy chue stores, ''Who is she''
You aint never took me to those places I respect this Trick cause she’s getting money and gifts that I don’t even get.
Baby im dying inside who is she?
Why do you love her more?
Is she better in bed?
Where is she from?
Is she beautiful?
People I love this man with all my heart, he completes me,
he is the ying to my yang,
the apple of my eye,
He was my African King but when that ***** came along all I ever hear when he falls asleep is...
Diamond!
Diamond!
Diamond!
Who the hell is diamond? '' Who is she''?
You call her diamond and call me pearl.
Diamonds are a girls best friend, I wonder why I couldn’t I get a name like that, I know why cause im second best.
I came home early from work one Tuesday afternoon feeling sick and tired of that stressful place call a j.o.b ,
When I opened the door and entered the living room I smelt sweet, sweet perfume I followed the scent and it led to the bedroom
but the door was closed, The sounds of Luther Vandros played in the back ground
( Music Plays If only for one night)…….
I said to myself I caught this *****
Mad as hell im walking up and down in the living room,
wondering if I should bust in on him.
The good part of me said I couldn’t take seeing with another woman don’t open that door
and the bad part of me said do it girl do it
Do it girl do it!
Then I heard him say to her what’s my name!
Whats my name! and she screamed to the tip of her voice Jesus! Jesus!
I fell to my knees burning up inside,
heartbroken,
tears flowing, saying why does it hurt so bad.
Then I got up off my knees and opened the door,
before I could look up I looked down rose petals everywhere.
Then I saw my African King doing his thing and I said O **** O **** (Pause).
And that is when I realized that the proda wearing,
Gucci faring
sweet o sweet smelling lady was a …Proda wearing,
Gucci faring,
sweet, sweet, smelling ….. Man!
Written by- Shakela Donnet Storr
Jul 1, 2011
Jul 1, 2011 at 12:22 PM UTC
Its as though i bang the banjo to an unknown flow, rocking my head, and shaking my hands, singing to the dead, and serenading the land.
I stand tearfully strong in long winded wailing to the scorn, and with each tear, i'm born, anew.
Dear Earth, i know you well, i know what you promote, and i know what sells, and if this is hell, then i am faring well, and farewell will be felt in my tells of seashells singing from a cell.
Jan 2, 2013
Jan 2, 2013 at 11:22 PM UTC