"fastidious" poems
608
Afraid! Of whom am I afraid?
Not Death—for who is He?
The Porter of my Father’s Lodge
As much abasheth me!
Of Life? ’Twere odd I fear [a] thing
That comprehendeth me
In one or two existences—
As Deity decree—
Of Resurrection? Is the East
Afraid to trust the Morn
With her fastidious forehead?
As soon impeach my Crown!
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I rush for love against time
And bleed blood by design
My heart floods for my crimes
When my mud attracts flies
I felt a rush
Through the brush
Of your skin so lush
I turned to mush
My heart began to gush
When I felt your rush
It became too much
And I exploded prematurely
Though it's normal you assured me
Could it be that you had cured me?
We rushed through our adrenaline courtship
While I rushed through your adorable hips
I was ****** in by your surge
Until your love was purged
You grew bored of my rush hour
So you exerted your push power
And I became a fastidious learner
That you were an insidious burner
After I became the sole recipient
Of your attitude that's flippant
The pain is a rush
This pain when you flush
Disdain when you crush
Me to pieces
Between your creases
When you keep talking feces
It's something that never eases
When your rush turns to breezes
You're a rush in my heart
Like the rush when I ****
It's a relief that you're gone
But something seriously stinks
It's a relief you were wrong
Yet I continue to sink
Nov 1, 2017
Nov 1, 2017 at 4:36 PM UTC
Reflecting disdainfully, remembering painfully,
upsetting, annoying, troublesome
Bickering, sarcastic, disputing, bombastic,
arrogant, conceited, unwelcome
Fastidious relations, private fixations,
foreboding, disturbing resentment
Silently scheming, nobody weeping,
selfish, unblinking, TRIUMPHANT!
Feb 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 at 10:23 AM UTC
Ancient doors creak and groan
scraping back the dust
of ages gone
A formidable sight...
like standing guardians
since time immortal
Slinking in
past swirling fog
I pause to calm my fear
adding strength to resolve
when suddenly...
a deafening voice ERUPTS
with EXACTING FASTIDIOUS truths
Solid ground shatters beneath me...
I hover helplessly
Below me...
a noxious boiling maelstrom
The voice of truth EXPLODES from above
ECHOing my 'Every Sin'
the resounding shock-waves
drive me down
Legs lifted high
to avoid the searing pain
then
a tangle of blistered hands reach out
and drag me within the churning inferno
Blinding spin and unbearable suction
envelope
Scream fades to gurgle
Unconsciousness welcome
though never met
The searing pain still rising yet
Each fibre ripped apart
to molecular particle
Riding the vortex of purification
Separating sins from soul
Finally
Cast out
and caught yet again by the uterine web
with the voice of truth
still taunting ...
" BETTER LUCK THIS TIME "
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 1:48 AM UTC
We all look up to the same sun.
To the same moon we confide.
We all look at them the same...
Hoping for the light of day...
Wishing for peace at night.
Unfortunately...
It seems that they are not just.
For their light is selective.
It is not available to those
heavily shrouded in the dark,
drenched in tears.
It seemingly favour those
who'd shamelessly croon for their boon.
Miscreants who shirk
their responsibilities and fears.
I beg you...
Guardian of day and sentinel in twilight.
May your arms be kind and fastidious.
May your reach be deliberate,
purposeful and extensive.
Find those who cry but without voice.
Cradle those who've made decisions
without the luxury of choice.
Shed some love so they could see
past their laboured breaths in mud.
Raise them to their feet
so that they might
have a fighting chance to live.
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 1:21 AM UTC
Bustopher Jones is not skin and bones—
In fact, he’s remarkably fat.
He doesn’t haunt pubs—he has eight or nine clubs,
For he’s the St. James’s Street Cat!
He’s the Cat we all greet as he walks down the street
In his coat of fastidious black:
No commonplace mousers have such well-cut trousers
Or such an impreccable back.
In the whole of St. James’s the smartest of names is
The name of this Brummell of Cats;
And we’re all of us proud to be nodded or bowed to
By Bustopher Jones in white spats!
His visits are occasional to the Senior Educational
And it is against the rules
For any one Cat to belong both to that
And the Joint Superior Schools.
For a similar reason, when game is in season
He is found, not at Fox’s, but Blimpy’s;
He is frequently seen at the gay Stage and Screen
Which is famous for winkles and shrimps.
In the season of venison he gives his ben’son
To the Pothunter’s succulent bones;
And just before noon’s not a moment too soon
To drop in for a drink at the Drones.
