"favorable" poems
As insecure toddlers, we were often told by our parents that inner beauty is more important than outer beauty. This is how they were able to instill in us the confidence we may have today, whenever we represent ourselves in front of other people. However, this is something I find to be quite inaccurate. If you ask a random person about what they find beautiful and attractive, most of them would probably begin to describe a person’s physical attributes than the internal attributes.
Beauty is defined to be the perfect balance and harmony with nature, which may lead to feelings of attraction and emotional well-being. Since the attraction is subjective, the term “beauty is in the eye of the beholder” takes place. Many individuals would like to believe that looks are never important, and that judgments should be based on a person’s internal well-being instead of its outer counterparts.
In our modern society, external beauty is more favorable since everything becomes more convenient, than when you only have internal beauty. People will always see your external beauty the moment they see you and not that beautiful mind and soul of yours, and that’s what makes them attracted to you. Just like with expensive cars, the moment a car is put into the market, the consumer who will buy them would first look at their exterior first before they would look for its driving ability; no matter how good its performance may be, these people would always look at its exterior. Also, external beauty can help you be successful, it can land you jobs, earn more money, and help you be treated with more respect by strangers than those with internal beauty.
The preference for external beauty than internal beauty is what is wrong in our current society. We live up to the evolved norms of society that we have started to grow backwards. Outer beauty fades, and no matter how beautiful you are on the outside, once people get to know you, you’d be nothing but a simple less attractive human being than you once were. I would leave a wonderful quote here written by a great author: “A tree may look as beautiful as ever; but when you notice the insects infesting it, and the tips of the branches that are brown from disease, even the trunk seems to lose some of its magnificence.”
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 7:55 PM UTC
the world needs a lesson in self esteem
we can start by re-examining exactly what each part of that term means
self (hyphen): "to, with, toward, for, on, in oneself"
esteem: "favorable opinion or judgement; respect or regard"
self esteem: to hold a favorable opinion or judgement, respect or regard, to, with, toward, for, on, or in oneself
the world needs this lesson because our children do not know what this term means
because the reason they do not know is because their parents did not know
because the reason their parents did not know is because every generation before them passed along
a belief that you had to fit into every box, had to blend in to every crowd, had to meet every bullet point on the checklist
in order to be considered a person of worth
because the great secret that they never told is that people were not made
to fit into boxes, or be marked on a checklist
because my mother married a man who did not deserve her
because she thought that she wouldn't be able to do any better
because that man looked at his beautiful new stepdaughter
and told her she was worthless, and that her mother knew it too
because that girl was cursed with the hips and the **** and the waist of her great grandmother
and when she went to school with her stepfather's words in her head
a boy in her second grade class said the same **** things, and worse
because i was that girl and i was never the girl who got to walk behind me in the hallways
and laugh at the way that my shirt was too tight, and my thighs were too big, and laugh even harder when i cried
because my best friend in high school was always "the hot one"
and because i cried myself to sleep every time one of our guy friends talked to me about how much he wanted to **** her
because i craved objectification before i'd even finished ninth grade
because i wished that i could sink my hands into my own flesh and rip pieces away and be left with something "beautiful"
because i looked in the mirror every day of my life and pointed out every small detail of what was wrong with my reflection
because i hoped that would help me pretend it didn't hurt when other people pointed out the imperfections
because even after satisfying girlfriend boyfriend girlfriend boyfriend, i still did not feel good about my own body
because it took finding the woman that i want to spend the rest of my life with to make me want to turn the lights on when we ****
because she is the most beautiful woman that i have ever seen
but before me, she'd always wanted to leave the lights off too
because we are grateful to each other for the confidence we have gained
and because we both wish we hadn't needed the other to find something that should have been found within ourselves
the world needs a lesson in self-esteem
and i know this because
i had to write this poem
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 7:19 PM UTC
We flourish in this partial reality.
As I quietly touch your face, your lips, with my thumb,
Begging to know the thoughts you never utter.
Perhaps this suppression is a favorable one,
Where after my uninformed dreams will run wild with hope,
And your affections are safely concealed by
Plaster walls and my contract to mum.
We really do thrive here.
In this vacuum.
I dare not think of when we must leave it…
When nights like this one
Come to a close.
We will only be able to dislodge quavering,
Reluctant sighs.
For we have so often recited the volumes of our hearts with
No words.
Always saying everything by saying nothing
At all.
Only fit for heaving heavy desperate breaths--
Airy, impalpable syllables.
On a silent quest for time’s
Antidote;
Struggling to exist permanently within
Such small moments.
Lips.
Hair.
Skin.
Snippets of life to which we cling.
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 1:10 PM UTC
For the readers
Nerds, geeks, book lovers
Wizards, Hobbits, and Tributes,
believing in unseeable lands.