When he’s seen in a hurry there’s probably curry
At the Siamese—or at the Glutton;
If he looks full of gloom then he’s lunched at the Tomb
On cabbage, rice pudding and mutton.
So, much in this way, passes Bustopher’s day-
At one club or another he’s found.
It can be no surprise that under our eyes
He has grown unmistakably round.
He’s a twenty-five pounder, or I am a bounder,
And he’s putting on weight every day:
But he’s so well preserved because he’s observed
All his life a routine, so he’ll say.
Or, to put it in rhyme: “I shall last out my time”
Is the word of this stoutest of Cats.
It must and it shall be Spring in Pall Mall
While Bustopher Jones wears white spats!
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Through the sunlit valley they dance and sing
smiling with constant purity in the arms of spring
in the dales, new born lambs are bleating
daffodils push up to the sun, kindly beating
The buttercup pixies start to find worm holes
to pop there little seeds in threes into
then by night and day they watch the seedlings grow
underneath the shelter of a nearby toadstool
Then at six in the morning
when most folks are yawning
they gather their red hats as a team
and skip to the nearby crystal stream
Then with hats in hand scoop up the water
no more then just over a quarter
then bound back to water their seedlings
sweetly fastidious and tending with feeling
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 11:39 AM UTC
Rabbit tracks in the snow
padded foot, here we go:
Found beside a lake,
far away for you to seek.
Festivities of the fastidious,
i was all but oblivious.
Promising frostiness,
the air, alit and aglow.
Bombarding me
quietly
with parallelism,
banging noiselessly
off the fire
of the morning sunshine.
Mollified, the world
stirs in its lack of commotion.
Meek blunders of the fortnight,
i wish to forego.
My star,
faded from the sky.
You are
what brings me high.
I will
be with you,
upon
the epoch of
tomorrow’s
morn, come nigh.
Dec 10, 2011
Dec 10, 2011 at 4:12 PM UTC
Fastidious future full of fiddling.
Entrusted to erode everlasting evil.
Anchor ambition to alleviate anguish.
Recalled relationship of regret.
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 1:03 PM UTC
My life is a paradoxical monstrosity
A contradiction in itself
Where to start?
Anywhere, everywhere, nowhere perhaps
Occupation,
I play with words.
How naughty does that sound?
Really, I'm in a complicated relationship with words, terms, definitions, metaphors
Writer by day, storyteller by night
And of course I love what I do
And I hate what I do
How very poetic of you!
Why thank you!
Sorry, the inner child speaks.
Back to writing,
And the moments of fantastic ecstasy
Where this jumble of verbs and nouns and adjectives you're trying to assemble
Clicks.
The bigger picture develops with crystal clear clarity
No fastidious statements
Or meaningless passages.
Just words, feelings, meanings
Soul.
That doesn't sound so bad you say
IT HAPPENS ONCE EVERY MILLENIA!
For the most I am frustrated.
Stumped to the point where rage overcomes and the only cathartic release is to sleep.
When I do manage to squeeze something out of the depths of my mind, it appears substandard, to say the least.
Zadie told me to get used to non-satisfaction
So I am satisfied with never been satisfied; does this make me satisfied?
Ow.
Please, I need an answer
I've been looking for answers for nineteen years,
But have I been asking the right questions?
Are there any answers?
Another question
No, that was the question
Confusion and befuddlment ravaging through your mind?
I recently realised there are no facts
Only really good suggestions by excessively knowledgeable and esteemed
I quite fancy being one of those guys
A visionary complete with the stereotypical glasses and overgrown beard
And I'd declare that being yourself is the first step to finding your purpose
Fact.
But what if finding your purpose is your purpose?
I'll leave you with that.
This is my life.
Complaining would be ungrateful of me; it's a good one really.
I can walk and run and play basketball and see my friends where we laugh endlessly.
Oh and Saturday morning cartoons.
I have problems, enormous world ending problems
But it's all relative.
Some think I'm strange, I prefer quirky.
I wonder how life would be if I'd chose the 'normal' option
Most likely, frightfully boring
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 7:36 PM UTC
Black lake reflects a trail of ivory plumes,
Cockatiel's alabaster tail of feathers.
Such loveliness can only be the moon's,
Which skinny-dips in lunar altogethers.
Raccoons catch fish along the shore,
Fastidious paws clutching their prizes.
She paddles her canoe with silent oar,
Observing nature's soft nocturne disguises.
Silhouetted loons rock low upon the waves,
Asleep till sunlight sets them to their songs.
Her wake bisects the path the moon engraves,
As wilderness whispers tranquilly she belongs.
She'll stay the night foregoing comfort fire,
Moonlight enough by which to pitch a tent.
And come tomorrow should anyone inquire,
No trace reveals her overnight encampment.
Feb 20, 2012
Feb 20, 2012 at 5:23 PM UTC
Letting the ivy roam...
Moonlight serenade, to a begun favor:
Sense in a gentler breeze, the thought to own
A grace, a fastidious space, for a little face...
Pink, the through and due, irony we seldom
Stink and prosper, the alienation we souled?
Together in legend, we tell a tale to a God's question:
Letting the ivy see, is a redress of futures, fools?
Paces and setting a catch, of futures in the light?
A wavering kiss, and the doles of redemption
Have their solemn kin, taken to remembering a night?
My name is a person, order and truth, to another selection...
Of hearts or the ivy...
Spare to fore, we conceive a notion
Made to tailor, a secret, an irony sighed...
Like the bird it was, a concern that lead to devotion...
Ivy sleeps, shadows play...
In the breeds we assume are, the peace of decency...
That has awoken, and seen the sun come, for why...?
Persuade a kind from dread, our fruit is a gift of agony...?
Building halts; continuing salt...
When has a legend presumed finish, of soon's reasons?
The tow of exception, is a wind to defer to a copious fall?
Looking ivy in the eye, asking nix for not, a needs seasons?
The fight is brutal, letting ivy is like a breath between friends
Aching at the completed hour, the duty of they and strange smiles
Set in similar pasts to a redefining must, that only with help, lends
A role no greater than now, a whisper that ended a world's defiled?
Ivy wants your life for a silence...
Ivy has the stomach to turn direction into beauty...
Ivy seemingly aloof, to worth to realize a gift is fast, to the chin...
Ivy knows you, like a taken privilege on the other side of saying we...
Jan 18, 2023
Jan 18, 2023 at 9:06 PM UTC
How pleasant to know Mr. Lear,
Who has written such volumes of stuff.
Some think him ill-tempered and queer,
But a few find him pleasant enough.
His mind is concrete and fastidious,
His nose is remarkably big;
His visage is more or less hideous,
His beard it resembles a wig.
He has ears, and two eyes, and ten fingers,
(Leastways if you reckon two thumbs);
He used to be one of the singers,
But now he is one of the dumbs.
He sits in a beautiful parlour,
With hundreds of books on the wall;
He drinks a great deal of marsala,
But never gets tipsy at all.
He has many friends, laymen and clerical,
Old Foss is the name of his cat;
His body is perfectly spherical,
He weareth a runcible hat.
When he walks in waterproof white,
The children run after him so!
Calling out, "He's gone out in his night-
Gown, that crazy old Englishman, oh!"
He weeps by the side of the ocean,
He weeps on the top of the hill;
He purchases pancakes and lotion,
And chocolate shrimps from the mill.
He reads, but he does not speak, Spanish,
He cannot abide ginger beer;
Ere the days of his pilgrimage vanish,
How pleasant to know Mr. Lear!
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I could not remain still:
Fastidious.
It is unbearable to be Somebody than to be Child in the present day world.
Nov 29, 2021
Nov 29, 2021 at 12:01 PM UTC
Rippling tide of light (the) horizon a mélange
Insight inside of me (my) fastidious internal ******
Behold breath-taking beauty (in) my minuscule mind
Fathoming unfathomables (of) every different kind
Magnanimous mount (in a) flowing green sea
Mustang must muster (the) strength to stay free
Battling rages inside (this) heavy hearted fool
Lasso cinching fate (our) human nature’s cruel
Taken from the wild (then) taken home and named
Though this horse was broken (she) was never tamed
Jun 28, 2010
Jun 28, 2010 at 2:19 PM UTC
Tears of creation
fall from the overcast blanketing
of the billowy, white fields overhead,
blended with a requiem
that only the absence of dawn could manifest,
and kissed upon
by the ever-fluorescent canvases
of smoke, and flame
that carelessly intrude
upon the horizon.
Oh,
how fastidious is the misting
that blesses this premature day,
invoking a spontaneity
within the mundane clockworkings
that symbolically define
the average,
the everyday
and the norm.
Glorious is this sight to behold.
Not only by our soulpanes,
but through the remainder;
our entire spectrum of sensory awareness
that we are so gifted to have received,
yet,
rarely do their values go little more
than depreciated.