Minds grow restless to travel
through the fluttering pages
of these paper portals,
Bookmark today and visit
another version of reality.
Brave enough to love
people they can’t see.
People they will never meet
People who would understand them
The way no one else does
Smart enough to know
this world isn't worth staying
Dystopian lands often favorable
To our own growing demise
Wholeheartedly believing
in the fictional and loving the unreal.
Attempts to turn the nonfiction fiction
To self hypnotize away today's chaos
You must have one hell of a heart
to seek refuge
in another's imagination,
and be able come back
to reality when your done
and try to to love this world.
Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 1:42 PM UTC
the beatles on vinyl,
the bright sun shining through our silk curtains,
***** clothes scattered about the room,
our skin sewn together in messy stitches,
your cologne adding a favorable twist to the scent of stuffy-room air,
the buzz of your hum flowing lightly with john's vocals.
she snaps her fingers in front of my face.
blink!
back to reality.
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 11:40 PM UTC
I never in a thousand years thought of myself as anything, but here I am and everything that you have found favorable comes from this place.
Constantly creating just to stay in the game, I play for my work; not for my pay…
I get behind every word!
The life of the appetite! always hungry for something?
I chose words to be durable ... for better or for worse!
I sense a deep yarning.
I have an ego that's pointless.
I'm driven to create, to sing talk and lark about to help dissolve our suffering, even the trash has it's place in that!
Always hoping to reduce the eye, my work is small like me!
What my hands fall on I do willingly to be connected, to give something back.
Everything is so very; very small !
Contentment is the key to it all !
That and kindness!
May 14, 2018
May 14, 2018 at 6:41 AM UTC
My idea of a good night is staying in
And technology serves as my friend
With a glass of wine or bottle of brew in my hand
Talking to a list of favorable foes on the web
Where conversations boarder between flirty and scholarly lines
And typed dialogues lead way to theoretical thoughts and inspirational designs
Pondering ignites a spark that surges in my mind
I’ll begin to research the fast array of thoughts that run through my brain
Fixated on scientific data, predicted trends and worldly traits
Eventually it’s not enough for my thought
I’ll try to fight the inevitable feeling that starts to form in my gut
Leading way to the breeding ground for butterflies
Factual documents begin to get lost in the shuffle
As my attentions now caught by an excerpt or rousing photo
New tabs are opened over the old
And I always find myself ending at the same place
Looking up poems about love and images elapsed from past days
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 6:20 AM UTC
Cake and ice cream possibilties.
We find many trying to do.
Trying to be please by two.
Just to not be alone.
But behind the disguises is a unhappy soul.
For deep within, they know the truth will emerge.
And then the excuses begins.
When going through your joyful expeditions with one.
Truth sets in with the other.
While you hoping they don't find out about one another.
Cake is tasteful and enjoyable.
And ice cream is also favorable.
But they both fades away.
Which eventually the hunter will find out one day.
Unless, the women involved like it this way.
Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 8:43 AM UTC
Above all reigns Zambi Kumbo.
Father of men, father of things, father of insects.
The non-created, the beginning, void of a beginning,
of all and any beginning.
The sacred is present in all instants and all instances.
All life is sacred and in it’s core are human beings.
The whole is anthropocentric and critical: human beings,
man, center of creation, spins the axis of good and evil.
I believe in the visible and the invisible,
in the interaction between these two worlds.
The natural and the supernatural are inseparable.
There are other realities beyond the visible, man is not purely flesh,
there is spirit and heart and values beyond our eyes.
I summon the sun by tangu, which means time, present time,
time instance, favorable time, precise time.
To ask for the time, one should voice “what sun is it?"
The sun drifts on the ocean between life and death.
When the sun disappears in the horizon
it is a canoe carrying souls to the afterlife.
I sit on an ivory chair and wear bracelets of ivory and iron,
artistic woven fabric, certain hides set aside only for me,
an embroidered cap on my head, and a zebra tail on my shoulder.
Kneel, chuck dust above your head, and beg for my blessing.
I’ll stretch out my hands and wriggle my fingers to bless you.
I am Nagô-Yoruba! I am Okanran kandi abo!
Son of Xangô, son of Ketú, son of Egba.
E-e-e-o eya-o Great Mother, y-aa-o Black Beauty, womb of the wind,
creator of the wind that tangles the wild bush,
creator of the wind that tangles the fields,
creator of the thoughts in my head.