The refreshment
that quenches our starving skin,
and slowly enfilms us
with the caressings of unrequited purity.
The dampening of the air
that perpetually enthralls
even the most tolerant
resisters to aroma.
The crispness;
unadulterated,
and without perversions of the modern day;
enrapturous are the resonant entrails of the strata
that ever so gently envelop,
and awaken our slumbering buds.
And finally,
but without conviction,
the resound of symphonic harmony,
abound with the alluring enchantment
that,
in seamless refrain,
could only be achieved
by such a reverent miracle of nature.
These are the moments in which I revel.
And blessed be Her,
who benevolently grants us
with such an immaculance
of cornerless beauty.
Graceful, and sacred is the oasis in the sky.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 6:52 PM UTC
If I stare at a wall
long enough,
I lose track of
what it’s for.
Penguins in the abyss
return with fish
to feed their chicks.
Kiss me
before you remember
what I do
for a living.
Wake me for love
when it buries itself
in dirt.
Love me in pieces
like I’m meant
to be shredded.
Let’s go away
to never remember
ourselves and
forget to return.
Someday, I’m going to
let go of
this guy,
brittle leaves and
pancake batter.
If you ever
meet me,
make a fellowship of knuckles
to pay for the party.
Time’s up.
Make nice
and roll over—
Death’s dancing
with you tonight,
darling.
Sep 2, 2025
Sep 2, 2025 at 5:40 PM UTC
Once upon a time, there lived a lady Gem
When she cleared her throat, she went ahem, ahem!
not to take anything cold, so was she advised
but she didn't care as much her doctor did; so I surmised
The aroma ran sweet when she started to cook
Her tasty muffins' recipes could easily fill a book
Her friends who ate them wouldn't just stop with one
And in the end, she would normally be left with none
When it came to work, she was conscientious
And in all that she did, she was fastidious
Though sometimes one could say, her mood was capricious
In all that she did and said, she was simply courageous
She had a large heart, and it was not just with food
In every one's life that she crossed paths, she blessed them with good!
Anyone who asked for help, would never be told no
She was one of the kindest souls one could ever get to know!
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 1:10 PM UTC
When she first discovered the last fictitious and missing piece, that absent link that could create
That would fit so very perfectly between her fastidious reality and her dream filled escape
That piece was what filled her with the alluring thoughts of setting the diamond edged blades aside
To let her bloodied and gore encrusted wrist's lay. To finally heal her disfigured and cleaved thighs
To set aside the insomniac coloured nights, filled with a nervous tick called suffering and misery
Bringing dread filled terror for next days coming, day and night it creeps into her lightless sanity
It graced her with the forgotten hope, that daisy chains and blades of grass would keep her honest
Hope she had long abandoned as she hid within the scarred tissue upon her mangled conscience
Telling her that she was now allowed to forget her aphotic and distressing amorphous past
It was filled with many an onus and distrusts that she choked on; from lack of air, her brain begins to crack
Her Mother and her Father thought she was a "lacking" kind child, those that required little needs
It reminded her that she would never again have to repress and crunch down those memories
They rise inside her throat, until she regurgitates them along with what little food she would eat
She sits in her room most nights, crying softly alone and wishing to be as thin as the models on TV
That last puzzle piece was supplying her with a vociferous need to put the bottle of pills down,
Many had slipped their way down her esophagus, from diet to Analgesic's, they ranged wide
They were locked away in her father's medicine cabinet, so of course she was always punctilious
Puts an aspirin in place for the ones she stole, so her parents (Would they care?) were left oblivious
She tried to push that last piece in, shoving it somewhere between a wrong scene of the puzzle
So the piece was soon to be lost, destroyed within the struggle to find the perfect place
As she was losing to and was within her blithering mind, wild and frightened, filled with dismay
She then reverts to the false reality, in which she called her final escape.
The last daring and startling move, the check mate, the final set stage of the play
Where dreams become the reality, and reality becomes the dream
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 9:22 PM UTC
Actually Awesome
Beautifully Broken
Courageously creative
Differently Dazzling
Eagerly Edgy
Fascinatingly Fastidious
Gracefully Great
Handsomely Harmonious
Independently Intelligent
Jokingly Joyful
Keenly Kind
Lovingly Lyrical
Marvelously Magnificent
Naturally Narcissistic
Originally Open-minded
Passionately Pleasant
Quintessentially Quirky
Respectfully Rebellious
Sarcastically Smart
Typically Twisted
Unbelievably Unique
Vigorously Viscous
Wonderfully Wild
X-tremely Xenodochial
Young-fully ******
Zealously Zany
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 2:45 PM UTC
She paces back and forth to strut her stuff.
And all the jockeys come running.
They all want to ride this beautiful horse.
But she wants nothing to do with them.
Some stay with her for a little while.
Her persistent fussing does the trick.
She is fastidious and will not settle.
A soon as another jockey leaves?
Five more arrive in hopes to get a ride.
She has only had one jockey to stay for some time.
And to farce, she will not abide.
She is going to wait for the jockey-
That see's more than just a pretty ride.
Sep 17, 2010
Sep 17, 2010 at 11:57 PM UTC
An adamant introvert of inert thoughts
Dowdy and crapulous
Arrives in a fastidious yet effulgent
Didactic, contumacious world of education
Bilious in the beginning
Still taught an adroit sense of survival
Nefarious acts and risible happenings
There was a lesson in all
Zealous sclerotic soul
Learnt well, thought well
Contributed to goodness
Willfully abetted evil
The transcendence,
Luminous, loquacious
Cerulean peace within, built in blocks
Of love, respect and fear
A better heart, a better person
A better LIFE.
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 10:56 AM UTC
Her barefoot feels it again
For the third night in a row…
Something cold and fluid
On an even colder floor
As she raced to the kitchen
Prepping for the day ahead
She almost slips, she’s furious
But it’s not in her to curse.
Her mind is wrapped in issues
As she stares up at the ceiling
No signs of rain, no leakage
But how does the floor get wet?
She sips and smells her coffee
And steps into her slippers
She grabs a mop and bucket
And points two fingers in blame.
“Did Tom, my love, spill water?”
Not a chance, he’s too careful
Fastidious and disciplined,
He’d mop it before it spilled!
She’d lay the blame on Tracy
And presume that Tracy peed
But cats are not that messy
As Tracy’s three years had proved.
She starts to get too worried
But decides its not worth it
Once again, she lets it slide
For the third night in a row…
But less than an hour ago
He wakes up from a nightmare
Same nightmare that has plagued him
For the third night in a row…
He slides out of bed slowly
He watches her for a while
She sleeps in peace like a baby
Why can’t he sleep like her?
He sneaks out of their bedroom
To his newfound grieving spot
Three steps to the kitchen door
He falls apart in gloom
He’s in pain, pain unbearable!
Unlike anything he’s seen
After many years in the army
He’s been through thick and thin.
He relives the angst of confession
As he said those dreaded words
“Honey, I cheated on you.”
And shut his eyes for the BANG!
He’d hoped for fire and brimstone
And expected nothing less
But her reply was calm and casual
“I’ve known, and I forgive you.”
Shocked at her eerie response
He died a million times!
He watched for signs of withdrawal
And a possible divorce suit
But after years of waiting
He unforgives himself, and
For the third night in a row…
He cries himself to death!
© Raphael Uzor
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 10:57 PM UTC
Inject that myriad dose in my brain
don't tell me what it is
Shrapnel surprise is all i need
Does it hurt, white elephant wars stomping on my mind
As you mouth pours crystal letters that form wet words
That flow into my minds puddle, and finds it's way to our oceans heart
Will this feeling stop, when will it part
My arms are breaking
My legs just broke
Is the clock farther away or is it just moving slower
My feet are walking on plush ground my equilibrium is confused
Did you run or crawl to help me from tripping on air?
Fastidious eyes are tip toeing on my spine
as my arm are keeping my lungs from the ground
don't stop to inhale, forgetting how to breath
Panic attack, shark attack will bite you on the leg and pull you down
Trying to make a way to the glass bathroom
You turn on the water, within seconds a waterfall
That is drenching deafening rapids into my ear
Get this cantankerous feeling away
I'v never wanted to snap so bad in my life
the water stops, the hurricane in my stomach starts
Green light mean blow
After 5 minutes I don't even know what was coming out
I thought my lungs would explode from an over excessive
Amount of my body's fluids
Stumble to stand, mind thinks it's clockwork
The body says it's not
Early morning burns into early night
And there goes the sight
My ears burn of ice around my brain
Give me the Shrapnel surprise one more time
Thin rope around my arm, and needle with appeasement inside
One more dose as I lay back, the red rises up as I sink down
The night, and my home become silent
As i fade away
Aug 8, 2011
Aug 8, 2011 at 12:13 PM UTC