May 5, 2012
May 5, 2012 at 4:19 PM UTC
to banter and delegate
a favorable solution
they waste days and lives
in obvious delusion
when war breaks out
much relief is sent
alongside guns and bombs
from governments bent
then, lie to the people
and reinforce resolve
with hope that resounds
and eventually dissolves
selling pawns like hot cakes
in the business of hypocrisy
you think dictatorship is bad?
take a closer look at democracy
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 2:49 PM UTC
Why they call me the fearful poet! (The Razor Thin Difference)
*”but who am I to complain
the razor thin difference tween
blessings and curses so thin,
sometimes are they not, the same thing”*
Aug. 2018
~~~
this familiar line, well traversed, lives on the maps
sketched indented on your palms and brow,
at the edges of the crow’s nests, the eye’s keyboard witnesses,
recording every stroke
we tap in seeings, forming letters,
letters into lines, lines into verse,
as we alliterate, we walk unawares,
of the razor thin difference tween blessings and curse,
indiscernible until concluded, perhaps, not even then,
the stanza’s probable outcome,
always unsure, unknowing destiny’s decision
so we walk, tread, plumb, shoutout
“vive la difference,”
hoping the blessing messengers hear us first,
consummating our pleas on their favorable sight & side,
ever fearful, we do not shout loud enough,
do the blind hear,
need me, possess my sacrificial offerings,
my trepidations, burnt on the Temple’s altar
who will breathe their smoke and understand
their fearful origins?
so we-write, cajole that our every moment’s fear,
find the difference, that we don’t bleed from life’s razoring,
the thinner thinnest
needle threaded,
**and fear is the threat,
and fear is the thread,
that holds me together**
until the unraveling
requires me to write again,
the fearful poet
Mar 22, 2019
Mar 22, 2019 at 7:18 AM UTC
**Deception wearing the mask
of a kind face sowing dreams,
roamed for too long these towns,
around the globe,
that erupted with mortal force,
deciding at last enough is enough.
moneybags having stone faced elegance,
in place of heads, travel in their stretch limos
in the company of swindler princes,
wizards in money juggling
at the foyers of seven star hotels,
where the false suns dawn
at sunset blackening out truth,
they stepped to the tunes
holding hands of power,
the beauty without a heart
goes around with the plastic mask
that transforms according to the stage.
they who charm you with
glib talk and usurp power,
at favorable climes
jump upon unsuspecting
hotel maids, like
resurrected ghosts of vampires.
Every street is dark
with heaped carcasses
of hopes, birds died
at their flight, in ways mysterious,
falling in thousands,
in front of the stunned faces,
of lovers, husbands, wives,
families are looking distress
on the face, every passing day.
The octopus sitting at his
secret castle in water pulls string,
continues winning spree,
as no one raise their voice.
Not any more;
the waves of people,
seething with anger would lash,
against the citadels of evil empires.
The rebel forces have their cause,
this war, the eruption of masses,
will gather momentum, they won't lose.**
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 10:24 AM UTC
When ancients in our eyes waged war in green Gaul,
He fought for new wealth and nobleman's glory,
He rose from mud where slave-spears lay shattered,
And raised the good name of his house from disgrace.
Binding giants in a favorable pact,
The consulship could well be attained,
But men of the day could not perceive greatness,
And barred him from beloved Rome.
So he rode out and vanquished the untamed Gauls,
Who once had brought Rome to its fearful knees,
Winning victory after victory in forests of the north,
Splitting oaks in the east, where his sword marred its sheen.
When fleets by Britain's cliffs hemmed the horizon,
When the seat of the Sphinx was polished marble-gold,
There were ten thousand Greeks could tell of his exploits,
And ten hundred Egyptians who claimed to know him.
With rude steel, he mastered the Mediterranean,
And over the Earth he brandished civilization.
In later years, his heirs spread like a stain upon the land;
The seas too were dyed with Roman sails,
And every coin minted bore the face of Caesar.
Even now, though the empire is hardened like iron,
And purple luxury replaces the crimson of war,
There are still a few among us who remember
Our young and mighty red-feathered conqueror.
Nov 10, 2018
Nov 10, 2018 at 12:33 PM UTC
A daily dose of pleasure
Simple but treasured
Bottled and boxed
Scent or unscented
Refreshing in confidence
Flavors of the rainbow
Right blend to satisfy
Commercially seductive
Nov 12, 2009
Nov 12, 2009 at 2:49 PM UTC
i think it's hard to be friends or lovers with a writer. here's why:
1) you have to be careful of what you say, because the writers mostly take every word of yours literally and try to find the meaning in it. say what you mean, and mean what you say.
2) you also have to be wary of your grammar. those people, whom you know as writers, are grammar nazis. if they don't correct you in speech, fret not; it has been done in their word-mazed minds.
3) they will rant and rant and rant, because written words are what cool them off without having them to speak aloud. curse words, words which carry a tune, words which burn into brains... hear them out. do not be lazy to read their rants if they trust you with it. (they could rant about you TO YOU in the end.)
4) this is the hardest part. just remember that they will write about you no matter who you are or what you've done (or maybe you haven't even done anything). these people will write about how they see you. and most of the time, those writings are not so favorable. if you do not want to (literally) end up in their bad books, beware. their words may not last in ink forever but embedded into the hearts of those who read them.
happy reading and living with a reader!
Oct 24, 2015
Oct 24, 2015 at 3:07 PM UTC
sternum (n.)
a bone extending along the middle line of the ventral portion of the body consisting of a flat, narrow bone connected with the clavicles and the true ribs.
I remember taking an anatomy class in high school, we had to memorize the bones of the body - the skeletal system. Scapula, humerus, mandible all favorable to the tongue, but I never liked the word sternum, it sounds far too angry, nothing like the supple it actually is. Years later I would still find myself walking to work and naming them off. Bones on my mind. Tibia, ulna, femur, breastbone.
Breastbone rolls around my mouth, lulls my anxiety towards its twin like a boat in calm waters. I think of your breastbone as a platform to profess my fascination. I am surprisingly amazed every time I count the steady rhythm of your heart, it's sound conducted as though your breastbone is a soundboard. I feel the slight ridges of your ribs when my head lays in the valley of your chest. There's not a day that I wouldn't love to get lost in the formations of your bones, each crevice a new place to hide - lounging in the curve of your collar bone, plucking the muscles of your fingers like guitar strings, getting lost to the soft scent of skin, and memorizing the plush roundness of your ******* each sensation leaves me with a new obsession. I look for replicas in everyday life, the hunt almost as intoxicating as smoke from campfires, or plucking wishbones from hens.
Feb 9, 2014
Feb 9, 2014 at 5:30 PM UTC
as an audience anxiously awaits
an adequate answer
an admittedly artificial
academic administration addresses action
and announces afternoon activities available
at an auditorium all asleep,
absently applauding away.
barry's basketball bounces back behind
by blueberry bush
bound by belief baseball's better,
barry barters, begs basically,
blindly balancing between *****
baseball or basket
but barry boasts both.
city civilians cross carefully,
crowded, cold christmas crosswalk
counting countless cars
casually, cabs crammed close in clusters
constantly coughing chemicals
citizens carelessly creating catastrophe.
dusty dreary downtown dallas diner delight
dreamy desert delicacies delicious, delightful
dan danced decisions deciding, daring
diner downpayment deplete dollars.
don't ding **** ditch dan's diner door
drop by, drool on dan's delicious delicacies.
even enormous endangered elephants
eat everything entry-level edible.
entire eons erasing, each era escaping
eventually enough endangered
easily enters enxtinction, ending everywhere
entirely empty encounters.
even empires entertain enemy error.
friends, families, fixate in front
for films favor favorable focus.
fancy film fastival, foreigners fill first
filmmakers flock, finding familiar faces
facing forward, feeling fairly fortunate.
"five, four" finally flash
fear fades fast.
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 12:34 AM UTC
Star and star
The favorable geometry has been broken
Curious: I'll allow the dogs to head orion
While I sling my hammer to my belt
Edging to the light I peer
Into your toy box
Gems Pure Cut In patterns ancient and lonely
Stop: it screams
Go it screams
But I look anyway
Unworthy
Filthy
it gazes upon me knowingly
"It swims in your veins
I smell it upon your very flesh."
Fire
Smoldering I laugh shaking the foundations of Andromeda
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 8:42 PM UTC
deep soft warmth encased in meek palms
fingers smooth
and formulated truths
each groove parts seas of future loves
following the mold laid out before me
thoughts and mind flow
out of perky fingertips
through the barrier of time
a pen is gripped as my head tilts slightly
a journey takes place
to watch you hold my own
gratuitously
and now, as time allows
your grip becomes tighter
the swell of a ravaged soul
protruding, a once favorable innocence
now drowning
lines
cracks
i feel your heartbeat
Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 8:31 PM UTC
"Don't expect favorable change
if you refuse to make it happen."
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 11:47 AM UTC
O God, whose favorable eye,
The sin-sick soul revives,
Holy and heavenly is the joy
Thy shining presence gives.
Not such as hypocrites suppose,
Who with a graceless heart
Taste not of Thee, but drink a dose,
Prepared by Satan's art.
Intoxicating joys are theirs,
Who while they boast their light,
And seem to soar above the stars,
Are plunging into night.
Lull'd in a soft and fatal sleep,
They sin and yet rejoice;
Were they indeed the Saviour's sheep,
Would they not hear His voice?
Be mine the comforts that reclaim
The soul from Satan's power;
That make me blush for what I am,
And hate my sin the more.
'Tis joy enough, my All in All,
At Thy dear feet to lie;
Thou wilt not let me lower fall,
And none can higher fly.
1.1k